Incandescent

“Still attending the group?” Tristan asked in a quieter voice, which I appreciated. No way I wanted to have that uncomfortable conversation with anyone else, about how someone grieved, or how long, for that matter. At least not today.

“Uh-huh.” I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “I’ll always be grateful for the referral. It’s helping me work through my grief, and I’ve made some friends in the process.”

“How is Marc, by the way?” he asked with a grin. Marcus had joined the group the year before me, and he remembered Tristan from a few sessions before Tristan felt healthy enough to step away for good.

Before I could reply, Chris’s mom asked Tristan a question about the restaurant where West worked. The conversation spun into other favorite places to eat in town, and I patted Tristan’s shoulder as I stood to throw away my empty cup and plate.

I wandered back over to the pavilion, and after loading dessert on a new plate, I brought it over to Grant’s table to share with him. He immediately reached for the peanut butter cookie while I went for chocolate chip.

“Your mother always loved my oatmeal raisin,” Aunt Jane said to Grant from across the table, and I felt guilty that I didn’t include any of her cookies on the plate.

“Yeah, she did.” Grant’s smile was sad, making my heart lodge in my throat.

“Maybe we can take some home?” I suggested, if only for nostalgia’s sake. When Grant’s gaze met mine, I couldn’t exactly read his wavering emotions, but I thought maybe there was gratitude there.

Aunt Jane nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll pack some up for you.”

“Thanks,” I mouthed to her, and Rebecca’s dad cleared his throat and looked away.

“I like your brownies,” Donna said before taking another hearty bite of one, and it was the perfect transition. “You added nuts. I approve.”

“It was Grant’s idea,” I replied, remembering how he’d made the suggestion tentatively, as if it would offend Rebecca. But it was another one of those little changes, nearly undetectable to outsiders, that showed we were moving forward.

We stayed for an hour more before we said our goodbyes and drove back to the east side, to the home where Grant had grown up. In my darker moments, I wanted to sell everything and move, to escape all the memories, but that was another thing the grief counselor didn’t advise—making split-second decisions about huge things. Besides, I didn’t want Grant to have too many changes in his young life. And most importantly, the house brought him solace, so we kept everything the same—except for Rebecca’s clothing and the bedding in our room. While the latter had been comforting at first, it became painful soon after. It felt good to opt for fresh sheets that only smelled like detergent. I finally went through her closet around the one-year mark, and having Grant help me was one more step for both of us.

“Did you have fun?” I asked as we turned onto our street.

“I guess so,” he replied with a shrug, keeping his eyes fixed out the window.

Our neighborhood was charming, and our house was too. As I pulled into our driveway, I noted the other Tudors and colonials surrounding us that were also over a hundred years old. They had aged well, along with the quaint businesses in the area. Rebecca and I liked it here and chose not to upgrade because we’d made plans, so many plans, for after Grant graduated from high school and went off to college. They mostly involved traveling and, of course, I could still go alone, but the idea had lost its appeal.

Time. Give yourself time.

“I know it’s hard without Mom,” I said as Grant balanced the plate of oatmeal-raisin cookies on his knee so he could remove his hat. His hair was sweaty underneath, but I resisted pointing it out. That would only lead to another argument. It was actually fitting that he wore the tricorn to Rebecca’s family reunion because they’d bought it together from a thrift shop. Halloween was always interesting with the two of them.

Once inside, I fed Ruby, then let her out. Grant got on the computer with one of his two friends—Ellie, I thought, was the most likely option. Jeremy’s time was more limited on the weekends because of his job at the local movie theater.

There were years when Grant didn’t have any friends to speak of, not only because of his unique interests but because he was painfully awkward and shy. Kids developed differently, and though he was extremely smart, he’d suffered socially. And just as he’d finally found his footing, the rug was pulled from under his feet again with his mother’s death.

Opening the cupboard where our mugs were stored, I started unloading the dishwasher, my eyes briefly focusing on the different-colored paint stains on the wall. It was the project I’d abandoned when Rebecca got sick. We had plans to modernize the kitchen—not that I knew what I was doing, but I would’ve at least made an attempt before asking for backup. Now the idea sat heavy in my gut. I supposed if I was going to stay here and have Grant visit often, I could still finish it.