Page 25 of The Vow

“Just shut up and bring me the wine. Bring Alex one too.” Nick snorted and left us alone, then I held my breath. “Can I ask you something, Alex? I don’t want to upset you, though.”

“Ask me,” she said, drinking from her mug.

“What was his name?”

Tears welled in her tired eyes. She didn’t look at me when she said, “Simon. His mother loved Simon and Garfunkel.”

“Where are your in-laws now?”

“We’re estranged,” she said, facing me again. “They blamed me. Said I killed him.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah. It was a pretty awkward funeral,” she said, chuckling softly. “What about your dad? How’d he die? Grazie,” she told Nick, who set down two glasses of wine.

“My pleasure.”

“Wait,” Alex said. “I’m sorry. Maybe you don’t want to talk about your dad.”

“I actually do. It keeps his memory alive. Pop was lost among the stars. I was really young when he died, but I can still picture his face.”

“Lost among the stars? What do you mean?”

“He was an astronaut. His space capsule exploded.”

Alex’s hand met her mouth. It was the same reaction people have given me my entire life. “I’m so sorry. Your mother must have been devastated.”

“She was, but she had me to worry about. When I was old enough to understand, she said that I was the heart inside her chest. It sounds prettier in Italian,” I added. The memory made me choke up, but I didn’t show it. “I was too young to remember, but ma told me that pop used to say that space was so infinite, he didn’t know whether it was Christmas, Easter, or even his birthday, but he knew he loved us.”

“Love like that is rare. My mother doesn’t even call me on my birthday. She sends the same card every year that she bought in bulk, and signs it, ‘Mom & Dad.’”

“That makes me so angry for you.”

“I was angry for a long time. Then I met Simon.”

“I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to lose a spouse. Especially so early in life. I was only able to witness what my mother went through. But I’m incredibly sorry for your loss, Alex.”

“You know what’s fucked up?”

“Nick’s sense of style?” I knew the beginning of a sad song and tried to change the tune.

“I heard that!” Nick said.

“He could use a makeover, but no. Simon inscribed our wedding rings with the word ‘forever’. He should have had them engraved ‘for now’. What a joke.”

Gently, I said, “How about ‘until we meet again?’”

She nodded, drained her mug, and picked up her wine glass. “To angels.”

“To angels,” I said, clinking my glass against hers.

Nick was busy filling three pitchers of beer for a group of college-aged kids and snacking on French Fries that his new hire, Justin, delivered from the kitchen. When Nick was a teenager, he was a picky eater. The rest of us would feast on hamburgers, but he refused to eat meat and preferred chicken, claiming it wasn’t meat if it was white. He eventually grew out of it, but back then, his grandmother coddled him. She used to say, we need chickenfornicky so often, that I thought it was an authentic name for a dish.

“You two good over there?” he asked.

“Yeah. Come over when you have a second,” I told him.

“Ten-four.”