Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I inhale deeply as the wind rolls up Queen Anne Hill, sharp with salt from the Sound.
The bench is warm beneath me, the fading afternoon sun sinking into the warped wood.
This is the view—the one you see on postcards and social media and the back of ferry brochures.
But none of them ever quite get it right. Not like this.
The Space Needle stands like a toy in the distance, proud and strange, perfectly framed by the glass-and-steel thicket of downtown.
Below, the bay shimmers, dotted with ferries carving slow, patient paths across the water.
Mount Rainier stands guard over it all, soft and surreal, like someone painted it with a brush made of clouds.
Tourists murmur and shuffle around me, angling for the perfect photo, but I don’t hear them. Not really. I sit. Let it all soak into me. The city, the salt, the memory of Owen’s hand brushing mine in moments just like this.
We used to come here when life was too loud.
When a decision needed clarity or the day had simply swallowed us whole.
We’d sit side by side, saying nothing, waiting for the twilight to hush everything into stillness.
In those quiet pauses, it felt as though time was folding in on itself. Like we were infinite.
“I should probably come to your grave for this,” I whisper.
The breeze tugs at the ends of my braids.
If I close my eyes, I can almost believe it’s Owen, tugging like he used to, teasing, gentle, so alive.
“But it never feels like you’re there. You’re here.
In the wind and the skyline and that mountain.
The ground doesn’t suit you. Not even in death. ”
I glance at the thermos beside mine. His thermos. Still dented from that camping trip where he tried to fight off a raccoon with it.
“I brought you coffee. I know, I know, you’d prefer something stronger, but I still can’t drink whiskey without crying, so this’ll have to do.”
I take a shaky breath.
“Noah and I kissed.” The words fall out, fragile and loud in the space between me and the mountain.
“Well… more than kissed. And I’m not going to give you details, because if you were here, you’d tease me until I turned redder than this stupid thermos about the fact that I still don’t like to say the word sex.
But it happened. And it felt confusing. Right and wrong and real all at once. ”
My throat tightens. “And I don’t know who I’m more afraid of hurting, you, or him, or me.”
I stare out across the Sound, waiting for a sign that won’t come.
“After you died, I came here every night,” I whisper. “Sat on this bench, playing that last voicemail. Over and over. Every breath, every pause etched into my chest. Like if I listened enough times, I could hold onto the way it felt to be loved by you.”
The sound of a family packing up their picnic fills our silence, and I inhale deeply.
“Is it okay that I kissed him? That I felt something? I’m not really moving on. I don’t think I ever could. But is it possible to reach for something new without letting go of you?”
A throat clears behind me.
I don’t jump. I know who it is before I turn around.
Viv and Marin are standing behind me, arms crossed against the wind. Viv’s in a leopard print shirt that clashes with everything around us, and Marin’s hair is in a ponytail that’s already giving up against the breeze.
“We figured we’d find you here.” Viv settles beside me like she owns the bench.
“Or the overlook,” Marin adds. “Harper and Matt gave us a list.”
I smile faintly. “You guys really didn’t have to—”
“We wanted to,” Marin interrupts. “Besides, Viv made me promise we wouldn’t leave without finishing all our grief dares.” She pulls out the three pink, glittered notebooks.
“Which you haven’t.” Viv raises an eyebrow at me.
I groan. “It was a stupid idea. I don't know what I was thinking.”
“I'll tell you what you were thinking. You were struck by brilliance!” Viv jabs a thumb toward herself. “I mean, come on. A grief dare book? Who else could’ve made mourning feel like a chaotic scavenger hunt through emotional trauma and karaoke bars?”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling now. “You two really did it, didn’t you? You actually finished yours.”
Marin nods. “Every last dare.” She tilts her head, eyes thoughtful. “I thought I’d be relieved when I checked the final box the other night. But really, it cracked something open.”
“Same.” Viv’s voice drops low, uncharacteristically serious. “Like I’d been holding my breath for years. And somewhere between leading a conga line in a wine bar full of strangers and telling Harper I don’t think I can do this life without him, I realized I was finally exhaling.”
Marin folds her hands in her lap. “It didn’t make the grief disappear. It just stopped being the only thing I carried.”
Viv nods. “Yeah. I think I used to think moving forward meant leaving our husbands behind. But now it feels like we’ve brought them with us. Just in a different way.”
I feel that in my bones.
Viv shifts on the bench to face me more directly. “Which brings us back to you.”
I groan again, dramatic this time. “You guys are relentless.”
“You’re welcome,” Viv says cheerfully. “Now finish your last dare.”
Marin raises her eyebrows in gentle encouragement, opening the book to the big circle around the final item on my list.
“Tell the truth about what you’re afraid of,” Viv says simply.
I look down at my hands. “I’m not afraid of replacing Owen. I know no one could. I’m afraid, if I let myself move forward, really move forward, I’ll lose him again. That letting someone else in means erasing him.”
There’s a long pause. The wind tugs at the edges of the moment.
“You’re not erasing him.” Marin rests her hand on my shoulder. “You’re carrying him forward. But if all you carry is grief, you’re not really carrying him—you’re carrying the weight of losing him.”
Viv nods. “Owen wouldn’t want you stuck in a loop. He’d want you to be happy. You know that, right?”
I wipe at my eyes. “We never talked about moving on or not moving on if one of us died. And he died so suddenly there was no time to process.”
Marin nods. “But knowing Owen, knowing how much he loved you, would he want you to be alone the rest of your life?”
My voice is small. “No.”
Viv leans forward. “Do you love this guy?”
I open my mouth, fumbling for the kind of answer that sounds balanced and responsible—grief-approved, widow-appropriate, emotionally nuanced.
But before I can get a single word out, Viv holds up a hand, and Marin taps the page of my grief dare book.
“TRUTH,” she reminds me gently.
I exhale, my chest tight. “Yeah. I do.”
Marin draws a soft half-checkmark. “And how does that make you feel?”
“Terrified. Excited. Guilty. Overwhelmed.”
“Yep. She’s in love.” Viv gives a satisfied nod as Marin completes the checkmark with a flourish.
“We could sit here and tell you a thousand times that you deserve love and happiness, and that Owen would want you to find joy again.” Marin’s voice is quiet but sure. “But none of it matters if you don’t believe it too.”
“I…” My voice wavers. “I wish there was a sign.”
Viv shrugs. “This isn’t the movies. Sometimes there’s no perfect sign. No lightning bolt. No rainbow or raven. Sometimes it’s just this. Your favorite bench, a sunset, and the quiet reminder that life keeps going. That we carry them with us, not behind us.”
There’s a beat, then Marin gives a little sigh. “I might be moving here.”
“What?” I blink.
“Let’s be honest. I’m not exactly in my thirties anymore.
I know what I want and what I don’t want and what I need and don’t need in a man.
After my last failed marriage, I swore I’d never fall in love again.
But things are going really well, really fast with Dr. Dentist. If they keep going the way they are.
” She pauses, blushing. “And if I can find a rental that doesn’t smell like wet carpet, I might move here.
The great benefit of working remote. The change would be that hard. ”
Viv claps her hands. “See? Everyone’s out here making big moves! And we’ve got two days left before our flights, which means you’ve got about 48 hours to either make up your mind about Noah, or make out with him again.”
I laugh through my tears. “That’s your advice?”
“It’s what Owen would’ve wanted,” Viv deadpans.
I look out at the sky, begging the universe for some kind of sign that this is true. Sighing, I start to rise. This is life and there are no signs to make moving forward easier. At that moment, a splat of white, grey seagull poops and lands squarely on top of Viv’s head.
Owen would’ve loved that.