Page 3 of Second Edition
Everett went next, spine straight, wearing an expensive suit, dark hair combed neatly, wedding ring still on his finger. “Everett. My wife, Marion, died two years ago.” His voice was always measured. “She’d suffered from depression for all of our twelve years of marriage. We had no children.” He lifted his hands from where they’d been splayed on his knees. “I don’t know why I always add that part.”
“Maybe because people ask, don’t they?” June twisted the cap on her water bottle until it crackled. She was in her mid-thirties and pretty, with short black hair and big green eyes, although the smudge of purple under them hinted at sleepless nights. “Like they have to know how many people were left behind. It always seems like more of a tragedy when the person has children. To others. Not us.”
June had two teenage daughters, so she knew a little about that.
“Anyway, I’m June. My husband, Scott, died three years ago. I have two teenage girls. They were eleven and twelve when we lost their dad.” Her smile trembled. “This week would have been our anniversary.”
No one comforted her. We knew better. There was nothing any of us could say that would make her feel any better. But it was relief, not to have to say,I’m so sorry for your loss. Or, God forbid, the one we’d all agreed before to be the most heinous of all,They’re in a better place.
That one made even the most mild-mannered want to throat punch someone.
Mateo cleared his throat. “Hey, I’m Mateo. My sister was Elena. It’s been two years now, but feels like yesterday. She was twenty. At college. I was overseas at school, when it happened.”
Mateo was at culinary school at the famous Ferrandi in Paris when his mother had called. He’d said before how stupid pastries suddenly seemed. Like who devoted their lives to the perfect croissant when his sister was suffering?
Then it was my turn. “I’m Dorian. My best friend, Nate, died just shy of two years ago. We were in the Navy together. Knew each other almost twenty years. He left behind a wife and two children.”
Ellen gave me a small nod. “Thank you for sharing. Annie, would you like to say anything? No pressure.”
Annie sat very still. Her face had gone pale beneath a spray of faint freckles across her nose. A sense of protectiveness rose upin me. She was so young and sweet. The fact that she’d chosen to come to this kind of group made my stomach churn. Life was unfair.
“My name’s Annie.” Her voice was soft but clear. “My dad died six years ago, when I was nine.” Annie swallowed. “His name was Jon. He was a very talented painter.”
My chest tightened.
“Thank you, Annie,” Ellen said.
Annie nodded, staring at the floor.
Ellen shifted us away from introductions. “Does anyone want to talk about how they’re feeling this week? Is there anything on your mind that feels too big to talk about anywhere else?” She turned to June. “Do you want to start? Since you mentioned your anniversary, I thought there might be something you’d like to share.”
June let out a long breath. “Yeah, sure. This is going to sound stupid, but I’ve been fixated on what we would have done to celebrate our anniversary. It would have been ten years. We’d always talked about going to Paris.” Her eyes filled. “I’d made a book with photos of all the places I wanted to visit when we got there. I’m still so angry at him, and that makes me feel like a bad person.”
“You’re not a bad person,” Ellen said. “Just a very human one.”
Annie looked up, swiping under her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, and for a second our gazes locked before she looked away.
Everett spoke next. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my marriage. How I resented her for being sick when it wasn’t her fault.” He looked down at his hands, folded neatly over his knee. “I wish I’d been kinder. More compassionate. Instead, I let her suffer and blamed her for it.” He paused briefly. “There’s no turning back time, no matter how much we wish we could.”
“Just ask Cher,” Mateo said. “It’s a futile wish.”
Everyone chuckled, then went silent.
Mateo shifted in his chair, the brim of his cap shadowing his eyes. “Elena texted me the day before.”
“Yes?” Ellen asked, nudging him along.
“I was at school. In the middle of an exam. I saw her name pop up, but I didn’t open it. I thought I’d answer when I was done.” His jaw flexed. “It was a meme. Just a stupid meme. Nothing serious. But I keep thinking, what if it was serious underneath? What if that was her way of reaching out and I missed it?”
The question sliced me open. How many times had I thought that about Nate? He’d called me four days before he died, sounding tired. A hint of strangeness in his voice but nothing I could pinpoint. Then he’d made a joke about losing another job. Nate had always been able to make hard things into a joke if he wanted to. I’d not known what to say. So I didn’t say anything at all, just moved on to talk about the baseball game the night before.
“What was the meme?” Annie asked Mateo. “From your sister?”
Mateo blinked. “It was a cat dusted with flour, looking grumpy. We were constantly sending each other cat memes. So stupid. But, God, I miss it. Sometimes I pull up our text thread to send her something, and then remember I can’t. Ever again.”
“What would you send her?” Ellen asked Mateo.
He smiled. “I saw one the other day, actually. It was a cat teaching a kitten how to go up stairs. She would have loved it.” He paused, his mouth twisting. “I just wish I would have answered that last text. Even just a thumbs up or a heart.”
