Pack Up the Moon

by Kristan Higgins

  Back in Rhode Island, he packed up the apartment, putting all but two photos of him and Lauren in a box. He put her more valuable jewelry in a safe-deposit box to give to Sebastian, Octavia and Leah someday. He kept a few things from his married life to bring to his new house, then invited Lauren’s friends to come and take whatever they wanted—a rug, a lamp, a painting.

  And then, amid the boxes and paintings in the now-echoing apartment, he took off his wedding ring.

  He moved into his new house, not a hundred percent sure it was the right time. It was right enough, he supposed. Every night, he lay awake for hours, a feeling of the surreal hovering over him in this new room with its different shadows and unfamiliar sounds. The wind shushed in the leaves, and he could hear the waves of Narragansett Bay sloshing at the edge of his property. His neighbors often hosted parties, and the sounds of music and laughter drifted on the air. They were good sounds. He’d get used to it.

  He was grateful to have Radley on the third floor. They ate dinner a couple of times a week, sometimes watched TV together. He threw his friend the promised graduation party and met Radley’s classmates and other friends, among them Cammie, who gave him a big hug and invited him to Shine’s grand opening.

  Josh had asked if he could invite Jen and Darius and the kids to the graduation party, and of course Radley had said yes. Sarah had been invited, too, and he watched her that day, her ease with Radley, the way she scooped up Octavia and pushed Sebastian on the swing.

  It would be convenient, he admitted silently, to marry his wife’s best friend. He definitely cared about her. Loved her, even. She was pretty in a way that was different from his sparkly wife, and Josh thought that was a good thing. Sarah would give him space for Lauren’s memory. She could tell him stories of Lauren as a kid . . . and herself as a kid, too. She liked him. She was kind and hardworking. That could be enough.

  Still, it took him another month to ask her out. He called rather than texted; it felt too momentous to do without hearing her voice.

  “Hey, you,” she said. “What’s up?” He could hear the voices of her colleagues in the background, the shrill of a ringing phone.

  “I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner with me,” he said, and the words were not hard to say.

  “Sure! When?”

  “Uh . . . Saturday?”

  “Okay. Where?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll make a reservation.” He hadn’t thought where just yet. Somewhere romantic, he guessed.

  “Great. Text me the details. I can meet you there.”

  “I’ll pick you up.” He paused. “Sarah?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m asking you on a date.” Once, Lauren had said almost the exact same words to him.

  There was a long silence. “Oh.”

  “If it’s a horrible idea, tell me now, okay?” It hadn’t occurred to him that she wouldn’t want to date him; he hadn’t even thought to wonder. It was Lauren’s idea, and Lauren had known them both so well.

  Another pause. “Um . . . it’s not a horrible idea. Not at all.”

  Nothing else. Another beat passed. Another. Another.

  “Okay, I’ll text you tomorrow,” he said.

  “Yeah. Great. Talk to you later, Josh.”

  * * *

  HE PICKED HER up on Saturday night. She wore a flowered dress that caught the breeze, flashing a glimpse of her excellent legs. She had always been lean and athletic, and those were some great legs.

  “Hi,” she said, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek, the way he always did, as she leaned in to hug him. He ended up kissing her on the ear instead.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “No, no. This is a little weird, but . . . it’s really nice, too.” She got in his car, filling it with a spicy smell, deeper than Lauren’s perfume. “Where are we going?”

  “Mill’s Tavern.”

  “Nice.”

  He pulled away from her curb and drove through Providence. After a minute or two, he realized he should speak. “How was your day?”

  “Good! It was relaxing. I did some gardening. You?”

  “Also good. I worked, but I also took Pebbles for a swim.”

  “Oh, does she love being near the water?” Sarah asked, her voice warming. She loved that dog. A good sign.

  “She does. She swims around, barking like a maniac. I think she’s trying to herd the fish.”

  She laughed.

  This could be it, he thought. Josh and Sarah, Sarah and Josh. Why not?

  They got to the restaurant and were seated at a nice table. Josh had worn a Radley-approved outfit from Banana Republic—chinos, a checked purple-and-blue shirt cuffed at the wrist, loafers with no socks (which felt weird and was something he would not do again).

  “You look nice,” he said to Sarah.

  “Thank you. So do you.”

  Their server came over. “Hi! Welcome to Mill’s Tavern! Are we ready to order our drinks?”

  “I’m not. I don’t know about you,” Sarah answered.

  Josh looked up. “I’ll have a glass of sauvignon blanc—oh, hey.”

  It was the woman from the vet and the marathon. And the Eddy. Duffy the dog’s owner.

  “Hi! How are you?” She beamed, clearly recognizing him.

  “Good,” he said. “Very good. Um, Sarah?”

  “I’ll have a cosmo,” she said. “Grey Goose, very faintly pink, squeeze the lime. Thank you.” Quite specific, and ordered firmly. Sarah would be good with kids, he thought.

  “You got it! Nice to see you,” the server said to Josh, going off to put in their drink order.

  “You know her?” Sarah asked.

  “I’ve run into her a couple times. We use the same vet. Also, Providence.”

  “Can’t swing a cat without hitting someone you know.” Sarah settled back. “Don’t you hate when they say, ‘Are we ready to order?’ Like it’s the three of us having dinner?”

  “I never really noticed.”

  “Drives me crazy. ‘How do we like our dinners?’ ‘Do we want dessert?’ I feel like I’m three and my mother is saying, ‘We love broccoli! It’s our favorite veggie!’” She laughed and after a second, Josh smiled.

  The waitress came back with their drinks on a tray, set Josh’s wine before him, then slowly, slowly attempted to get Sarah’s cosmo to her without spilling a drop. It was filled to the rim, and Josh stared, hypnotized as she lowered it closer and closer to the table. The pink liquid shook, but didn’t spill. Would she be able to manage the surface tension of the liquid?

  No. As she set it on the table, it sloshed just a bit.

  “So close!” she said.

  “Um, I hate to be a pain,” Sarah said, “but I said very faintly pink. Do you mind taking this back and getting me another one?” She was already handing the glass back to the waitress.

  “No, no, not at all. I’m really sorry.”

  “No, it’s not your fault. It’s the bartender’s.” Sarah smiled, though Josh could tell it wasn’t a real smile. Once, he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. Lauren had taught him so much. The waitress went off to replace the drink.

  “So,” Josh said. “Any . . . summer plans?”

  “Other than visiting your place? No.” She flashed a smile. He hadn’t planned on inviting her to stay just yet. The house was a mess at the moment. Would it be rude to tell her no?

  It would be. He nodded, forced a smile and wished he’d brought some index cards.

  “How was Singapore?” she asked. “You only said that it was a good trip. Tell me about it.”

  And so he did, and he tried to give details, the way Lauren had once instructed him. He told her about the beautiful city, the impressive Chiron headquarters, the orchids of the botanical gardens, the food.

  “I would love to
go there someday,” she said. “I’m not really well traveled.”

  The server was back, and this time, the drink was neither spilled nor too pink. “Are we ready to order?” she asked, and Sarah gave him a wink.

  “I’ll have a Caesar salad, no anchovies,” Sarah said.

  “There are anchovies in the dressing,” the server said.

  “I know that. I just don’t want little fishes lying across the lettuce.”

  “Got it.”

  “And I’ll have the petite filet, medium, which means I want it pink and warm in the center.” Yes, Sarah was a woman of firm opinions and clear instructions.

  “And your sides?” the server asked.

  “Instead of the crispy potatoes, I’d like the mashed, and a side of asparagus.”

  The server scribbled furiously, then turned to Josh. “And you, sir?”

  “I’ll have the grapefruit salad and the salmon,” he said.

  “Great choices. How are we doing on drinks? Oh, gosh, I just brought you yours. Sorry. Um, let me know if you want wine with dinner! Okay!” Off she went again, her long ponytail swinging.

  “She’s nice,” Josh said.

  “A little chirpy,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes. She took a sip of her drink. “This is not Grey Goose,” she sighed. “Is it really that hard?” But she smiled.

  “Tell me about when you were a little kid. Did you always want to be a social worker?” It was a dumb question.

  “How are our drinks?” said the waitress, there again.

  “They’re great,” Sarah all but growled. To her credit, it hadn’t been thirty seconds since the drink was delivered.

  “Super!” The waitress was like Tigger, bouncing off. Josh and Octavia had watched a Winnie-the-Pooh movie last week when he babysat the older two kids. That had been a fun night.

  “So you were asking if I always wanted to be a social worker.” Right. He should be talking with Sarah. “Truth is, I didn’t really know what that was when I was a kid. In high school, I wanted to be a psychologist, but the money for a PhD was too much, so I went for the master’s of social work. Did an internship for social services. I loved it. I hated it and I loved it, you know? I mean, no one who works in our department totally loves their job, but—”

  She kept talking, and Josh nodded in what he hoped were the right spots.

  Lauren thought this would be a good idea, he reminded himself. First dates always sucked.

  Well. His and Lauren’s had not. But comparison was the thief of joy, as Teddy Roosevelt had once said (and Lauren had often quoted him). She’d loved that guy. Who didn’t?

  “What are you thinking about?” Sarah asked.

  “Oh. Uh, Teddy Roosevelt.”

  “Am I boring you?”

  “No! Sorry. Just . . . never mind.”

  Sarah seemed to be done talking about her job. Maybe she’d ask him about something. It was kind of her turn.

  “Watched anything good on Netflix lately?” she asked. The waitress brought their salads, smiled and left.

  “No. No, I don’t watch much TV.” He used to, when he was married. It had been cozy then, sitting on the couch together, making out, handing Lauren tissues when she cried, because she loved the sad, sappy movies. He opted not to mention his first two months as a widower, when he’d watched thousands of hours of television. Still, he should say something. “The Great British Bake Off and Star Trek reruns, mostly. The original TV show.”

  “Are you kidding?” Sarah asked. “Oh, Josh. They’re so hokey! The new movies are so much better. That one with Benedict Cumberbatch? I loved that one.”

  The old series was not hokey, but he didn’t want to get into an argument about it.

  “How are our salads?” the waitress asked.

  “Fine. Great,” Josh said, though he hadn’t had time to pick up his fork.

  “Excellent.” She beamed and left.

  What had they been talking about? “Have you seen anything good lately?” Josh asked.

  “Actually, I’ve been watching this documentary. Josh, you’d love it. It’s about this plastic surgeon in India who does really extreme cases. Like, there was a little girl who had two noses, I shit you not.”

  “Wow,” Josh said. It was right up his alley.

  “And there was this other guy who had warts all over his body that made him look like his hands were the roots of trees.”

  “Tree Man! I saw that one,” he said.

  “Wasn’t that incredible?”

  “Here we go!” announced the chirpy server, and Sarah was right. She had a bright, birdlike quality about her, like a chickadee, interested and energetic and . . . fluttery, somehow. “Let me know if everything is to your satisfaction.”

  “Stay right there,” Sarah ordered, cutting her filet in half. She inspected the middle, which was pink, then pressed her finger against it. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

  “Enjoy!” She flitted off again. Yes. A chickadee. He always liked those birds, their bright black eyes and intelligence.

  “How’s your mom?” Sarah asked, and that was easy to talk about, because his mom had just been to Sedona with Sumi and had funny stories of the lady who did yoga buck naked. Well, it was funny when Steph told it. Not so much now, he guessed. He wasn’t great at delivery. Or Sarah wasn’t amused.

  They talked about their families, Jen’s new baby. “Where did she come up with the name Leah? Is that a family name? I always think of Princess Leia.”

  “Well, what a great role model, right?” Josh said. “I don’t know how she picked it.” He took a bite of salmon, wishing he’d ordered something else, then remembered a random fact. “If you’re Jewish, sometimes you give a baby a name that starts with the same letter as a person in your family who died.” While Octavia’s middle name was Lauren (and how Lauren had loved that), Josh now wondered if Jen had thought of that tradition when picking out her second daughter’s name.

  “They’re not Jewish, though, right? Darius isn’t, is he?”

  “They go to Blessed Sacrament. I don’t know if Darius was raised—”

  “Miss?” called Sarah. “The asparagus? Thanks!” She lowered her voice. “I’m sorry. I wanted to catch her before we got too far into the meal. You were saying?”

  “I think . . . it doesn’t matter.”

  She was Lauren’s friend. She was hardworking and loyal. She was funny (sometimes). She was very particular about food and treated the waitstaff poorly. She smelled nice. She was attractive and healthy.

  But he wasn’t feeling it. Give it a chance, he told himself. Lauren wouldn’t have suggested this if it was too far off.

  The asparagus came. “How are we liking everything?” the server asked.

  “We don’t know yet,” Sarah said. “We haven’t had a chance to eat the asparagus.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I’ll . . . let me know if you need anything.”

  Sarah ate some, and offered some to Josh. He took a few spears. She asked if he’d bought any more furniture. He told her yes and detailed his new appliances.

  But aside from medical shows about rare health conditions, the conversation didn’t exactly flow.

  The server wrapped up Sarah’s leftovers, and they ordered coffee and a crème brûlée to share.

  “Oof. This was a great meal,” Sarah said a little while later. “I’m gonna have to run it off tomorrow. You want to go together?”

  “No, I have something to do,” he lied. “I’m, um, fixing something at Donna’s.” Now he would have to go to Donna’s and find something to fix, because he hated lying.

  “You know, that reminds me of something. When Lauren and I were little—”

  “And how is the dessert?” asked the waitress with a big smile, sliding the check on the table. “Did we like the crème brûlée?”

  “Jesus!” Sarah
barked. “Can you leave us alone for, like, ten consecutive minutes? This is his first date since his wife died! Stop interrupting!”

  Everyone went quiet, and the waitress looked stricken. Literally, as if Sarah had just punched her. “Oh, my God,” she said. “I’m so sorry! Obviously, I didn’t . . .” Her face crumpled, and she started to cry. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She held her hand up to cover her mouth. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry. Or interrupt. We’re supposed to check on you a lot. It’s policy.” Her voice shook. “I’m sorry for crying. It’s just . . . I’m very emotional lately. My dog died two days ago.”

  “Jesus H. Christ,” Sarah said, tossing down her spoon. “Are you comparing his wife dying to your dog?”

  “No, no, I’m not, I just—”

  “Duffy?” Josh asked.

  The server looked up as if surprised he remembered, then nodded.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said.

  “No, it’s not . . . God, listen to me. Your wife died, and I’m telling you about a seventeen-year-old dog. I’m an idiot. Have a good night. I’m really sorry.” The last few words just squeaked out of her.

  She left, and Josh looked at Sarah.

  “That was memorable,” she said. Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry if I made a scene. I’m just . . . I don’t know. Nervous.”

  “Why don’t we get out of here?” Josh suggested. He paid the bill in cash, leaving a hefty tip for Duffy’s grieving owner, who was being lectured by the manager.

  They went outside. The sky was still light, and it was a perfect summer evening. “Let’s go down to the river,” Sarah suggested, and they did. She took his arm. It didn’t feel bad.