He didn’t want to give the appearance in any way, shape or form that he was interested in Sarah. Not that anyone would think that, but still, the two-plus-two of it made his stomach hurt.
Sarah dated often, but no one ever stuck. Lauren used to say she had bad taste in men because her father had been a jerk. Whatever the cause, Sarah had commented more than once that Lauren had set the bar unfairly high with husbands. And if she thought that . . . if he gave any indication . . .
He didn’t really think Sarah would assume dinner was a date, but just in case. He wasn’t great at reading social cues and vibes and body language. Lauren had always helped him along there.
He grabbed his phone and texted Sarah.
Why don’t you bring someone Saturday night? A friend, a date, Asmaa, whatever.
That would do the trick, wouldn’t it?
His phone chimed almost immediately.
You sure? It might be weird.
No, not weird at all. It will be fine.
Okay. What can I bring?
Just your date. Friend. Whatever.
There was a bit of a pause, the three dots waving.
Yeah, okay, I’ll ask a guy I’m dating. Ken. This will be our second date. If we can call it a date. That doesn’t sound 100% right. Our second meeting, know what I mean?
No, he didn’t, and he didn’t want to. He typed a quick response.
Sure. 7:00. See you then.
He clicked off the phone and tossed it beside him, earning a bark from Pebbles. “We have to find something to cook, puppy,” he said. She wagged her tail. Something he’d made before, something that wouldn’t take too much effort. That dish Mrs. Kim made, maybe—crispy fried chicken with a spicy red sauce. Mrs. Kim had taught him to cook during those two years when he was too old for after-school daycare and too young to stay on his own. The dish was pretty easy. He’d cook some rice, roast some vegetables, all easy enough.
Lauren had loved it. In fact, Josh had made it for her when they were dating, hoping to impress her. It had worked. “Dakgangjeong it is, Pebbles,” he said. “Because you asked so nicely.”
* * *
HE WENT GROCERY shopping Saturday morning, leaving an envelope of money for Yolanda, since he hadn’t been back to the grocery store since his meltdown. This time, he put in earbuds so he wouldn’t have to hear anyone and tried not to make eye contact. Got the chicken, grabbed Korean red pepper and gochujang, since he couldn’t remember if there was any in the pantry. Should’ve checked before he left the house. In the produce aisle, he grabbed a knot of fresh ginger and a head of garlic.
Cooking for Lauren, going all-organic and unprocessed, had honed his kitchen skills. As a single guy, he’d been content to order food, eat on the fly or avail himself of his mother or Mrs. Kim for home-cooked meals. But as a married man, he upped his game, and after her diagnosis, he got even better. Lauren was easy—she loved food, loved to cook when she had the energy, and ate everything except veal or lamb. “Who wants to eat a baby?” she said. “Would you want some other species eating our kids, Joshua?”
Their kids. Except there’d be no kids.
His heart spasmed, and he rubbed his chest. Don’t go there, his brain warned. Focus. When he was a kid and his mood threatened to shatter, his mother had given him a sentence to repeat over and over, to think about and distract him. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. Every letter in the alphabet in that sentence. He’d chant it out loud, thinking about the letters, making order in his mind to head off the emotional storm.
Sometimes, it worked.
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.
It was helping. Spicy chicken would require rice. Did he have rice? Did he have chicken? He’d buy more. Broccoli for a vegetable. How many heads would he need? Four? Ten? How many people were coming? Didn’t broccoli shrink when you cooked it? He got eight heads.
He paused at the floral section. Lauren had always bought fresh flowers when they had people over. No. This was not a celebration or a party. This was seeing his wife’s sister, brother-in-law and best friend. It was part of mourning. They were all trying to deal with grief, to move on.
Except he didn’t want to move on.
That black tarry pull began at his feet, and Josh turned up the volume on his podcast and forced himself to the self-checkout, so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. But once he got home, Creepy Charlotte pounced the second he walked into the lobby.
“Oh! Groceries! You cooking tonight? Want company?” she said. She was very short, not more than five feet, and fast, blocking Josh’s path to the stairs.
“Yes and no. Thank you.”
“You’ve got to come down for a glass of wine, Josh. We can talk. People tell me I’m a very good listener.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Even so.” She leaned in the doorway, scanning him up and down. “You need a friend.”
“I have a dog. Excuse me.”
He got past her, unloaded the groceries and took Pebbles for a run (using the back door to avoid Charlotte). When he returned home, he showered and started food prep, blasting Prince to make it seem less lonely. Don’t think. Just cook.
When Lauren was alive, a night like this had been fun, the air charged with energy and anticipation, the room filled with laughter and instructions—Honey, grab that vase. Honey, would you unload the dishwasher? Josh, do you mind cutting the chicken? When she was alive, he was more relaxed, more competent, more present and funnier. When she was alive, he wasn’t dead inside.
For a minute, he stopped chopping broccoli and stared at the counter.
If he was very still, he could picture this as a different scene. His wife was down the hall, taking a shower. She’d take forever drying her hair and change at least twice. She’d put on makeup, because she loved makeup. He could almost hear her rustling around, singing under her breath.
“Honey?” he called. Just in case.
Obviously, there was no answer. He resumed chopping, hard. If he sliced off a fingertip, he could get out of this evening.
But Lauren had asked him to do this, so he would muscle through it.
It might be time to take up drinking.
Right at seven, the doorbell rang, and he opened the door. All four of them were together—Jen, Darius, Sarah, her friend. Their faces were somber.
“Hi,” he said.
Jen burst into tears.
Pebbles pushed past him and went right to her, and Jen knelt down, hugged the dog and sobbed.
No one said anything for a second.
“Um . . . do you want to come in?” Josh said.
“Good idea. Hey, brother, how are you?” Darius said, giving him a hug. “We brought wine.” He put his hand on his wife’s shoulder.
Shit. He didn’t have any. “Good,” he said. “Thanks.”
“We did, too,” Sarah said. “Ken, this is Joshua Park. Josh, Ken Beekman.” Ken was tall—taller than Darius, even. And thin. White guy, pale yellow hair, looked a bit like a heron, friendly-enough face. He had a messenger bag slung across his torso, and he whipped it off and put it on the floor, offered his hand and shook Joshua’s firmly with both of his. “Joshua. So sorry about your wife. Thanks for letting me come. You have a beautiful home.”
“Nice . . . nice to meet you. Hey, Sarah.” She looked nicer than usual, a dress, makeup and red lipstick.
Jen stood up, then hugged him hard. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s okay. Really.” He hugged her back, one of the few people he could hug and have it feel normal.
“Babe, I’m getting you some wine,” Darius said, and so they all moved into the living room area, sort of shuffling as one. Darius made himself useful, opening a few drawers to find a corkscrew. It hadn’t been used since . . . well. Valentine’s Day
. Their anniversary.
That was just nine weeks ago. Nine weeks and two days. How could she be dead now, when, on February 14, they’d made love in a room lit by candles? How could life have changed so much?
“It smells wicked awesome in here,” Ken said. “What is it?”
Josh blinked. “Um . . . It’s a spicy Korean chicken dish. Flavored by my actual tears.” No one laughed, unsure if he was joking. Poor taste, he guessed.
“Do you like cooking?” Ken asked.
“Uh . . . yes. Yes, I do. I like cooking. Have a seat.” He should’ve made snacks or something. Cheese and crackers at the very least. Did he have cheese? He didn’t think so. Sarah was wiping her eyes.
The five of them stood there, not looking at each other. “Why don’t I put some music on?” Darius said.
“Sure. Great idea.” He should’ve thought of that.
“Can I, um . . . wander around?” Jen asked, her voice cracking.
“Of course,” Josh said. “Of course you can.” He seemed to be repeating himself, parrot-like, since he had nothing else to say.
“Josh, do you want me to rustle up some appetizers or something?” Sarah asked.
“Yes. That would be great. Thanks.”
“On it,” she said. “Ken, give me a hand, okay?”
“Abso-tively!” Ken said, the only cheerful one among them.
“Come with me,” Jen whispered to Josh. It was only her second time here since Lauren died, and Josh could feel a burning at the back of his eyes. She took his hand, and they went into his office, which was off the living room.
There were half a dozen framed photos of Lauren, on the desk, on the wall. Her face surrounded them, reminding them of all they had lost. All that love. All that happiness.
“How are you?” Jen asked.
“I’m horrible.”
“Me, too. Josh, she left me a letter.” Jen’s eyes filled, and Josh was struck with guilt that he hadn’t taken better care of her. After all, Jen was lost, too. “It was perfect, you know? I had it framed.” Her face scrunched up.
He hugged her again. “I miss her so much,” Jen whispered. “I keep starting to call her. I can’t bear to delete her number from my phone, you know?”
“I do.”
“Of course you do. I’m sorry.” Jen sighed, grabbed a tissue from the box on the desk and blew her nose loudly.
“How’s your mom?” he asked.
“Oh, you haven’t heard? She’s doing great,” Jen said bitterly. “I mean, she’s wrecked, but suddenly this is her new identity. She goes to a grief group every day. It’s like her new religion. And get this, Josh. She met someone. A man. They had coffee last week.”
“Wow.”
“Right?”
“That’s . . . good, I guess.” Lauren had always urged her mother to make new friends or date after her father’s death. Donna had always rejected the idea of doing anything new, but . . . well, now she was. Maybe Donna was doing it for Lauren. If so, that was kind of nice. “Are you okay with it?”
“Whatever brings her peace. Or a distraction. At least she doesn’t call me seven times a day like she did when Lauren was . . .” She took a shaky breath. “I don’t mean to judge. I look at my kids and think of one of them . . . being sick, and I just fall apart. So whatever helps keep Mom together, go for it, right?”
“Right.”
She wiped her eyes again. “You’re such a good guy, Josh.”
Was he, though? He had no idea anymore.
Jen swallowed hard, audibly. “Can I see the . . . tree?”
“Yes. Absolutely.” They left his office, walked through the living room and down the hall to the bedroom, Pebbles padding behind them. Josh stopped in front of their bedroom door, and after a second or two, opened the door.
He came in here to check the tree every third day. That lasted about thirty-five, forty seconds. Fewer, if possible.
But looking at the pristine, empty bedroom now, he remembered the many days when Jen came over and lay on the bed with her little sister, spooning against her. How they always laughed together. How Jen would paint Lauren’s toenails sometimes.
Jen went to the tree in front of the window and gently stroked a leaf. “Oh, Lauren,” she said, her breath hitching. Her tears began again. Josh went over and put his arm around her shoulders. They both looked at the tree. Soil. Soil and a scrawny tree that looked like a stick with seven leaves. That was all they had left of her.
Say something. Tell her something nice, for God’s sake. “You were her hero, Jen,” he said, and it was the right thing, miraculously. Jen hugged him tight, shaking with tears.
“There’s no word for me anymore,” she said. “I’ve been a sister since I was five. Now my sister’s gone. What does that even make me?” She started bawling in earnest.
Would the grief ever lift? Would they—any of them who had loved Lauren—ever be happy again? It didn’t seem possible.
Darius popped his head in. “Oh, sweetie,” he said, and Josh sort of transferred Jen to her husband. Should he leave? He should. Even if it was his bedroom. Pebbles was on the bed, but what the hell. Josh had to get out of the room before he broke.
He went into the half bath and took a couple of breaths. He’d never have to relive this night again. Just get through it, he told himself, but his composure, thin as it was, was cracking.
Try to be normal, loser. Lauren’s voice.
He nodded. Splashed water on his face. Looked at himself in the mirror.
It was a lonely face if ever there was one. Lauren had always told him he was a handsome guy, and yes, women had always sought him out or looked at him twice (see Exhibit A, Creepy Charlotte). He could see traces of his mother—strong bones and wide-set eyes. But his mother’s eyes were blue, and his were brown. Like the man who fathered him, Josh supposed. Whoever that was.
Back to the kitchen. Sarah was cutting up carrots and celery and had found some hummus. Not exactly glamorous, but not bad, either. Ken was leaning on the counter, arranging the vegetables on a plate.
Fuck. Josh would have to make conversation, wouldn’t he?
“So, Ken,” he said. “What do you do for work?”
“I’m in sales for a nutrition company.”
“Cool. Uh, how did you meet Sarah?”
“Online, right, babe?”
“It’s a little early for babe, isn’t it?” Sarah asked mildly.
“Sorry!” Ken said. “I’m jumping the gun a little. Because she’s great, isn’t she? Josh, do you mind if I ask how much this place cost you? I’m looking for a new apartment myself.”
Josh hated talking about money. “Uh, well, it was a few years ago, so the market was different.”
“I hear you, Josh, I hear you. Half a mil, maybe?”
“Sounds about right.”
“Any more places available in this building?”
Oh, Jesus. Don’t move in here. He didn’t want to have to talk to anyone. Creepy Charlotte was bad enough. “Most are one- or two-bedroom units. We got the only three-bedroom, though, because, uh, I work from home, so one bedroom is my office.” The study, Lauren insisted on calling it. It was classier, she’d said.
They’d had sex in that study. More than once. Had they really been as happy as he remembered? As it seemed? Could any couple be that perfect together?
“Sorry, what?” He realized he’d missed out on some conversation.
“No problem, Josh, no problem. You’re still grieving. I understand, man. It’s not easy. Takes time.” Ken took a swig of wine.
“Did you lose someone, too?” Sarah asked, looking up from the chopping. Josh was wondering the same thing.
“No. Nope. I’ve been lucky so far. I’m just . . . well, people say I’m very compassionate. In fact, one of the reasons I liked Sarah so much was because she
told me a lot about Lauren, and I could see how much of a bond they had. It was very . . . affecting.”
They smiled at each other, and then Ken turned back to him. “What do you do for work, Josh?”
“I’m a medical device engineer,” he said. Sarah was bustling around the kitchen, opening a drawer, pulling out a serving spoon. She knew where everything was, quite at home. It irked him a little, even if she knew their kitchen because of all the time she’d spent helping out. But it wasn’t fair. Why did Lauren have to die? Why was it Lauren? He’d stab Sarah through the heart right this minute if it could make his wife come back.
“Cool,” said Ken, and Josh didn’t know what he was commenting on.
“He’s selling himself short,” Sarah said, smiling. “Josh is kind of a big deal. He’s sold . . . what, twelve patents? Five that are already on the market?”
“Nine. Nine patents, five on the market.”
“So it’s a pretty lucrative field for you, Josh?”
Was it him, or was Ken using his name an awful lot? Maybe that was what normal people did, a method to remember names. “Sure. I mean, so far, yes. Um . . . I should finish cooking here.”
It would be hours before he was alone again in the apartment. An eternity. He got a pan out for the rice and started boiling water.
This is hard, Lauren, he thought. I’d like to call you later and tell you what a failure it was, but you were incredibly rude and died. His throat tightened at the memory of her last hours. No. Absolutely not. He would not revisit that time. Ever.
The thought made him relax the tiniest bit. He could put that day away. It would be best that way. Far better to think of her smile, her laugh, her freckles, her eyes.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
Darius and Jen returned from the bedroom, thank God, and sat with Ken in the living room. Ken asked Darius about his profession, how much he traveled, where they lived. It was so weird to have a stranger here, but the conversation was like white noise, and Josh was grateful that no one was asking him anything at the moment. Sarah set the table while Jen sat on the couch with Pebbles and stared out the window, wiping away tears from time to time.
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