Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
The backyard smells like fresh-cut grass and citrus candles.
Tacky plastic tablecloths—Viv’s idea—flutter over the tables, printed with tiny pina coladas that feel more party store than paradise.
Somewhere behind me, the grill sizzles, filling the air with barbecue smoke.
I couldn’t decide between tropical beach vibes that reminded me of our honeymoon in Hawaii, or the smoky comfort of a Texas steakhouse—like that roadside diner we stumbled into on our road trip, the one with the pulled pork sandwiches we talked about for years.
Two of Owen’s favorite memories. Two of mine.
I hover by the drinks table, trying to remember how to breathe without hiccupping on my own nostalgia.
I raise my glass after most of our guests have poured into our backyard. Harper pauses the music, and I clear my throat loudly a few times, trying to get everyone’s attention. Their murmurs quiet as they turn to face me.
“Thank you all for being here tonight. I know it’s a little unconventional, throwing a party for someone who isn’t here to enjoy it.
” A soft laugh rises from the group, and I press on, voice steady despite the lump in my throat.
“But Owen and I made a promise. Every decade, we’d celebrate big.
We haven’t missed one yet, and I wasn’t about to start now. ”
I pause, swallow, and smile through the tears building behind my eyes.
“Tonight isn’t about loss. It’s about love. It’s about all the joy Owen brought into the world, and the way it still lingers in every ridiculous story, every laugh, every one of you.”
My gaze sweeps the backyard, the twinkle lights, the photo wall, the karaoke machine already humming to life, and I roll my eyes a little at my own overused, cheesy request.
“So please, sing like you mean it. Dance like nobody’s filming. Be a little too loud and a little too sentimental. Because if Owen were here, he’d be the first one on the mic and the last one off the dance floor.”
I lift my glass a little higher.
“Here’s to Owen. And to making the most of the birthdays we get.”
Laughter. Clinks of glass. Someone sniffs a little too loudly.
I smile, but my throat tightens.
Because there’s a hole in this night shaped exactly like the man I loved.
Off-key karaoke drifts in from the backyard, someone absolutely murdering a Bon Jovi song. There’s laughter, clinking glasses, the occasional screech of a chair dragging across the deck. Someone honks into a tissue like a foghorn, then immediately starts laughing again.
The kind of night that smells like summer and spilled beer and cheap citronella candles working overtime.
Near the firepit, someone’s trying to balance a flaming marshmallow on a plastic spoon while the crowd chants “CHUG IT.” The tables are a mix of dollar-store luau kits and leftover Fourth of July decor—tiny American flags shoved into pineapple centerpieces.
Viv brought matching koozies that say Resting Birthday Face.
Harper made jello shots shaped like tiny beach balls.
The whole thing is charmingly chaotic, just shy of a health code violation.
I duck into the kitchen for a breather, fanning myself with a paper plate that says “Over the Hill and Hot as Ever” in glittery script. But before I can make it to the fridge for a cold drink, the photo wall catches my eye.
It’s a tradition, one Owen and I started years ago, where we have a wall of Polaroids and snapshots that guests can add to, along with a stack of neon sticky notes and glitter pens for jotting down memories.
This year, Harper outdid herself, framing it all in mismatched wood like a scrapbook exploded on the wall.
There’s one of Owen covered in silly string from his 30th, and another of us in our twenties, wearing matching party hats and tipsy grins. Someone’s written:
“Owen once dared me to sing ‘SexyBack’ at karaoke and ended up joining me with a tambourine.”
Another says:
“He showed up to my birthday party in a banana costume. No one had invited him. It was perfect.”
I laugh, touching the corner of the whipped-cream-smeared photo from his 34th, right after I smashed the birthday pie in his face.
Of course it wasn’t an official party. He hadn’t let me do anything big that year.
He said all he wanted was for me to bring him a birthday pie in my birthday suit.
I remember how he looked at me, like I was the whole party.
The ache comes quick and sharp, but not enough to knock the smile off my face.
Because this? This is how Owen would’ve wanted us to celebrate.
Loud. Ridiculous. With a little chaos and a lot of cake.
After all these years, I finally threw the party that he would’ve loved— imperfect, unpolished, not color coordinated.
And he’s not here to enjoy it.
And just as I turn to head back out—
“Birdie!”
I look up at the sound of the familiar husky voice.
And there he is.
Noah.
Looking like he walked straight out of one of the Polaroids.
He’s standing at the door to the back patio, framed in gold light and shadow, holding a bottle of wine and wearing the expression of a man who feels he walked into a moment he shouldn’t have.
He’s a little late. And for a moment, I remember that this must be hard for him too.
He steps in and sets the bottle on the table next to me. “You look… beautiful.”
I swallow. “It’s Owen’s favorite dress.”
He nods. Doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t push. Just stands beside me for a long moment, watching the way the breeze catches the edge of the photo wall.
“I still expect him to walk in and take over the grill.” He nods toward where Jalen and Matt have taken up Owen’s post.
I close my eyes. “Me too.”
It’s quiet.
And then slowly, quietly, his fingers brush mine. I don’t stop them.
Not yet.
“Want to go check out the rest of the party?”
He nods.
I lead the way out into the backyard. It’s strung with twinkle lights, the good wine is flowing, and Harper is blasting the playlist that she spent hours putting together last night.
It reminds me way too much of my college frat party days.
Neighbors, friends, and family are laughing.
Dancing. Singing. Marin’s actually smiling at her phone and keeps glancing at the door.
The dentist should be here any minute now.
Viv is two margaritas deep and flirting with someone’s cousin who owns a paddleboard business while also sending the occasional smirk in Jalen’s direction. I think she likes to see him squirm.
It’s perfect. But it isn’t.
The soft yellow halter-back sundress is pressing in a little too close. And I’m trying not to overthink the fact that Noah is holding my hand.
Like it’s no big deal.
Like this is normal.
Like I’m not two inches from a panic spiral.
Like it’s okay that I’m celebrating a 50th birthday party for my dead husband while standing much too close to his best friend.
Like I’m not the scum of the earth.
Okay, deep breath. The guilt is apparently stronger than usual tonight.
He leans in close to murmur something, and his breath tickles my ear, and I laugh, because it’s easier than saying, this is the first time I’ve ever gone with someone to a party since Owen asked me out freshman year.
But it’s not only someone.
It’s him.
Noah.
And then it happens.
Someone taps my shoulder.
“Oh, Birdie, I was just saying how much you and Owen used to light up every party you went to together. You always danced to that song. Wasn’t this it?
I swear some of the neighborhood party planners would put it on there to help the rest of us cynics see that there was still love left in this world. ”
I freeze.
Because yes. Yes, it’s playing right now.
Owen and my song.
The only slow song that played at our first college party on our first date.
It’s floaty and sweet and God, the kind of thing that doesn’t feel like just a song when your dead husband used to hum it while doing the dishes or holding our crying baby boy.
Noah follows my gaze, and his face shifts, like he understands something has changed in me.
“Birdie?” His voice is low. “You okay?”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
But it’s not.
Because now every laugh feels like betrayal. Every inch of skin we’re touching feels like a lie. Every happy flutter in my stomach feels like I’m dancing on Owen’s grave in wedge sandals. Honoring his memory? Ha. I’m rubbing it in his face that I lived and he didn’t.
I pull my hand away.
“Noah, I need a minute.”
He watches me, uncertain. “What’s going on?”
The words fall from my lips before I can stop them. “My heart is exploding,” I whisper.
I walk toward a quiet corner of the backyard, out of the merry glow cast by the twinkling fairy lights, needing air, space, time—something to unstick this grief from my lungs. I hear Noah behind me, his voice gentle.
“B. Wait.”
I spin around, eyes burning. “This was a mistake.”
The words fall out too fast.
“What was a mistake?”
“This party. You. The other night.” I inhale sharply. “I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t feel like cheating.”
He flinches. Not dramatically. But enough.
And I hate myself for it.
He nods once, stiff. “I see.”
I reach for him, already wishing I could pull back the hurt my words have placed on his features. “Noah—”
“It’s okay.” He bobs his head a few times. “You’re not ready. I get it.”
“I want to be.”
“But you’re not.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be. We get one great love in our lifetime, right? It would be cruel and selfish to think I deserve two. I lost mine. And that’s it.”
“Birdie…” His voice is calm, gentle. “What’s going on?”
“This feels wrong,” I whisper. “All of it. Laughing. Touching. You.”
He steps back like I slapped him.
And I hate it.
He swallows hard, blinking at the ground, and lets out a slow, careful breath. “Well. Shit.” He gives a sad laugh, not unkind.
The silence stretches as we both stare, shoulder brushing shoulders, into the darkness.
“Owen used to love dares too, you know. Could never resist a challenge.”
The statement comes out of nowhere, but it still makes me smile, my heart aching a little more. Yes. We always were daring each other to do some outrageous thing. It’s how I ended up in the Puget Sound in December pretending to be an orca.
“It’s all because of a stupid dare.”
I pause. “What?”
“That you ended up with him and not with…” I turn to look into his deep blue eyes, already seeing the answer swirling there in the way he looks at me.
He rubs the back of his neck, eyes not meeting mine. “That night you met. I dared Owen to ask for your number before you left. Thinking you’d turn him down and we would date, and I could avoid an awkward love triangle with my new roommate.”
I stare at him, heart thudding.
“Owen told me to dare him to do it, and that’s when I knew he had already fallen for the same girl I’d fallen for weeks ago.
I thought there was no harm in it. Figured he’d chicken out or bomb or something and then there would be no hard feelings when I asked you out.
” He exhales, a wistful kind of smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “But he didn’t.”
I feel the air go out of my lungs.
“He got you talking about art, made some cheesy joke. And you laughed, and then that was it. It was pure chemistry.” Noah finally meets my eyes. “You two were perfect together. And I never blamed him for that.”
I don’t know what to say.
“Noah…”
“I watched him fall in love with you. And I tried to fall out of love with you while he fell harder.”
The words split something in my chest.
“I never told him. But he figured it out. He could see it every time I looked at you. I never told you. Because he was my best friend and you were his, and I would’ve rather cut off my own hand than hurt either of you.”
Silence swells between us, aching and terrible.
“I thought maybe, after all these years… maybe this was something. But now it’s your song playing, one that’s seared into my brain too, and you’re looking at me like I’m a mistake.
And I feel like a mistake. Like all these years of wanting you were wrong, and maybe some part of me wondered what it would be like if Owen was out of the picture, and now he is and I hate myself all over again for it. ”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” He smiles, soft and devastating. “You’re grieving. And I’m not trying to take his place. I couldn’t. But I can’t pretend I don’t feel what I feel.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, holding back a sob.
He shakes his head gently. “I never fully got over you, B. Not even when I tried to.”
And then, just like that, he turns and walks back toward the house.
I stand there shaking, still clutching a plastic cup of chardonnay, the sound of Owen and my song dissolving into the night.
The thoughts swirl in my head, making my stomach clench. Was I really that blind all these years? How could I not have seen this?
This isn’t only grief.
This is love, too.
And I have no idea what to do with both.