Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“The eighth… is it the eighth?” I scrunch my eyebrows trying to work the math, but the weeks all blur together. “No matter. This meeting of The Dead Husbands Society is officially starting. I have several things on the docket to discuss today.”
I adjust my headphones as Frank tugs the leash forward.
The sidewalk is damp and smelling sweet from a fresh drizzle, and the pink sky reflects in the puddles like cotton candy soup.
We never did make it on our early morning walk, so he’s overly excited about our evening one.
My boots squish satisfyingly as I walk, one hand holding my phone up so I can see the screen.
It always helps to walk when I’m processing, brainstorming, or discussing ideas.
Viv rolls her sapphire eyes so hard that it’s a wonder they stay in her head; then her camera shakes as she flops backward onto what looks like a velvet floor pillow. “Good God, Birdie. Who died and made you Parliament?”
“Technically?” I glance down at Frank, who has stopped suddenly in his tracks and is now hyper-focused on sniffing a dandelion. “All of our husbands.”
Marin’s square lights up in a small smile as she pushes a few strands of brown hair away from her pale grey eyes.
She’s in her usual oversized sweatshirt, yarn in her lap, cat curled behind her on the couch.
“I actually really like the structure. I need structure. It’s the one thing Theo gave me that I still appreciate, a love of structure. ”
“I’m walking Frank right now, so breaking structure a little.
” I angle my phone slightly to show the pink sunset trying to break through the overcast Seattle sky and the puddle-filled sidewalk.
“But I do my best thinking when I walk, so if I cut out, it's probably because he saw a squirrel and tried to end us both.”
“You’re the only person I know who holds a grief meeting during cardio.
” Viv tucks a strand of bleached strawberry pink hair behind her ear, lounging like a grief-stricken Greek goddess.
“You know I’m all for movement to cleanse the thoughts, but today I’m opting for yoga pants without the exercise. They make me feel emotionally limber.”
Frank veers to the right, yanking me slightly off-camera. “Okay. First item: someone forgot to mark themselves safe from another round of dating app disasters.”
“Why do you say someone?” Marin leans way too close into the camera, giving us a deep and personal encounter with her nose hair.
“We all know Viv is the only one brave enough to still date, much less join an app. Although, to be honest, I always thought it looked kind of fun. Like something a spy would do.”
“Marin! You should join! I have a list of viable options.”
Marin shakes her head vigorously at Viv’s request. “Nope. Not ready.”
Viv lifts a hand, her hot pink nails flashing with the movement. “Fine. I’ll confess then. Guilty. And I thought this one had promise. He teaches breathwork and sound bathing.”
“That does sound promising.” Marin sets down her knitting needles, fully supportive even though I’m pretty sure she knows about as much about sound bathing as I do.
Viv sighs. “He brought his singing bowls on the date. Set them up right there on the table at the vegan café, told me he couldn’t connect with me properly until he aligned my root chakra.”
I wince. “Please tell me that’s not code for something else.”
“Oh, it was.” Viv’s voice is Sahara-Desert-dry. “But not in a fun way. He said my ‘energy body had walls.’ Then he asked if I wanted to do acro-yoga in the Whole Foods parking lot.”
Marin starts to chuckle, but a look from Viv causes her to stifle it down into a snort. How Viv can convey that much contempt through a web camera is a gift in and of itself. “You always find something wrong with them. Could it be because none of them is your husband?”
Viv doesn’t miss a beat. “No, it’s because none of them are sane. Also, I draw the line at doing downward dog over a cart corral.” Then her eyes soften. “And after each date, all I want to do is call him and laugh about it because he would understand…”
I let the moment settle, the image of Viv’s social profile splashing across my memory: ThisIsUs.
No past tense. Viv’s silence lasts a second too long to be breezy, but she snaps back into her usual sparkle before anyone can call her on it.
“Anyway, he refused to eat chocolate. Who doesn’t eat chocolate? ”
“Speaking of chocolate…” I barrel ahead even though the segue makes zero sense. “I went down a Reddit rabbit hole the other night.”
“Oh, tell me it was the lumberjack one!” Viv sits up, suddenly alert, her chest practically spilling out of her off-the-shoulder top. “The guy who builds her a bookshelf and then slow-burns her into oblivion?”
“No, I didn’t finish it.”
Viv gasps. “You bailed on social media’s hottest fictional contractor? The discussions happening on Reddit are enough to get your engine primed.”
My face reddens, and I look around the deserted street, despite the fact that no one can hear inside my headphones but me.
“I took a detour. I found a post by a woman named Ginny. She was writing about a young friend of hers and some romance checklist the women at her assisted living home gave her. It was ridiculous. And kind of sweet. And weirdly inspiring.”
“I like weirdly inspiring.” Marin hasn’t picked up her knitting needles again, so I’m counting this meeting as a win. “What did they do?”
“Well, the checklist was full of tropes. Like forced proximity, slow burns with emotional baggage, and forbidden workplace relationships. But the point wasn’t the romance.
It was that these women wanted the girl to actually live, to stop hiding behind sarcasm and safety nets and take a chance on her one messy, beautiful, unpredictable life. And it made me think about us.”
Viv groans. “Here comes the homework.”
“Viv. It’s a grief group. Not homework. We should do things to process what’s happening.” I stop walking, the phone steady now as Frank lies down in a patch of clover.
“Fine. A romance checklist sounds fun,” Viv concedes.
I put down the camera to fiddle with the backpack I slung over my shoulder for this occasion. The hot pink, glitter-covered notebook stares back at me, and I wonder for the millionth time since grabbing it at the office supply store if I should’ve gone with the plain, black spiral one.
“We’re doing a list of double-dog-grief dares!” I yell it into the screen because right now, they’re both looking at the slightly overcast, pink Seattle sky.
I hear Viv’s voice echo out. “Dares? Like we did in middle school? Now sexy dares I can get behind. Tell me, Birdie. What romantic tropes do I get to play out, because there’s a hot young thing who started at my yoga class, and I can think of a few things I’d like to do with him and to him.”
I pick up my phone in time to see Marin’s knitting needles click together as her mouth forms a perfect, shocked O.
Before Marin can pretend her internet connection is unstable and end the call, I plow ahead. “Not like that. Not a sexy lumberjack dare. Grief dares. For each of us.”
Marin tilts her head, suspicion radiating from her face. “What kind of grief dares?”
“The kind that nudges you out of your stuck places. Things that scare you. Or stretch you. And here’s the kicker, we write them for each other.
I am putting each of your notebooks in this mailbox now.
” I set the phone down again and let the loud creak of the mailbox speak for me before holding up the one I kept for myself.
“We’re going full Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and writing one in each other’s notebooks before sending it on to the next person until it finds its way back to the original person.
Then we complete the dare and pass them around again. ”
Viv blinks. “Wait. So you get to write mine? And Marin writes yours? Wouldn’t it be easier to tell each other the dare?”
“That’s true,” Marin adds. “And save on postage.”
I sigh, saying goodbye to my traveling pants idea, and nod.
“Fine. We can do it that way, but yes, we are still writing the dares for each other, and we are doing it in physical notebooks. The act of writing is therapeutic and all that.” I wave my hand and make the statement with authority of someone who doesn’t still avoid frozen waffles and knows how to process grief.
Viv narrows her eyes. “Now Marin writing one, I can handle. It will probably be something related to knitting needles. You, on the other hand, you’re probably going to make me go on a date with no makeup and talk about my feelings, aren’t you?”
“No. But maybe I’d dare you to take yourself out on a date next week. And show up for yourself without the persona. Tell yourself the truth. Not the funny story. Not the curated version. Just honesty.”
Viv blinks, her long lashes accentuating the motion. “Okay, but that’s far more terrifying.”
Marin clears her throat gently. “What would mine be?”
I glance down at the screen, meeting her eyes as best as I can through the camera. “Write a letter to your husband that says everything you didn’t get to say.”
Marin flinches like I’ve reached through the screen and touched a bruise.
She opens her mouth. Closes it. “There were plenty of things that were said. Too many things. It’s why the divorce papers are still in a shoebox, in the closet.
I haven’t even—” She stops again, eyes blinking fast. “I don’t need to say more things.
I need to take things back. I mean, he went for a drive to cool off after we fought over the logistics of the separation.
Nothing was final. Until everything was final. ”
Silence stretches, thick, but not uncomfortable.
Viv speaks first, softer than usual. “That still counts as grief.”
“Maybe you have more to say than you think?” I whisper.
Marin nods.
Frank barks at a squirrel off-camera, giving us a beat to breathe.
Viv recovers first. “Okay. So we’re doing this now? Grief Olympics? Do I get to assign you one?”
“Go for it.”
Viv tilts her head dramatically. “I double dog dare you to flirt with the mailman.”
Marin gasps. “Vivian!”
Viv shrugs. “You said this was about pushing each other. And that man has been bringing her mail with looks that make me think he should be auditioning for a leading role in a rom-com movie.”
I laugh, trying to cover up the pounding in my chest, the ringing in my ears at the mere thought of flirting with another man. “What does this have to do with my grief?”
Viv ignores me and plows ahead. “I think he wears fitted Henleys and smiles like he knows your favorite coffee order.”
Marin giggles. “That’s very specific.”
Viv points at the screen. “I want eye contact. Full smile. And if you really feel bold, maybe ask him if he likes rain.”
“If he likes rain?” I can hear the skepticism in my voice.
Viv squints at me. “You’ve got a tall, broody mailman delivering packages to your porch, and you haven’t rain-troped him yet. You know, accidentally bump into him while it’s pouring, drop your umbrella, stare into his deep blue eyes like it’s a Nicholas Sparks trailer. Come on, Birdie.”
“You want me to rain-trope the mailman?”
Viv leans back into her velvet purple cushion, her eyes serious. “I want you to stop pretending your needs don’t matter. That all you were was a good wife and all you are is a proper mother. That you aren’t someone outside of those roles. That’s what this has to do with your grief.”
Marin’s pale eyes widen. “Viv, that’s actually really good.”
Viv throws her hands in the air, bangles jangling like warning bells. “Of course it is! I contain multitudes.”
“Alright.” I take out the pink flamingo pen that was the obvious choice to go with the sparkly pink notebook. “We each have one week to complete our grief dares. And yes, there will be check-ins.”
Viv’s perfectly plucked eyebrows launch toward her hairline. “Check-ins? Deadlines? What is this, emotional algebra? I didn’t do homework in high school, and I’m certainly not starting now.”
Marin gives a tiny, ladylike snort. “It’s not like we don’t talk every day, regardless, Viv.”
“Yes!” I jump in. “Exactly. We already show up. Accountability is what we need.”
“Not talking about it and getting into bed with potential new candidates is what I need,” Viv mutters, folding her arms dramatically. “Preferably ones with strong forearms and no emotional baggage.”
Marin smirks. “So, fictional men then.”
Before Viv can launch into her ideal, emotionally-disconnected but physically fully-connected ideal fling, Frank suddenly veers off the path, nose to the ground like he’s on a mission from God.
“Oh no,” I mutter, tugging at the leash. “Not here, Frank. Not now.”
But it’s too late. He circles once, twice, the universal sign that my next five minutes are about to get undignified.
I glance at the screen. “Well, I won’t subject you all to watching me help Frank handle his digestive journey.”
Viv lets out a cackle. “Before you go, I need to say, the notebook and pen is perfection. When will mine be here?”
“I splurged and didn’t want to chicken out, so I overnighted it. Viv, can you write down Marin’s? I’ll write down yours, and Marin can write down mine. Don’t forget to add it’s a double-dog dare. No take-backsies. I didn’t chicken out on the playground, and I’m not starting here.”
“Still sounds like homework, but I guess the flamingo does make it better. My next challenge had better not have anything to do with catching feelings on dates. Or I’m quitting.” Viv levels me with a fierce stare.
“You can’t quit! It’s in the bylaws.” I reach for the little green plastic bag with a sigh. “The eighth meeting of the Dead Husbands Society is officially adjourned.”
The screen fills with waves and eye rolls, and on that note, I click “end meeting” and get to work addressing Frank’s needs.