“So, wait … that means…” I lowered the fork back to the bowl as one small, incredible fact sank in.“I’m …”
“Someone special,yeah.” I met his eyes and the blush deepened with his smile. “You are.”
***
“Okay,” he said, pulling back the covers,“get in.”
“Seriously, I can sleepon the couch.”
“Tess, you’re notsleeping on the couch. That thing is barely meant for sitting let alonesleeping.” He gestured impatientlytoward the bed. “Get in.”
I groaned begrudgingly.“Fine. But don’t blame me when your children question why I’m sleeping in yourbed.” And I climbed in, sliding my feet under the blanket and laying my head onthe pillow.
“Is that what you’reworried about?” he asked, tucking me in with care and purpose. Very much theway he tucked in his kids. “You don’t want them wondering?”
“I just don’t want toput you in a position to explain something you might not want to explain,” Iadmitted. Despite my earlier qualms, the bed felt good beneath me. Unlike therest of the furniture in the apartment, it felt comfortable and maybe even new.I wondered if he’d gotten another mattress after his wife had passed, but Ididn’t feel it was my place to ask.
Jon shrugged, eyeslingering for a moment on my face. “I’m not worried about it.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.” He rounded thebed and pulled off his shirt before climbing in, wearing plaid pajama pants.God, this felt so normal, so domestic and right. I found myself wishing to haveit every night, if I could. “Kids have a way of accepting things for what theyare, Tess. They might ask questions at first, but they don’t dig deep the wayadults do. They don’t overanalyze unnecessarily.”
I nodded and rolled tomy side, tucking my hands underneath my cheek and facing him. “Well, if you’renot worried, then I won’t worry either.”
“I’m not worried,” heconfirmed with a smile.
Jon fell asleep quickly,and I wished for the veil of slumber to drop and lull me into a place oftemporary forgetfulness. Because while I had laughed and enjoyed myself withJon, the sorrow lingered, poking its ugly head into the moments that wereotherwise happy. I hated it. The pain. The guilt. The truth. I just wanted toforget for a little while. But instead, I tossed and turned in the darkness,unable to settle and succumb to the sleep I desperately needed.
And I broke.
The tears slid from myeyes and onto the pillow beneath my head. I stared at the ceiling, imagining Icould see whatever far-away land my grandmother was taken to. I imagined herwhole again, able to write and read. I imagined her reunited with mygrandfather and meeting Richard Dawson and Elvis. I imagined her happy andrejoicing in being herself, and I realized then that the hardest part of livingwasn’t dying but being left behind. The wondering. All the questions aboutwhere they go, wherewe’regoing, andwhat to do while we wait.
Whatthe hell do I do now?
This wasn’t part of theplan. She wasn’t supposed to die. Of course, we all do, but it wasn’t supposedto happen now. She was always supposed to guide me through the world ofpublishing, and we were supposed to travel and see my first signing together.But now she wasgoneand I hadn’t even finished thedamn book yet. Maybe it was premature to start panicking, but where would I gofrom here? Back to my parents’ place? Was there any other option?
I’d have to leave Jonand the girls.
A splintering achestabbed at my heart and I clapped my hands over my eyes, shielding my visionfrom the nothingness above me. “God,” I groaned under my breath. “I hate this.”
A moment later, Jonrolled over and outstretched an arm, wrapping it around my waist, and tugged metoward him. “Come here,” he muttered groggily.
I sighed, out of bothanger and gratitude, and settled my back to his chest. “I’m sorry for wakingyou up,” I whispered through my unrelenting tears.
“Don’t apologize,” hereplied, his voice touched with a little more clarity. “I’m a light sleeper.”
Ofcoursehe would be. He had his daughters to listen for all thetime. I was a light sleeper, too, after being with Grandma for so many months.The never-endingFamily Feudmarathons didn’t help, and at the thought, my eyes welled up with fresh tears.
“It’s so weird,” Iwhispered.
“What is?” he asked,propping his chin into the crook of my neck.
“Not hearing Richard’svoice right now.” My voice broke and I cleared my throat. “I guess I’ll neverhear him again.”
“Hey, if you want, wecan go watch someFamily Feudrightnow,” Jon replied, tightening his arm around my waist.
I laughed through thetears and shook my head. “No, it’s okay. It’s just so bizarre. Just a day ago,I had no idea this is what I’d be doing right now. I know you know what that’slike …” I reconsidered what I was saying, biting my lip and giving my headanother shake. “No, I shouldn’t compare. It’s not the same. It’s just—”
