37. THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-SEVEN
Wednesday morning arrived with the kind of coastal fog that made everything muted and close.
Kieran sat at his kitchen table with his laptop open, coffee cooling beside him.
On the screen, Jim leaned back in his home office chair, hair pulled into a loose bun, a faded tie-dye shirt that looked like it had survived Woodstock and three garage sales.
The familiar wall of books behind him. Waiting in that particular way therapists wait—patient, as if silence were just another tool.
They’d already covered the basics. Rory. The boyfriend thing. Their negative test results. How it felt. Jim had smiled at the right moments and asked the right questions and Kieran had given the answers he’d been rehearsing in his head since the session started.
But there was something else. Jim could tell.
“What aren’t you saying?” Jim asked.
Kieran looked at his coffee. Picked it up. Set it down without drinking.
“I’ve been thinking about my mom’s ashes.”
Jim’s posture shifted, still warm, but more focused. “What about them?”
“She wanted the East Coast. The Jersey Shore. That’s where she grew up.” Kieran turned his coffee mug in his hands. “I never did it. I’ve had her in a box by the fireplace for two years because I couldn’t…going back there was too far. Too hard. Too final.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m thinking maybe I don’t need to go back there. Maybe I could do it here.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The oceans are all connected, right? It’s the same water. She’d still get there eventually.”
“How does that feel? The idea of scattering them?”
“Scary.” Kieran swallowed. “Like if I do it, she’s officially gone. Like I’m choosing to move forward without her.”
“Is that what it means to you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it means I’m finally giving her the goodbye she deserved instead of keeping her in a box because I’m too scared to deal with my grief.”
Jim nodded. “You kept those ashes for two years. That’s not nothing. What changed?”
Kieran thought about his mom. Her sharp humor. Her impatience with his overthinking. The way she never let him wallow.
“Honestly, she’d probably tell me to stop being so dramatic and just throw her in the ocean already.”
Jim smiled. “That sounds like her.”
“She hated when I made things harder than they needed to be.”
“What do you think she’d say about Rory?”
Kieran’s throat tightened. “I think she’d like him. He’s direct. No bullshit. She respected that.”
“Sounds like my husband,” Jim said. “Took me three years to realize that directness was his version of tenderness.” He paused. “Do you think she’d want you to be happy?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Then maybe scattering her ashes isn’t about letting her go. Maybe it’s about making space for the life you’re building. The one she’d want you to have.”
Kieran’s eyes burned. “I want to do it soon,” he said. “Before I talk myself out of it.”
“Are you going to do it alone?”
“No.” He said it faster than he expected. “I’m going to ask Rory.”
“That’s a big step. Letting him be part of something that personal.”
“I know.”
“What if he sees all of you, the grief, the mess, all of it, and he still chooses to stay?”
Kieran blinked. “I think that’s what I’m counting on.”
Jim nodded. “Same time next week?”
“Yeah.”
The screen went black.
Kieran stared at his reflection in the dark monitor. Then he picked up his phone.
KIERAN: Hey. Have an idea.
Almost immediately.
RORY BOYFRIEND: What’s up?
KIERAN: I want to scatter my mom’s ashes at the beach. Maybe this weekend. Would you come with me?
The dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
RORY BOYFRIEND: Of course. Whatever you need. I’m there for you.
KIERAN: Thanks.
RORY BOYFRIEND: Always thanking me. You don’t have to.
KIERAN: I know. I know.
RORY BOYFRIEND: Okay. You’re welcome.
KIERAN: Sunday evening? Sunset, hopefully a smaller crowd?
RORY BOYFRIEND: Perfect. I’ll bring the blankets.
KIERAN: You’re the best.
RORY BOYFRIEND: I am ;)
Kieran smiled. Let himself feel it.
He set his phone down and looked at the box sitting on the hearth across the room. The painted sunset on the lid.
He walked over to it. Ran his fingers along the edge.
“Okay, Mom,” he said quietly. “I think you’ll like where we’re going.”
The box didn’t answer, of course. But the fog outside was starting to lift.