Incandescent

I was able to escape one of the more involved conversations by volunteering to make a run for more ice. I nearly texted Marcus again on the way before remembering he had his own plans with family. We’d met in the grief group, had grown closer over the past year, and he would’ve totally understood how overwhelmed I was feeling in that moment.

Once I returned, I watched Grant and his cousins play a game of tag, then headed to the pavilion to load up on cheese and crackers while we waited for the food to be served. When the delicious scent of charred meat wafted toward me, I was pleasantly surprised to spot Tristan near Rebecca’s uncles, who were manning the grill. I raised my hand in a wave, and he grinned.

Normally, he stayed close to Chris’s mom and sister, using the opportunity to check in with them. But he’d obviously made other connections along the way, even five years after Chris’s death. Tristan had shared once that he’d been raised in foster care, so it made sense he’d want to hold on to that sense of belonging with both hands.

I glanced over my shoulder to where Grant was sitting with his cousins, downing a glass of his grandmother’s raspberry iced tea. The stitch in my chest intensified. It was definitely important to keep this connection for him as well. I felt lost without Rebecca, but this wasn’t about me so much as about Grant creating memories and spending as much time with this side of the family as he could.

He’d begun his junior year two weeks ago, and I prayed it was even better than the last. I certainly never imagined experiencing his first steps into adulthood, let alone high school, without Rebecca.

Once the food was served, I got Grant situated in line with a plate and utensils. His grandmother had done the rest, pointing out all the foods he should try. Along with the meat from the grill, there were all sorts of side dishes that had become staples for me after nearly two decades of marriage to the same person.

“Good to see you,” Tristan said, stepping in line behind me. “You doing okay?”

“Getting there,” I replied with a smile. I loaded some macaroni salad onto my plate before looking at who was nearby and lowering my voice. “Does coming to these things ever get easier?”

He frowned. “In a way, yes. The pain is still there, but it sort of settles into the cracks, if that makes sense.” I nodded because it did. Totally. My heart was shattered, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to patch it up well enough to go on without her. But every day, I proved myself wrong.

“The way I see it, being here is a way to honor them,” Tristan said closer to my ear. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll attend…maybe as long as they’ll have me.”

I felt that tightness in my throat again. “Makes sense.”

He lifted a bun, then passed me the tongs to help myself to the cheese slices and tomatoes for my burger.

“And you?” I asked. “How’s the dog-grooming business?”

Tristan and Chris had opened Doggie Styles together in Rocky River, and Tristan had continued the business solo after his passing, even expanding it and offering day care to their clientele. What a concept. But apparently, it was very popular.

“Busier than ever.”

“That’s good news.” I winked. “Now get working on an east-side location so we can bring Ruby.” Our golden retriever was eleven years old but still acted like a puppy sometimes, especially when we brought out the tennis ball. But she’d also slowed down in other ways the last couple of years, and I’d always wondered how an owner’s death affected animals. She’d taken Rebecca’s spot in our bed, almost like she wanted to comfort me at night, and I certainly wasn’t complaining.

“Hell no. I’m stretched thin enough as it is,” he replied. Likely because his boyfriend, West, took up any remaining time he had. I’d only met him once, and they made a nice couple. There was maybe a ten-year age difference between them, which wasn’t obvious at all, and Tristan was very supportive of West’s aspirations to be a chef.

I followed Tristan to the nearest picnic table to take the last couple of empty spots. Before getting situated, I checked to make sure Grant was still eating beside his grandparents at the next table.

I greeted Chris’s mom and sister before finally taking a bite of my burger and savoring it. I’d slept in late and forgotten to eat breakfast and hadn’t realized I was starving. Plus, I always enjoyed the food her family made. I missed Rebecca’s cooking as well. But we made do, using Rebecca’s recipes for Grant’s favorite dishes, and over the past few months, we’d brought our own recipes into the mix.