I’m not sure whether he’s asking about my stomach or a decade of memories, but clarification won’t change anything. “No.”
Our goodbye is quiet and quick, and I push myself off the couch where I’ve been thumbing through one of Michelle’s old architecture books. Lucy and I had talked for about an hour earlier, and I’d gone for a longer ride up the coast afterward, stopping in Santa Barbara for coffee and a croissant at a place I’ve missed, then turning around to come home. A shower felt good. So did a nap. I would’ve been fine either way, but taking care of myself was the smart thing to do.
The jury is still out about visits from friends.
It’s a while before I hear the knock at my door, and I let Darren in without the fanfare that would feel out of place today. One of his arms is wrapped around a full paper bag, and his free hand holds a six-pack of mediocre beer. For all I know, he doesn’t intend to share them.
“Carne asada tacos, chicken fajita burritos, a cheese quesadilla, chips, salsa, guacamole.”
I shake my head as I lead him into the kitchen. “Did you invite half the bar to join us?”
“Iwillget you to throw that pool party when it’s warm again.”
“And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, I bought enough food for you to have options.”
He doesn’t make a bigger deal of it than that, and I turn to look at him in his gray sweatpants and the Trailhead hoodie that should bore me by now. Darren’s smiling while he studies me, maybe tired of the same comfortable clothes I always wear at home, and I close the distance between us long enough to bump his forehead with mine.
I step back and decide we don’t need to make something formal out of this. “Backyard?”
“Sure.”
He’s still carrying everything when we get outside, and I set up the firepit, the December night not meant for outdoor dining any other way. I’ve got blankets nearby too, and nothing as simple as that should remind me of my wife. We both get settled on the patio sofa, and I think I take him by surprise when he notices the joint I’d left behind, but then he tears into the paper bag, a pile of foil-wrapped food the biggest temptation between us. He waits for me to make the first pick, twists a bottle cap, and takes a long drink.
“Is this day always hard for you?” Darren asks, scoffing at himself a moment later. “Sorry, that was stupid. Obviously it’s not a great one.”
“It’s actually—” I stop and help myself to a bottle. “It’s not hard. It’s not even bad. It’s a chance to wallow if I want it, but I can’t remember the last time that happened.”
“Okay, so what is it?”
“I tried to warn you,” I wink.
He chuckles. “You’re not allthat messy now.”
“No, just stuck in my head again.”
“Does this have anything to do with me?”
I’m about to take a bite, but my head jerks up at that. “You’re not a replacement for her.”
“Can’t imagine I’d ever be stupid enough to try.”
He doesn’t say more, and we eat in silence because we’ve known each other long enough to be okay with it. One beer becomes two. We finish an absurd amount of food and share the chips and guac. I realize I never turned on the string lights, but the flickering flames from the firepit suit the evening well, so I don’t move now. I could make it through the rest of the night without speaking another word, and Darren probably expects exactly that, but when anyone else might make an excuse and leave me to it, he gathers what’s left of our dinner and opens the last two beers.
I take a sip of mine. He does, too. Then he grabs one of the blankets and lies back on the sofa, making room for me between his legs like I’d once done in his living room. That night he’d summoned me from the desert to exorcise a demon he’s never known.
I’m desperate to believe we’re not doing the same thing tonight.
I make myself comfortable in his arms anyway and let him hold me, the blanket covering us both. “This is the first year Lucy hasn’t been here. And I knew that—I was prepared for that. But I’m used to talking about Michelle all day, and being alone today made it feel like everything inside me had nowhere to go.”
“What do you usually say about her?”
“Just stories. Memories. Silly stuff. Things that make me smile.” I sigh and know he feels it. “I don’t cry about her. Haven’t for a very long time.”
“Will you tell me? The things that make you smile about Michelle?”
And for the next couple of hours, with one of Darren’s hands in my hair and the other clasped in mine, I do.