Page 15

15

Ben Stirling

“Can I tell you a sad thing, Daddy?”

I’m at Luca’s bedroom door, and I’ve already turned out the light. I was so close to making it downstairs for a little me-time. I know this voice all too well though. It’s the one that needs my full attention. The one that breaks my heart.

I cross the room and sit on his bed near his pillow. “Of course you can, sweetheart. You can tell me anything.”

“I was really happy about the surprise flowers. I loved planting them, and I was happy about them all day until I started brushing my teeth. And, and”—there’s a quiet sniff in the dark—“and then I realized I was happy because I thought Mommy would like them, and”—a quiet sniff turns into a wet, painful sob—“and then I remembered she won’t see them.”

“Oh, buddy.” I lie down and turn on my side, scooting my arm under his head and pulling him as close as I can get him. “That makes me sad too.” I stroke his hair and hold him as he cries. When his little chest stops heaving, I say, “You’re right though. Mommy would’ve loved that we planted flowers. She loved flowers. Remember how she always used to take a long time deciding which ones to buy when she went to Whole Foods? She’d stand there and look at all of them and walk all the way around the floral area before she chose a bunch, remember?” He nods against my arm. “That was because she loved them so much.”

“I miss her.”

“I miss her too. Every day. You know what though? I know she would have been so proud of the way you watered the flowers this morning. You did such a good job. Those seeds were lucky you were there. Jelly might not have watered them as well as you did.”

“Can we go over to water them again tomorrow?”

“We’ll ask Jelly if he needs help.”

“He’ll definitely need help. He won’t know how to do it like I do.”

“Okay, buddy, try to close your eyes now. I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.”

I drifted off while lying with Luca, so when I wake, I have a bad taste in my mouth and a lump in my throat. I don’t bother going downstairs to start the dishwasher. I head straight to my room instead. The doors downstairs are locked, the TV is switched off, and I put the leftovers in a container in the fridge before I put Luca to bed. It’s good enough.

I’ve done all I can for the day.

Some days are like that. It took me a while to accept that idea, but when you’re grieving, good enough is good enough. I had no idea about that before. I thought you had to be your best, or as close as you could get to it, every day.

Not true.

As always, after Luca’s been sad, I feel ravaged. Beaten. Broken. My heart and lungs feel shaky. Too big and too small and too tight in my chest. I close my bedroom door and lean against it. I’m faced with a too-big, echoey room, new bedroom furniture meant to make me feel better but doesn’t, and an endless barrage of curtains to draw.

Fuck .

My jaw clicks and my chest aches from a tidal wave of love with nowhere to go. I’m too full and too empty, and I wish to God I knew how to let it out, but I don’t.

I close the curtains quickly. Roughly. Not caring when a few hooks snap off and go flying. I work my way around the room like I always do, stopping when I get to the window closest to my bed.

Jeremiah is on his yoga mat. I’ve come to bed a little later than usual, so I’m only catching the tail end of his set tonight. He’s sitting, cross-legged, with a hand resting on each knee. I’ve never watched for long enough to see this part. His eyes are closed, lips pressed lightly together. His chest rises and falls in a slow and controlled motion. Infinitely slow, infinitely controlled, yet it looks easy.

The light behind him is pink tonight. A warm watermelon hue that radiates around him.

They change every few days, the colors of the lights in his living room and bedroom. I’m not sure if they’re on an automatic setting or if he changes them manually. If he does, I wonder what makes him choose the colors. I wonder what makes him think, hmm, I’m feeling pink today , not purple or blue.

He still hasn’t moved.

He’s still breathing easy.

As I watch him, I gradually become aware that my own breathing is slowing.

I breathe in.

And out.

In

Out

A feeling of calm washes over me, and my organs return to their normal size and eventually settle into the cavities meant for them.

Next door, Jeremiah’s eyelids flutter and his eyes open.

I know I should draw the last of the curtains now. It’s time. More than time. But I also know he can’t see me. I know it for a fact because I looked up at my window when I was in his yard this morning. My windows are completely opaque, whited out by the sheer curtains. I was a little unsure of how much visibility the gauzy fabric blocked before, so I’ve been watching him with most of my body hidden, only the top quadrant of my face peeking at him.

Tonight, I’m standing directly in front of the window.

Jeremiah rolls his shoulders and smiles to himself, sighing and pursing his lips together in a way that makes it look like he’s saying, “Mm.”

His cheeks are a little pinker than usual, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the lighting or his workout.

They were pink this morning too, when we were sitting on the lawn together. Bright, rosy pink. A quick burst of color just under his skin, caused by blood vessels opening wide enough to make him flush. The blush made his lips look darker, his teeth whiter, and his eyes bluer than blue.

He looks like that now too.