He paused at the floral section. Lauren had always bought fresh flowers when they had people over. No. This was not a celebration or a party. This was seeing his wife’s sister, brother-in-law and best friend. It was part of mourning. They were all trying to deal with grief, to move on.
Except he didn’t want to move on.
That black tarry pull began at his feet, and Josh turned up the volume on his podcast and forced himself to the self-checkout, so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. But once he got home, Creepy Charlotte pounced the second he walked into the lobby.
“Oh! Groceries! You cooking tonight? Want company?” she said. She was very short, not more than five feet, and fast, blocking Josh’s path to the stairs.
“Yes and no. Thank you.”
“You’ve got to come down for a glass of wine, Josh. We can talk. People tell me I’m a very good listener.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Even so.” She leaned in the doorway, scanning him up and down. “You need a friend.”
“I have a dog. Excuse me.”
He got past her, unloaded the groceries and took Pebbles for a run (using the back door to avoid Charlotte). When he returned home, he showered and started food prep, blasting Prince to make it seem less lonely. Don’t think. Just cook.
When Lauren was alive, a night like this had been fun, the air charged with energy and anticipation, the room filled with laughter and instructions—Honey, grab that vase. Honey, would you unload the dishwasher? Josh, do you mind cutting the chicken? When she was alive, he was more relaxed, more competent, more present and funnier. When she was alive, he wasn’t dead inside.
For a minute, he stopped chopping broccoli and stared at the counter.
If he was very still, he could picture this as a different scene. His wife was down the hall, taking a shower. She’d take forever drying her hair and change at least twice. She’d put on makeup, because she loved makeup. He could almost hear her rustling around, singing under her breath.
“Honey?” he called. Just in case.
Obviously, there was no answer. He resumed chopping, hard. If he sliced off a fingertip, he could get out of this evening.
But Lauren had asked him to do this, so he would muscle through it.
It might be time to take up drinking.
Right at seven, the doorbell rang, and he opened the door. All four of them were together—Jen, Darius, Sarah, her friend. Their faces were somber.
“Hi,” he said.
Jen burst into tears.
Pebbles pushed past him and went right to her, and Jen knelt down, hugged the dog and sobbed.
No one said anything for a second.
“Um . . . do you want to come in?” Josh said.
“Good idea. Hey, brother, how are you?” Darius said, giving him a hug. “We brought wine.” He put his hand on his wife’s shoulder.
Shit. He didn’t have any. “Good,” he said. “Thanks.”
“We did, too,” Sarah said. “Ken, this is Joshua Park. Josh, Ken Beekman.” Ken was tall—taller than Darius, even. And thin. White guy, pale yellow hair, looked a bit like a heron, friendly-enough face. He had a messenger bag slung across his torso, and he whipped it off and put it on the floor, offered his hand and shook Joshua’s firmly with both of his. “Joshua. So sorry about your wife. Thanks for letting me come. You have a beautiful home.”
“Nice . . . nice to meet you. Hey, Sarah.” She looked nicer than usual, a dress, makeup and red lipstick.
Jen stood up, then hugged him hard. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s okay. Really.” He hugged her back, one of the few people he could hug and have it feel normal.
“Babe, I’m getting you some wine,” Darius said, and so they all moved into the living room area, sort of shuffling as one. Darius made himself useful, opening a few drawers to find a corkscrew. It hadn’t been used since . . . well. Valentine’s Day. Their anniversary.
That was just nine weeks ago. Nine weeks and two days. How could she be dead now, when, on February 14, they’d made love in a room lit by candles? How could life have changed so much?
“It smells wicked awesome in here,” Ken said. “What is it?”
Josh blinked. “Um . . . It’s a spicy Korean chicken dish. Flavored by my actual tears.” No one laughed, unsure if he was joking. Poor taste, he guessed.
“Do you like cooking?” Ken asked.
“Uh . . . yes. Yes, I do. I like cooking. Have a seat.” He should’ve made snacks or something. Cheese and crackers at the very least. Did he have cheese? He didn’t think so. Sarah was wiping her eyes.
The five of them stood there, not looking at each other. “Why don’t I put some music on?” Darius said.
“Sure. Great idea.” He should’ve thought of that.
“Can I, um . . . wander around?” Jen asked, her voice cracking.
“Of course,” Josh said. “Of course you can.” He seemed to be repeating himself, parrot-like, since he had nothing else to say.
“Josh, do you want me to rustle up some appetizers or something?” Sarah asked.
“Yes. That would be great. Thanks.”
“On it,” she said. “Ken, give me a hand, okay?”
“Abso-tively!” Ken said, the only cheerful one among them.
“Come with me,” Jen whispered to Josh. It was only her second time here since Lauren died, and Josh could feel a burning at the back of his eyes. She took his hand, and they went into his office, which was off the living room.
There were half a dozen framed photos of Lauren, on the desk, on the wall. Her face surrounded them, reminding them of all they had lost. All that love. All that happiness.
“How are you?” Jen asked.
“I’m horrible.”
“Me, too. Josh, she left me a letter.” Jen’s eyes filled, and Josh was struck with guilt that he hadn’t taken better care of her. After all, Jen was lost, too. “It was perfect, you know? I had it framed.” Her face scrunched up.
He hugged her again. “I miss her so much,” Jen whispered. “I keep starting to call her. I can’t bear to delete her number from my phone, you know?”
“I do.”
“Of course you do. I’m sorry.” Jen sighed, grabbed a tissue from the box on the desk and blew her nose loudly.
“How’s your mom?” he asked.
“Oh, you haven’t heard? She’s doing great,” Jen said bitterly. “I mean, she’s wrecked, but suddenly this is her new identity. She goes to a grief group every day. It’s like her new religion. And get this, Josh. She met someone. A man. They had coffee last week.”