A yellow sticky note was attached to the envelope, in different handwriting. There’s one more left after this one. Take care today. —Sarah
His hands shook as he opened it. It was one of those overly expensive cards made with tiny swirls of paper, practically a sculpture. Two hearts intertwined, all the colors of the rainbow where the hearts intersected.
Inside there was only one line, in her fat, pretty handwriting.
I will love you forever.
“I love you, too,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
He was so, so grateful she’d thought ahead, thought of him without her.
But he missed her. He missed her so much that his knees gave out, and he slid to the floor and let his head fall back against the door.
Then Pebbles was there, wagging, licking him, whining, nudging him hard with her herder’s nose. “Okay, okay,” he said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “Message received.” He was treated to a full face-lick from the dog. “You’re a good girl,” he said, hugging her. “Such a good puppy.”
He went back to the couch, looked at his watch: 1:16 p.m. Just ten hours and forty-four minutes until this endless day was over.
* * *
ON FEBRUARY 22, Joshua held a jesa ceremony to honor his wife on the anniversary of her death.
He’d been talking more frequently to Ben since he’d met his biological father. This day needed to be marked, and Ben came through, as ever, with the idea for a jesa, a Korean tradition to honor the dead. It was usually reserved for ancestors, Ben had said, but who cared? He had described the ceremony in great detail, and to Josh, it sounded perfect.
He’d gone to the Kims’ the day before, and his mom took a rare day off to help cook. There were Korean foods and some of Lauren’s non-Korean favorites, all in some kind of order to pay homage to her life.
Now all that food sat in five rows on Josh’s coffee table—the dessert row, which contained chestnuts, pears, apples and persimmons, as well as clementines, which had been Lauren’s favorite fruit, and yakgwa, the honey cookies she had loved. Donna had brought chocolate chip cookies, Lauren’s childhood favorite, and Josh added them as well. The next row held pickled herring (another Lauren favorite), kimchi, shrimp and stuffed clams. Then came the soups—fish, vegetable, chicken noodle. The next row of food contained the sticky chicken she loved, and jeon, the vegetable-imbued pancakes. The final row, farthest from where Josh would sit, contained a bowl mounded with rice and another type of soup—beef turnip, Korea’s traditional soup for the dead, and a bowl of sand.
Ben had brought over a small rice-paper screen, which was set up at the other side of the coffee table, the idea being that Lauren’s spirit would come and sit on the other side of it. On the table was a picture of her taken on their wedding day, her eyes shining, her skin perfect, her lips curved in a smile full of love. Next to the table was the dogwood tree, a full foot taller than it had been last year.
Josh knew he would do this jesa only this once. That after today, the first year would be over, and all those firsts would be done. But he needed to mark this day somehow, and the whole year that had passed. He’d invited everyone close to her—Jen and her family, Donna and her boyfriend Bill, Sarah, Radley, Asmaa, and Lauren’s boss, Bruce. Sumi and his mom, and Ben, of course.
When everyone had arrived and stood in the living room, he opened the living room window to let in her spirit. A few seconds later, he closed it. Hope you made it inside, babe, he thought, swallowing the lump in his throat.
Jen’s face was already wet with tears, and Sebastian’s eyes were round and solemn. Octavia was asleep on Darius’s shoulder. Donna and Bill held hands, Donna’s eyes red-rimmed. Sarah and Radley stood together. Asmaa stood next to Bruce, her arm through his. Ben had his arm around Sumi. Everyone watched in silence.
Josh knelt in front of the table and lit the incense—ironic, since Lauren hated incense. Don’t let that keep you away, he thought, almost smiling. Then Jen handed him a cup of rice wine, which he circled over the table. He’d spent all week studying the ceremony notes Ben gave him, but if he got some wrong, he was sure Lauren would forgive him. He poured a little wine into the sand three times, then laid a pair of chopsticks across the rice bowl.
He turned to Donna and bowed to her, the mother, and then repeated the gesture to Jen, honoring her family. Tears were on everyone’s cheeks now, and all was quiet except for the sound of sniffling.
Josh stood and faced the photo of his wife, his heart gripped in a vise. “Lauren Rose Carlisle Park,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady, “I call your name as the year changes, and the day on which you died has come. I will love you forever and will never forget your love, as big and wide as the heavens. In your honor, I humbly offer you this meal.” Then he knelt in front of the table, looking at her picture for a minute, then bowed so his forehead touched the cool floor.
He stayed there a minute, tears flooding his eyes. So much love, so much sorrow. I miss you, he thought. Please be safe. Please be happy.
When he rose, his mother handed him a tissue and gave him a nod of approval, squeezing his arm.
“Thank you all for coming,” he said, his voice breaking, and then Jen was hugging him, and his mother, and Donna and Sarah and Darius, Sebastian wrapping his little arms around Josh’s legs, everyone, everyone gathered around him and held him in their love . . . not just for Lauren, but love for him.
“We love you, Josh,” Jen said fiercely.
“We do, brother,” Darius said.
“I love you, Uncle Josh.”
“I love you, son.” I love you. We love you. We love you.
He started to cry then, and surrendered to it, sobbing in the embrace of their love. They weren’t just here for Lauren. They were here for him.
“We do get to eat,” he said finally, and everyone laughed.
“Good. I’m starving,” Jen said, squeezing him harder before releasing him.
He knew there was a proper way to serve the food and such, but he was done with the formality. This was enough. His guests helped themselves, his mother and Sumi handing out forks and plates and chopsticks. Donna poured wine and Darius opened beers. Josh went to the window and looked out, the cold air feeling good against his skin.
Sarah came and took his hand. “She would be so proud of you,” she whispered. “She always was. You did it, Josh. You made it through the first year.”
He nodded, and then he hugged her. “Thank you for sticking by me,” he said.
She nodded, took a shaky inhale, then let go.
“How was your date?” he asked.
“It was as bad as you guys predicted,” she said, wiping her eyes. “One of his icebreaker questions was ‘If you were going to kill me, how would you do it?’”