Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
The email pops up like a ghost, uninvited, inconvenient, impossible to ignore. I don’t even remember signing up for notifications from the Seattle Art Museum’s HR department. Probably one of those late-night impulse subscriptions, back when hope felt like a luxury I could afford.
Subject line: Now Hiring–Exhibition Curator Internship.
I stare at it. My stomach does a flip. I click it open before I can think better of it.
A paid internship opportunity with the Seattle Art Museum’s Exhibitions Department. Ideal for emerging professionals in the field of curation and art history.
Emerging professionals. That’s a polite way of saying twenty-two-year-olds who can speak fluent Excel and wear wide-legged trousers with confidence.
Still, my heart gives one pathetic little flutter.
Once upon a time, before diapers, lunchbox notes, and mortgage payments, I wanted to work there.
I used to imagine myself walking through those halls in kitten heels, naming exhibitions and hanging art labels like they were tiny poems. I got my degree in art history for that girl.
The one who envisioned her life would be surrounded by beauty and stories before the narrative changed.
Could I apply?
Nope. Not a chance. I haven’t written a cover letter in decades.
I slam my laptop shut. And then, two seconds later, I open it again. Not because I’m applying. The Dead Husbands Society meeting starts in two minutes, and if I’m late again, Viv will send a search party, and Marin will send a strongly worded text. Neither of which is ideal.
I hover over the email. I should delete it. Just be realistic, save myself the embarrassment of even imagining.
But instead, I flag it. Not because I’m going to apply. Simply so I don’t forget it’s there. Just in case.
Viv appears first, her camera slightly angled from above. Her background is lit by Himalayan salt lamps. “Well, I failed the challenge.” The words lag slightly behind the frame as my internet catches up, and the sound is garbled as she flops back on a cushion.
“At least you’re not trying to cover it up. Did you fail or bail?” I nestle further back into my muted blue sofa.
She scoffs. “I attempted a solo date. I really did. Took myself to this chakra alignment thing at a healing café.”
Marin joins with a quiet “Hi,” and Viv gives her a signature smile, all sunshine and perfect teeth, before continuing. “Marin. Date challenge fail at a chakra alignment healing cafe. Now you’re caught up.”
Viv barely stops to suck down a quick sip of air before plowing forward.
“And there was this man with this incredible aura. Looked like Jason Momoa if he worked at a co-op. Long braid. Sandals. We ended up splitting a turmeric latte and doing partner yoga. The universe clearly wanted me to realign in his arms.”
Marin blinks. “You mean your solo date turned into a real date?”
“My chakras insisted.” Viv gives an unapologetic wave of her hand. “I’m respecting the flow of energy.”
“You’re allergic to being alone.” I make the statement with the full authority of someone who’s now watched several trending mental health videos.
“I’m allergic to ignoring divine signs. I’m basically following orders from the universe.”
“Viv.” Marin’s voice is so gentle that it almost doesn’t make it through the speaker. “Do you think maybe it’s less about energy flow and more about not wanting to sit in your own stuff?”
Viv’s smile falters for a second. “I do sit in it. Briefly. Like a cold plunge. In and out. Rejuvenating. Then I move on.”
Marin doesn’t flinch. “And why do you think that is?”
Viv looks off-screen, like she’s debating whether to bolt. “Because if I marinate in it, I might stay stuck. Or worse. What if it’s bottomless? What if I don’t come back up? What if it swallows me?”
I shift in my seat, heart tugging. “Viv…”
She waves a perfectly manicured hand. “Nope. You’re one question away from pulling out a pen and saying, ‘How does that make you feel?’ and I am not about to be the subject of tonight’s emotional excavation.”
“But we care about you,” Marin adds.
Viv sighs, a long, dramatic exhale like she’s deflating. “I know. That’s the most annoying part.”
I smile. “So maybe next time take the plunge. Just for a little longer. Let yourself know it’s okay to be you without him.”
Viv gives us a look, half exasperation, half gratitude, and grabs the fizzy concoction in the glass next to her to take a sip. “Fine. But if I drown in my own emotions, it’s on you two. I expect tasteful memorials.”
I raise my hand as though I’m pledging allegiance. “On my honor.”
There’s a beat, then Marin exhales slowly. “I did mine.”
Viv’s eyebrows lift. “The letter?”
Marin nods, holding up a folded piece of notebook paper. “Actually, I did write it to him.”
Viv’s brows lift, and I straighten in my seat.
“I wasn’t going to,” Marin continues, voice trembling slightly. “But once I started, it all poured out. And it got ugly.”
She glances toward the opposite wall, like she’s ashamed to even look at the letter or us.
When she speaks, her voice is low but steady.
“It wasn’t soft or sad. It was messy. Brutal, even.
I told him I hated that he left me with all of it, telling the kids, sorting through a house filled with things we didn’t even like anymore, rewriting a version of our story I hadn’t agreed to. ”
Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t blink them away.
“I said he died like he lived, ducking out when things got hard. I called him a coward and then circled it and underlined it a hundred times. I wrote that he abandoned me one last time, and somehow, still gets to be remembered as this great man. This devoted husband. This amazing dad.” She lets out a bitter little laugh.
“But no one knew the truth. Not really.”
We’re all quiet, waiting. Marin takes a breath like she’s steadying herself and continues.
“I kept our struggles to myself for years. Because I didn’t want to be the wife who complained.
I didn’t want people looking at me like I’d failed.
So I smiled, and made everyone’s lunches, and went to the accounting office, and crunched the numbers in perfect little boxes, and told myself we needed to push through a rough patch.
Except the patch never ended. It only shifted.
We were barely speaking by the end. We were in the process of separating.
Divorce, even. But we hadn’t told the kids yet. We hadn’t told anyone.”
She finally looks up at us, eyes filled with a quiet kind of grief.
“So when he died, it was like I lost him and didn’t lose him all at once.
I was grieving someone who was already half-gone.
And now I’m expected to mourn like we were still something sacred.
Like I should only feel devastated. But what I feel is so much more complicated than that. ”
Her lip trembles. “I asked him, in the letter, if he was planning to leave me first, if he gave up before I did. And I’ll never know the answer.”
Viv doesn’t say anything at first. And neither do I.
Finally, Viv reaches for her glass and whispers, “Jesus.”
I feel my chest tighten.
Marin lets out a shaky breath. “And then I cried. Because part of me meant it, and part of me didn’t.
But that's all I’ve been holding. Everyone talks to me like I should only be sad, like I lost the love of my life.
But I also lost someone I was furious with.
I’m grieving a thousand things at once, and none of them make sense. ”
There’s a long pause. Then Viv presses a fingertip to her camera screen, as though she’s trying to absorb some of the hurt from across the internet. “Marin, thank you for saying that out loud.”
I nod, unable to speak right away. My throat tightens. “You don’t have to carry that alone. Or tuck it away because it doesn’t look like how grief is supposed to look.” I do air quotes around “supposed to” and think Harper would be proud.
Marin swipes at her eye and manages a shaky smile. “It felt like I let something out that’s been rotting inside me. And now I’m scared everyone will think I’m awful.”
“You’re not awful.” Viv’s voice is firm. “You’re honest. And that letter is the most real thing any of us has said tonight.”
Frank barks once in the background. “See!” Viv points at the camera. “Even Frank agrees.”
We all laugh, the release necessary after everything Marin shared. Viv seizes the moment and clears her throat dramatically. “Okay, that was emotional and beautiful. But can we all agree that my chakras are not the enemy here?”
I grin, grateful for her comic timing. “We agree.”
Marin’s smile is hesitant. “But maybe next time, try eating dinner alone first? It could be therapeutic. That letter was.”
Viv groans, tossing her head back. “You people are relentless. You know I have an adverse reaction to red meat and emotional vulnerability.”
“Both things you insisted were good for us.” I can’t resist pointing out the irony.
“I said I was open to them. There’s a difference.”
There’s a beat of silence, the kind that feels warm instead of heavy. And then Viv tilts her head, a glint returning to her eye. “Speaking of emotional beef, Birdie. How did your flirting dare go? Did you throw yourself at the mailman’s feet?”
“Oh God,” I groan, covering my face with both hands. “It was a disaster.”
Viv perks up immediately, the coral pink streaks in her hair reflecting the warm glow of the Himalayan salt lamp. “Delicious. Do tell.”
I peek through my fingers. “I wore mascara and my good jeans. Frank stared at me like I was a total stranger without my signature t-shirt and bathrobe. So that was a nice confidence boost. I kept peeking out the window like a deranged teenager. And then, when Noah actually showed up, I panicked and asked him about the weather like it was 1952. And then, then, I asked him if he’d ever auditioned for a sexy mailman calendar. ”
Viv makes an audible choking sound. Marin’s eyes widen. “You did not.”