This is hard, Lauren, he thought. I’d like to call you later and tell you what a failure it was, but you were incredibly rude and died. His throat tightened at the memory of her last hours. No. Absolutely not. He would not revisit that time. Ever.
The thought made him relax the tiniest bit. He could put that day away. It would be best that way. Far better to think of her smile, her laugh, her freckles, her eyes.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
Darius and Jen returned from the bedroom, thank God, and sat with Ken in the living room. Ken asked Darius about his profession, how much he traveled, where they lived. It was so weird to have a stranger here, but the conversation was like white noise, and Josh was grateful that no one was asking him anything at the moment. Sarah set the table while Jen sat on the couch with Pebbles and stared out the window, wiping away tears from time to time.
Josh fried the chicken, set it to dry and reheated the glaze he’d made earlier. Shit. He’d been planning to grill the broccoli on the roof. Nah. Too much effort, and plus he wasn’t sure how clean that grill was . . . the last time he’d used it, he’d burned his clothes. Steaming the broccoli would be fine. Darius came into the kitchen, opened another bottle of wine—everyone was having some except Josh—and went back to the living room.
“It’s funny that you don’t drink at all,” Lauren had said once. “Most people have at least tried alcohol.”
“I don’t see a reason to,” he said. This was on their second date. She stared at him like he was an interesting riddle, her brows drawn, a faint smile on her lips, and he smiled back, his stomach thrumming with attraction and the strangest feeling . . . that he belonged with her. That they were meant to be together. That the flirty college girl cliché he’d first met a few years earlier had grown into something . . . more. Deeper. Wiser.
And maybe he’d gotten out of his own way, finally. He hadn’t allowed himself to have much fun in college, so focused on work, on making a difference, on being someone who mattered despite having a father who had never bothered to even learn his name. He had no room for anything else.
But that night, looking at her face, her pretty eyes the color of cognac or brandy, feeling like he belonged to her already, Josh decided he had plenty of room after all.
A sharp smell pierced his memories.
Fuck. The glaze was burning. He yanked the pan off the burner and flapped a dishtowel in the air so the smoke detector wouldn’t go off. Sarah leaped up from the couch to help, but it went off anyway, bleating his failure. Darius and Ken opened the windows, and Jen opened the door, and Pebbles whirled in circles, barking at the painful noise.
After an eternity, it stopped. Josh’s ears were ringing. The glaze was charred but still liquid.
“It’ll be fine,” Sarah said. “I mean, who doesn’t like a little scorching? Seriously, it smells even better.”
She really was a good person. “Thanks, Sarah.”
She lowered her voice. “Hang in there, buddy. We won’t stay long.”
He looked at her, surprised that she’d read his mind. “That obvious?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. Ken’s nice, by the way.”
“He is. Very . . . energetic. Not that way. Well, maybe he is. I don’t know. We haven’t . . . I’ll stop talking.”
He nearly smiled. “Why don’t you herd everyone to the table?” he asked, and she did. He put the chicken on the rice, drizzled the blackened sauce over it. He’d made too much, and some slopped over the edge. He added sesame seeds. Lauren had loved this dish.
Crap. The broccoli was on the stove. He turned to check it, finding it way overcooked, a dull, ugly green. He tested it with a fork; it disintegrated into mush.
Then came a clatter and the crash of something breaking.
“Pebbles!” Jen said, and yep, the dog was eating the dakgangjeong off the floor. Wolfing it down without pausing to chew.
“Pebbles! No!” Josh said, but she just wagged her tail and kept going for it.
“Bad dog,” said Darius, his deep voice scaring her. She glanced at him, took a final bite, then ran down the hall, clots of rice and sauce in her wake, her muzzle and paws coated in dark red sauce, as if she’d just eaten a baby antelope.
That shit was sticky. Was their bedroom door open? Yes, it was. Goddamn it. The dog would mess up Lauren’s room, and it was his own fault. He ran down the hall. The spice had caught up with Pebbles, and she was rubbing her muzzle on the fluffy white rug Lauren had loved. Reddish-black paw prints already marred the pure white comforter. The room looked like a crime scene. “Pebbles!” he shouted, his voice way too loud. “You’re very bad!”
She bowed her head, and it hit him in the heart. This was Lauren’s dog. Lauren’s friend.
“I’m sorry,” he said, closing the door so she couldn’t trash the rest of the house. “You’re very beautiful. You’re a good girl.” She wagged her tail, then threw up. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry.”
She came to his knee, and he patted her sticky head. Went into the master bathroom, grabbed some towels, cleaned her up as best he could and closed her in the guest room. He’d deal with the mess when everyone left.
With a sigh, he went back to the kitchen. Sarah was wiping up the stream of burnt sauce that had sloshed on the side of the island. “Ken, grab me the Windex from under the sink,” she said. Darius was on his phone, and Jen was leaning on the counter, watching.
The platter that broke had been a wedding gift from Lauren’s boss. It was from Italy, Josh thought.
“We can probably still eat this food,” Ken said, looking at the mess, the broken platter. “There’s a lot left.”
“No, we can’t,” Jen said, her wineglass in her hand. “The dog just ate it, there are shards of broken porcelain in there, and it’s on the floor, where all our shoes have been. So . . . we’re not eating it, Ken.”
“Yeah, no,” Ken said. “I just . . . it’s a shame, that’s all. Josh. Nice try, man.”
“Maybe we should go,” Jen said.
Yes, go, he thought. But then he’d have to do this again some other night, if he wanted to follow Lauren’s instructions. She thought he should do this; do this, he would.
“Please stay,” Josh said. “I’ll order something. Don’t go yet.” He looked at Sarah, who nodded. He hadn’t told her about Lauren’s letters. Maybe Lauren had told her. Regardless, they were all here, he was going to stick with the plan, damn it.
“I’m on it,” Darius said, taking his phone out. “Everyone okay with pizza?”