“But it’s not.” He wascautious in the way he said it, dipping his head and narrowing his eyes withworry.
I clenched theforgotten napkin in my fist and shook my head, diverting my gaze from his.“Yes. Yes, it—”
“I used to feel thatway about this apartment.” He dropped his hand, folding his arms to lean intothe table. “I used to be convinced that this apartment held too much of my lifewith Beth for me to ever want to get rid of it, even if it was getting way toosmall for us.” I slowly raised my eyes as he chuckled sardonically and shookhis head. “Who am I kidding? It’s been too small for us foryears. But, even thethoughtof wanting to leave, felt thesame as saying I wanted to just throw awayeverythingI had with her.”
There was a specialkind of ache that struck my heart any time he spoke of Beth. It wasn’tjealousy, and it wasn’t agonistic. It was simply the knowledge that he wouldalways miss her, always love her and alwayshurt.And there was nothing in the world I could do to make it better. It was theache of knowing how inadequate I am, how powerless, and that, I liked to think,hurt nearly as much as his pain.
“But someone recentlytold me that moving on isn’t the same as letting go, and I’ve found a lot ofsolace in that. The second I can, I’m getting out of here. I owe it to my kids,and to Beth, to do better than this dump.”
He reached across thetable and slipped my hand into his. The soft pad of his thumb stroked over myknuckles. “So, if you really, really want that house, you should talk to yourparents. Maybe work something out with them, if you can. But if what you’reafraid of is instantaneously forgetting your grandmother once the place issold, I promise you, you won’t. It’s moving on, Tess; it’s not letting go.”
I curled my fingersaround his and held on tight. “I don’t know what I want. I just wish I didn’thave to think about this right now. She was justburied, for crying out loud.” My voice cracked and I wiped a handagainst a rogue tear as it trickled along the outside of my nose. I lifted mymug and took a sip, with the hope that the tea would bring some semblance ofwarmth and comfort.
“I know,” Jon replied.“But hey, if it makes things easier for you, you can stay here as long as youneed to, while you sort stuff out.”
The smile began at thecorners of my eyes and worked its way down through my cheeks and to my lips.They twitched and curled, ignoring the tears still brimming and threatening tospill over. I reminded myself that he wasn’t asking me to move in, that it wasjust a favor, but it felt like a commitment. Something bigger thanI love you.
“Thank you,” I replied,whispering and struggling to keep myself from crying. Again.
“Of course.” Stillholding my hand, he lifted his mug and drank. Then, with an air of nonchalance,he mentioned, “So, um, I haven’t had the chance to mention it, with everythinggoing on, but next weekend, I have to head back to Connecticut.”
“Do you need me towatch the girls?”
“Well, actually,” heplaced the mug down on the table, “I was thinking, if you wanted to get awayfor a couple of days and clear your head, you could come with me. I’ll leavethe girls with my parents, and—”
“Yes,” I blurted out,just as a wave of gratitude and excitement barreled over me. “I’d love to go.”
He stroked my knuckles,back and forth, and his lips curled into relieved, happy smile. “I was hopingyou’d say that.”
***
I pushed myself to fall back into a normalroutine, but with Grandma gone, what was once normal wasn’t anymore. When Iwould’ve spent my time with her, I was now with Jon and Annabel while Shellyand Lilly were in school. My parents were spending the week at Grandma’s, goingthrough her things and taking care of Harriett, so I wasn’t needed there. Andwhile it was lovely to do nothing but have tea parties and watch Disney movies,it felt more like a vacation and less like my life.
Friday night, after Jongot home from work, I decided to bust out my laptop and begin to write. It’dbeen over a week since Grandma’s funeral, and even though that didn’t seem likea long time in terms of the calendar, it’d felt like a small eternity. I neededto drift into the place only my words could take me, and more importantly, Iknew that’s what Grandma would’ve wanted for me, too.
“Don’t stay up toolate,” Jon said, squeezing my shoulders and bending to kiss my cheek. “We’releaving early tomorrow morning.”
With him standing overmy shoulder, I hesitated to open my word processor. I told myself it wasstrictly because I hated the thought of someone else reading my words, raw andunedited, and before they were ready, but I knew that was a lie. I was afraid.Scared of what he’d think if he saw exactlywhatI was writing.
“Okay.” I nodded andturned to face him.
“I’m glad you’rewriting, though,” he added, hushed and sweet. “It’s cathartic.”
“I hope so.”
Against my lips, hekissed me. “Wake me up when you come to bed.”
“Why would I do that?”I laughed lightly.
His eyes bouncedbetween mine, smiling as though I was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. As thoughthe question was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Soyou can tell me you love me and tell me goodnight.”
And then, I had to ask:“Why do you do that?”
His smiled broadened.“Why do I do what?”
“’Tell me you love meand tell me goodnight,’” I quoted, shrugging beneath his hands. “Where did itcome from?”
Jon’s head tipped back,his eyes hooded, and he watched me for a moment. Staring at me studiously,considerably, and I wondered if it was the wrong thing to ask. He didn’t frown,but maybe it was a touchy subject. Maybe it was Beth. Maybe it was somethinghe’d unwittingly carried over from his life with her, and maybe I wasn’t meantto be a part of that at all.
