Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
“You finally tackled those weeds in the butterfly garden!” Harper bursts through the door and grabs me in a back-realigning hug.
“I’m so proud of you! I was getting ready to call one of those landscapers who keep leaving their obvious flyers on the doorstep myself.
It was really getting out of control, you know. ”
I open my mouth to let her know who took care of that task, but before I can say anything, she’s already releasing me to race back to the front door where she’s deposited a grocery bag.
Frank is barking and attempting to prance around her feet, begging for attention.
“Thank goodness I brought drinks to celebrate!” Harper pulls two probiotic sodas out of the bag.
“Two grams of sugar per can and enough fiber to keep you regular all week. It’s a celebration for both ends! ”
I again try to interject that there is no reason to celebrate, and I’m a weak woman who can’t bear to cut the plants that most remind her of her dead husband.
Worse than weak, I’m a woman who had another man come cut said bushes and then invited him for dinner, where he sat in the same spot as her dead husband.
“I drank one of these on the way over here, and I really need to pee!” Harper is already halfway down the hall, waving a half-empty lemon soda can in the air.
I haven’t said a single word yet. I’ll tell her later, I decide. No sense ambushing the girl mid-bathroom emergency.
I grab the bowl of popcorn and call out, “Harper! Honey, it’s starting!” I manage the bowl, her weird fizzy drink, and her favorite white cheddar seasoning with the balance of a seasoned circus act as I shuffle toward the living room.
Harper flops onto the couch beside me just as the camera pans to Matt on the bench, bouncing his knee. “Do you think he eats protein bars during the game too, or just before?”
I smirk. “I guarantee he’s had four already. So, discussing his snack preferences while watching him on TV—that’s what we call family dinner now?”
“If it includes popcorn, then yes.” She grabs a handful, then her voice shifts slightly. “It’s kinda weird, though. Watching him play without him texting us afterward.”
I nod. “He’s busy. Growing up.”
“Do you miss him?”
There’s no point sugarcoating it. “Everyday. But you know how it is. You’re both growing up, becoming your own person. It means I’ve done my job right.” I shift, trying to sound casual. “You guys are always going to be the biggest priority in my book, though.”
We fall into a comfortable rhythm, cheering at good plays, criticizing the refs. But it doesn’t last long.
“So…” Harper starts, without looking at me. “How’s The Dead Husband Society going?”
“We talk every day.” I keep my eyes fixed to the screen as Matt makes an impressive pass up the court. “It’s been nice. Unexpectedly nice.”
She nods slowly. “I think it’s good you have that. Even though I never would want you to have that. But now that everything’s happened, it’s good that you do. Sometimes, it feels like life’s changing so fast, you know?”
I glance at her, trying to read her tone, but she’s staring at the screen again. So I reach my hand across, placing it on hers. “I know.” Sometimes that’s all there is to say.
“Like you joining the internet world and then courageously facing Dad’s garden. I haven’t even stepped foot in here yet.”
It’s now or never. I feel every muscle in my body tighten, bracing myself. “I didn’t take care of the flower beds this week.”
Harper snorts. “Well, ignore my previous comment. What company did you hire?”
“Noah did.”
Her head snaps toward me. “Wait—Dad’s friend Noah?”
I nod. “He offered. I didn’t ask him to, but I said yes.”
Harper’s expression shifts—eyebrows pinched, lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s… a little weird, Mom.”
I swallow. “It wasn’t like that. He just helped out.”
She doesn’t respond right away, and my pulse starts to flutter in the silence that’s stretching much too long. Harper’s eyes don’t leave the screen, even though it’s halftime and we’re currently watching some horrible commercial for soap.
“Are you… seeing him?”
“No.” The word comes out too quickly. “No. I’m not seeing anyone.
But I guess I’ve started wondering what that would even look like.
If it would ever feel okay. Maybe I don’t want to be alone forever, because he’s not coming back.
” My voice sounds strained, despite my efforts to keep it calm, sure, in parent mode.
Harper pulls her knees up to her chest, hugging them. “It just feels fast. Or maybe not fast. I don’t know. I thought I was okay with everything, but then I imagine someone else in Dad’s garden, and it makes my skin crawl a little.”
Guilt floods me, washing over me in waves that make my chest ache and my heart pound. “Harper, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Of course you’d feel something about it. I do too.”
She shakes her head, eyes shiny now. “No, I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just… I haven’t figured out how to let go of him yet. And every time something changes, it feels like I’m supposed to be ready for it. But I’m not. Not all the way.”
I nod, throat tight. “I get it. I really do. You don’t have to let go of him, honey. He’ll always be some of the best parts of you.”
She leans her head back against the couch cushion. “You deserve to have a life. I know that. I want that for you. I’m just not totally there yet. I might need a little more time.”
I might need a little more time too.
“Take all the time you need, sweetheart.”
Harper wipes at her cheek, then reaches for another handful of popcorn. “Okay. New topic. Root beer or ginger ale? You’re allowed one probiotic soda and one emotional landmine per night.”
I laugh, relief and love bubbling up all at once. “Root beer.”
She holds up the can solemnly. “To the root of our problems.”
I clink it with mine. “And to not making any gardening metaphors for the rest of the night.”
“Thank God.” She pops the tab and settles back in. “Now, what are the odds Matt does his hair flip after his next free throw?”
“Well, he’s a show-off, so… That goes without saying.”
______________
Viv appears on-screen first, her face covered in a green and goopy substance, and there’s something that looks like smoke drifting in the background. “Okay, don’t freak out, but I’m detoxing my aura.”
I squint at my screen. “Is that sage? Or is your kitchen actually on fire?” I’m not even going to ask what Frank licking his paw has to do with Viv’s aura.
“Nope, just sage. And a little eucalyptus. And maybe an essential oil I bought from a woman named Moonlight at the farmer’s market.
” Viv’s face vanishes briefly as she waves smoke toward the camera with a giant feather.
Then she’s back and picking up what appears to be a chunk of rose quartz, swinging over her heart like it’s a defibrillator for her soul.
“I’m aligning my heart chakra,” she announces dramatically, “because apparently, some people think I’m emotionally constipated. ”
Definitely skipping pleasantries.
“That wasn’t this week’s dare,” Marin deadpans as she logs on, looking like she’s doing nothing but sipping tea for our virtual, weekly girls' pampering evening. “For the record, I’m also pampering myself.” She holds up a spoon.
“Chocolate mousse. Straight from the fridge. No regrets. I’m also preparing to put on my red light mask. ”
I lift a foot and carefully swipe a brush of coral polish across my left toes before realizing I really need my reading glasses to get any kind of clue if I’m actually hitting the nail or not. “You two do not know how to do a girl’s night.”
Viv snorts. “You’re painting your toes with a glass of wine in a sippy cup next to you. Don’t throw stones, Birdie.”
“It has a lid.” I hold up the spill-proof wine cup as if it were evidence in court before slipping on my glasses and returning my attention to my toes. “I’m being practical.”
They all laugh, and for a moment, the screen feels like a real living room. Not three women in different zip codes doing their own unique versions of pampering.
Viv spins her feather like a baton. “Marin, you first. How’s the letter writing going?”
Marin sighs and pushes her spoon around the mousse cup. “Surprisingly hard. I started writing what I was mad at Theo for, and I ended up filling four pages. Then I felt guilty and made his favorite meal. I think I’m a little emotionally unhinged.”
Viv shrugs. “That means you’re doing it right.”
I look up from the smudge of coral I’m trying to remove from the side of my foot. “It’s real, though. You’re allowed to be angry at someone who hurt you, even if they’re not here anymore to deal with it.”
Marin offers a small, grateful smile. “Thanks. I think I needed to hear that.”
“I did it.” Viv swings her hand over her forehead like she’s preparing to faint at the memory alone. “I took myself out to dinner. Sat alone at a tiny table for one. Ordered wine. Made eye contact with no one. And felt very pathetic.”
Marin snorts, almost spitting out the huge bite of chocolate mousse she just took a bite of. “You were supposed to sit with your grief. Not throw it a pity party at Olive Garden.”
“It was a very chic little bistro, thank you.” Viv points her nose in the air. “But fine, yes. I was deeply uncomfortable the entire time. The server asked if I was waiting for someone, and I nearly said, ‘Just my dead husband,’ to make it awkward for both of us. No reason for me to suffer alone.”
I glance up from the clear polish I’m applying to my toes. “Honestly, you’d be giving that poor server a go-to icebreaker for every awkward first date when he’s looking for an interesting conversation topic. In a roundabout way, a part of you would be going on dozens of first dates vicariously.”