Fortuity (Transcend 3)

He moves his gaze from my chin to my eyes. “A moment?”

“A moment. Many moments. Whatever you need. When emotions hit you like this, where you realize your dad won’t keep a promise he made, when your crazy aunt is the only family you have on Thanksgiving, or just for no particular reason at any given time, don’t be afraid to say I’m sad. I’m mad. I’m down.

“You don’t need an excuse. I lost the first man I ever loved over twenty years ago, and I still have days that I want to stay in bed and just … miss him. We can’t control how we feel on any given day, just how we deal with those feelings. Promise me you won’t ignore them. Promise me you’ll give them the attention they deserve. If you want to hit something, I’ll buy you a punching bag. If you want to cry, I’ll be the first to hand you a tissue. If you want to watch your favorite movie over a tub of popcorn and a whole bag of licorice … I’m your person. Okay?”

“I want to see their graves. Morgan said she took flowers to her mom’s grave. I haven’t seen their graves since the funeral.”

“Of course.” I hug him, resting my lips on the top of his head.

He helps me finish Thanksgiving dinner. We leave the mess in the kitchen, throw on our coats, and find a grocery store that’s open. The pickings for flowers are slim, but we scrounge a small bouquet that will work.

When we get to the cemetery, I let Gabe lead the way. He knows exactly where their headstones are located. Standing between them, he murmurs, “Where do I put the flowers?”

“Wherever you want. The top of the headstones, the bottom. It’s up to you.”

“Should I say something? Morgan said she read her mom a poem.”

“Do you have a poem?”

He shakes his head.

I grin and take a seat in front of Kyle’s headstone. Gabe takes my cue and sits in front of Emily’s.

“Hey, Kyle … Em … happy Thanksgiving. Gabe brought you flowers, but he didn’t save you any pie.”

Gabe grins. A little laugh even escapes. “Aunt Gracelyn makes good pie, but not as good as yours, Mom.”

I return the same grin. He’s got this. My cemetery experience is pretty extensive. I used to visit Brandon on a weekly basis. I’d eat dinner with him. Sometimes I’d bring a blanket and pillow and lie beside him, reading him a few chapters of whatever book I was reading. When life got really tough, I’d bring my planner and ask for his advice on what I should do with my life. He helped me make plans that I refused to make without his help. Sometimes he’d remind me to pencil in shaving my legs.

Leaning my head back against the cool granite, I close my eyes and listen to Gabe tell his parents about his summer with Morgan, their trip to Disneyland, and all the goals he made during fall soccer. He laughs while telling them about Mr. Hans and the van that checked his private parts.

I can’t help but giggle too.

When all the giggles disappear, silence takes its moment. Then he whispers, “I miss both of you.”

My tears have no self-control, but when I give him a sideways glance, I see his don’t either. It’s his first visit since the funeral. Reaching over, I squeeze his hand. “It gets easier … the visits … they get easier.”

When we get home, I send Gabe upstairs to just chill … play games, whatever, while I clean up the mess. As I’m drying the last dish, I hear his voice. It’s not his usual yelling at the screen during a game. It’s a conversational voice. I hang the dishtowel to dry and head up the stairs slowly.

“It was weird talking to them. Do you think they heard me?” he asks.

“Yeah. I think so.” It’s Morgan’s voice.

I smile at him when I reach the top of the stairs.

“Here’s Gracelyn.” He turns his iPad toward me.

Morgan smiles and waves. “Hi. Happy Thanksgiving. Ugh … I’m so stuffed.” She frowns and presses her hand to her stomach.

“Happy Thanksgiving to you too.” I move a little closer and squint at the screen. “Are you home?”

“Yes. This is my room.” She moves her phone in a slow circle, showing off her pink room trimmed in white and LED lights lining her ceiling.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Do you want to see everyone else?”

“Uh … no … um …” I back away.

“It’s Gabe and Gracelyn.” Her voice is a little muffled as the camera moves around from her feet walking out of her bedroom to the tall ceilings to a big room filled with people gathered around an impressive stonewall and fireplace.

“Hi, Gabe. Happy Thanksgiving,” Nate’s mom says.

“Happy Thanksgiving.” Gabe turns the iPad toward him again.