“Blaire,” she says sharply. “Stop it. You can’t do this to yourself.”
I hear her words, but they don’t make much impact. “I’m going to see Loraine,” I tell her. “I want to tell her in person.”
“When will you be home?” she asks me.
“I don’t know. It’ll be a few hours. It’ll take me at least one hour each way depending on traffic, not including the time I spend with her.”
“Just call me when you leave her house,” she says. “I worry about you.”
“I know, Mom,” I whisper. “I will.”
“I love you,” she says.
“Love you too.” I end the call and toss my phone on the seat beside me.
I look at the ultrasound photos one last time before sliding them into the envelope the nurse gave me. I run my fingers through my hair. I know I look like a mess, but there’s not much I can do to make myself look presentable at this point.
I turn the radio up, hoping to drown out my thoughts as I drive to Loraine’s.
When I get there, Jacob’s shiny silver Lexus is in the driveway. My throat catches at the sight. Poor Loraine. I haven’t reached out to her at all. I’ve been so consumed by my own grief that I’ve forgotten about hers.
I go to pull down my sun visor, in the hopes of fixing my makeup since I know mascara is smeared beneath my eyes, and I jolt in surprise when a paper crane begins to fall. My eyes seem to watch it in slow motion as the white piece of paper flutters to my lap. Ben. He always knows when I need him most. Even in death he’s still here when I need him.
My fingers shake when I pick up the paper crane and unfold it.
I could write something really profound here, but the only thing I want to say to you is:
“I love you with my whole heart for my whole life.” —Unknown
Whoever wrote that read my mind, because it’s exactly how I feel for you.
—Ben
I hold the paper to my heart and close my eyes as tears leak out. “Me too, Ben,” I whisper. “Me too.”
I grab a tissue and clean up my ruined makeup before refolding the paper crane and sticking it in my purse.
I cradle the ultrasound photos protectively in my hand and heft the heavy purse onto my shoulder.
When I reach the door, I hesitate a moment before knocking, but I finally raise my hand to the door and do just that. My feet shuffle against the porch as I wait.
The door opens and Jacob stands there in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Seeing Jacob is like a kick to the gut. He looks so much like Ben, only a little older. His hair is a similar golden shade, only a little bit darker. His face is more carved, whereas Ben’s is—was—more boyish. Jacob’s eyes are nearly the same color blue, but his now boast small wrinkles at the corners. Whereas Ben had the dimples in his cheeks, Jacob has one in his chin.
“Hey, Blaire.” He holds the door open for me. “How are you?”
I shrug. “I have good days and bad days.” I don’t tell him that there are more bad than good. “How are you? Why aren’t you working?”
“I’m doing okay.” He ruffles his hair before closing the door. The inside of the house is dark, like there aren’t any lights on. Normally, the house is so warm and cozy. Not today, though. Today, it feels empty and lifeless. “Mom was having a bad day so I decided to work from here.”
I nod and bite my lip, looking up at him through my lashes. “I should have called her or something …” I trail off.
“She could’ve called you too,” he reasons, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve both been through a lot. Don’t beat yourself up over this too.” He reaches for my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “She’s this way,” he says, and leads me through the house to the kitchen.
“Whoa,” I mutter under my breath.
“Mom bakes when she’s sad.” He shrugs.
The kitchen is covered in flour, sugar, and all kinds of other baking things. There are finished pies lined up on the table, cupcakes, cookies, and what looks like fudge.
“Jacob, can you take one of those pies to Maryann? I think she’d appreciate it.”
“Sure thing, Mom,” he says. “You have a visitor.”
“A visitor?” She turns away from whatever she’s working on now. “Oh, hi, Blaire.” Her lips turn down in a frown like she’s not happy to see me.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called or been by.” It seems like the right thing to say.
“Oh, that’s fine.” She waves a hand dismissively. She wipes her flour-covered hands on her apron. “Let’s sit in the family room.” She motions us out of the kitchen. “Too much clutter in here.” She turns to wash her hands in the sink and removes her apron, getting flour on her hands again in the process. She curses—in all the time I’ve known her, I’ve never heard her say one bad word—and washes her hands again. She runs her fingers over her frizzy hair that’s trying to escape the confines of a clip. “Want a cookie?” she asks suddenly. “I have chocolate chip, raisin, oatmeal, sugar—”
“A sugar cookie would be great,” I say, not wanting to turn down her offer.
“Here, take the whole plate,” Jacob says. “She’s already made more.”
“Um, thanks.” I take the plate from him when he hands it to me.
“I’ll get you a baggy,” Loraine says, opening a cabinet drawer. I can tell she’s just trying to busy herself. “Here you go.” She brings me a gallon-size Ziploc bag.
I dump the cookies inside and hand Jacob back the plate. Loraine promptly takes it from him and starts for the sink to wash it. Jacob wraps his hand around her upper arm to stop her. “Mom, we should go sit down. You can wash that later.”
She nods. “Right. Yes. I’ll wash it later,” she says in short, clipped sentences. I’ve never seen Loraine so unhinged, and I don’t like it. She’s always been such a strong woman—someone I’ve looked up to—and to see her come undone like this hurts. If Loraine is still doing this badly, it doesn’t bode well for me.
We all move into the family room, and I immediately hate the choice of venue. The beige walls are covered in family photos. Pictures of Ben from a tiny infant to a grown man cover the walls. It’s like looking at a timeline laid out of his life—one that ends abruptly and all too soon.
I take a seat on the dark-brown chair that matches the couch Jacob and Loraine sit on.
I clear my throat and clutch the envelope the photos are in. “I’m sorry for just showing up,” I say, my hands shaking, “but I got some news I wanted to share with the both of you.” They stare at me, waiting for me to go on, but I flounder unable to find words. “I … um … I,” I stutter. I didn’t expect this to be so awkward. “Loraine,” I begin, “I … Do you remember when I told you that Ben and I … we were … we were trying to have a baby before … well, before … and well, I’m pregnant.” Tears fill my eyes once more.
Loraine chokes on a sob. “Ben’s … Ben’s baby?”
“Of course,” I snap in anger. “Who else’s would it be?”
“I’m sorry.” She rubs her eyes. “I’m just surprised. That’s all.”
“Me too,” I whisper, the anger leaving me. “The first test was negative, but when I took another a while later it was positive. I guess I took it too soon,” I muse. “The doctor confirmed it this morning. Here—” I hand her the envelope, which I forgot I was holding “—that’s our baby.”
She opens the envelope flap slowly and pulls out the photos even slower. There’s only three of them and they’re hooked together.
“Oh wow,” she murmurs, lifting a hand to her mouth. Jacob sits beside her staring at the photos with an open mouth. Jacob, speechless—that’s a first. “What a miracle,” she breathes. “A complete and utter miracle. Come here, hun. I need to hug you.” She stands and crosses the small space to me.
I stand too, and she wraps her arms tightly around me. I sob into her shoulder. My emotions are all over the place today.
“He should be here,” I cry against her.
“We should be telling you together.”
“I know.” She runs her fingers through my hair, trying to soothe me. “I miss him too.” She pulls away and takes my face between her hands. “You’re a brave, strong, woman, Blaire. Don’t ever forget that. Even when the bad days seem endless, remember that. Promise me?”
“I promise.”
“And remember, you have me. You have Jacob. Just because Ben’s gone it doesn’t mean we are too.”
I nod and hug her again. I then go to hug Jacob.
“Congratulations,” he whispers in my ear and hugs me tight.
“Thank you.” I step back and wipe at my eyes. I let out a little laugh and point at my face. “All I do is cry.”
“Me too.” Loraine points at her own tear-stained cheeks. “Do you want to stay for lunch?” she asks.
I bite my lip, torn. I know my mom’s probably waiting for me to get home and worrying herself endlessly, but I haven’t seen Loraine since the funeral. Finally, I nod. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”
“Great.” She claps her hands together. “I don’t feel like cooking. Jacob, why don’t you go pick up Chinese and bring it back here?”
Jacob chuckles under his breath and bumps my shoulder with his. “The irony,” he mutters.
“I heard that.” Loraine swats him playfully.
“I’ll call it in and be back,” he says, pulling his car keys and phone from his pocket. “Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone.”
Loraine rolls her eyes, but he doesn’t see. To me she says, “He’s a worry-wart.”
“I heard that,” he yells before the front door closes behind him.
While he’s gone, Loraine and I chat about all the random things we can think of. Neither of us really wants to talk about Ben; it’s too painful.
Jacob returns with enough food to feed ten people.
I’d worried about being here, but in the end, I enjoy myself, and I promise to come back soon. I can’t shut Ben’s family out just because it hurts. They’re in as much pain as I am.
I stand in line waiting to order a cup of hot tea. I’m meeting a potential client in an hour for breakfast, but I needed out of the house and away from my mom. Now that I’m pregnant, she’s become even more of a clinger than normal. “B, are you hungry? Blaire, you should really eat something. Here, let me clean that.” I’m trying to work on not snapping at her, so I decided to leave this morning.
I finally reach the register and place my order for a hot tea and muffin. I pull out my wallet and search for my debit card.
“Here, I got it,” a voice calls before I can hand over my card. I look up and see Ryder walking over with a ten-dollar bill extended to the cashier. I’m too shocked to stop him. “Blaire, right?” he says with a crooked smile.
“Um, yeah.” I nod. “Thanks,” I say, when the cashier hands over the receipt and change.
“No problem.” He shoves the coins in his pocket. “I thought that was you, and I thought I’d do something nice.” He flashes another smile. He’s dressed for work in a pair of gray dress pants and a white, button-down shirt.
“Well, thank you,” I say again. “It’s … uh … nice to see you.” The words come out stiff and awkward.
He chuckles and grabs my tea and muffin bag. “I’m sitting over here, if you’d like to join me?” he asks, tilting his head toward a table where a cup of coffee and a breakfast sandwich waits. He holds my items out to me, though, giving me the option to take them and leave.
A big part of me wants to do just that—leave—but it feels rude. So instead, I nod and tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “Um, yeah, sure,” I say. “I’ll join you.”
“Great.” He smiles widely and carries my things over to the table. He sets them down across from his stuff and pulls out a chair for me.
“Thanks,” I say with a grateful smile. Thanks and thank you seem to be all I can say to him.
Ryder sits down across from me and his knee bumps mine. “Sorry,” he says immediately and scoots back a bit. He picks up his coffee and takes a sip. “How are you?” he asks and then cringes. “Stupid question, don’t answer that. It was my least favorite question when I lost my wife.” He takes a bite of his sandwich, not missing a beat.
“So, you lost your wife?” I question and then I’m the one cringing. “Sorry, that was rude of me to ask.”
“Nah—” he waves a hand dismissively “—it doesn’t bother me now. But I remember when it was fresh every little thing someone said could set me off.” He shrugs. “But yes, my wife died.”
I bite my lip. I want to ask how, but I don’t want to bring up the topic of my loss so I let it go. “Are you on your way to work?” I ask instead.
He nods and wipes his hands on a napkin. “Yeah, I forgot to eat breakfast. Don’t worry, I fed my son before I dropped him off at daycare,” he jokes.
“How old is your son?” I ask. That seems like a safe enough question.
“Two,” he answers. “And let me tell you, they don’t lie about the Terrible Twos. They’re the worst.” He takes another bite of his sandwich. “Not complaining, though. I love that kid.”
I laugh. “I didn’t doubt that.”
“So where are you headed?” he asks.
“Breakfast meeting with a client.” I pull out my muffin and break off a piece. It’s chocolate chip and warm inside so the chocolate is a gooey melted perfection.
“What do you do?” he asks.
“I’m an event planner. I have my own business.”
His dark almond-shaped eyes widen in surprise. “That’s awesome. Good for you.”
“Thanks.” I fiddle with the paper that once surrounded my muffin. Oh God, I said thanks again. Kill me now. I take another bite of muffin before I can say thanks yet again.
“What got you into event planning?” Ryder asks, flicking a dark piece of hair from his eyes.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve always liked planning parties, so I decided to see if I could make a go of it. It helps that we live so close to D.C. Lots of business,” I answer.
Ryder clears his throat suddenly. “I wanted to clarify something. I know I said that in Group we don’t really talk about our loss, but it’s not forbidden. If you need to talk about it, you can. I just like group to be more … relaxed, you know? I want people to get to know each other and be comfortable. I think that comfort makes it easier to talk about it, but I knew I made it sound like it was forbidden or something so, I wanted to clear that up,” he rambles, his tanned cheeks turning slightly red. It’s kind of adorable.
I laugh. “I understand, and I think the way you run things is great. I’m not … I’m not ready to really talk about things.”
He nods. “I was like that, too, but once I opened up, I felt a lot better. And Blaire?” He waits for me to nod. “If you want to talk about it to me, or any of the other Group members individually, that’s fine too. You don’t have to share with the whole group.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I finish my muffin and dust the crumbs off the table.
Ryder glances down at his watch. “I have to go if I’m going to make it to school on time.”
“What grade do you teach?” I ask him.
“Fifth,” he says, finishing his sandwich and gathering up his trash. “I’m glad I saw you, Blaire. Have a nice day.” He smiles and picks up his coffee cup before heading out the door. I watch him leave, and it’s not until his car disappears that I realize I’m smiling.
It’s been three days since I saw Ryder, and in those three days I have not been able to stop thinking about how he made me smile. Sure, I’ve forced a few now and then since Ben died, but never has one come so readily to my lips in the last few weeks. My frozen cheeks damn near cracked from the pressure of it.
I park outside the school gym, and unlike last week, I don’t linger in the car. I head inside the building and find that I’m early. Only four other people are here, including Ryder.
He smiles and waves when I enter.
I take a seat and drop my purse at my feet.
Ryder excuses himself from his conversation with Bill, another member of Group, and sits down beside me. He’s dressed casually today in a pair of dark wash jeans and white t-shirt and an open navy cardigan. His glasses are perched on his nose again, completing the nerd-chic look.
“Hey, Blaire.” He smiles. “How are you?”
I ponder over his words. Normally I would answer with an ambiguous fine, but the fact of the matter is I’m not fine. I see no point in lying to him or anyone else here for that matter. We wouldn’t be here if we were okay. We’re here to work on our demons.
“It’s been a rough few days,” I answer honestly.
His lips turn down in a frown. “I’m sorry to hear that, but thanks for being honest. We’ll talk more about it once everyone’s here.” He taps my knee lightly with his fingers before standing. He moves his attention on to the next member to arrive at Group. I admire the way Ryder goes out of his way to make us all feel comfortable.
When everyone’s arrived and grabbed a cupcake and drink, we begin.
Ryder takes his time addressing each and every person—asking them about children, parents, their dog, and job, basically anything not related to death.
When he gets to me, he says, “Blaire, you said you’d had a rough few days, tell us about it.” He crosses his foot over his knee and waits for me to speak.
With all the eyes suddenly pinned to me, I find myself closing up. These people, they’re nice, but I don’t really know them. I look around, from one face to the next. My heart begins to pump faster, like a runner about to cross the finish line, and sweat beads on my upper lip.
Suddenly, I find myself standing and running from the room. There’s a bathroom across from the gym and I burst inside. I grip the white porcelain sink in my hands and breathe in and out through my mouth. My head is lowered, staring into the depths of the sink because I’m too scared to look up and see my frazzled reflection in the mirror.
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