“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.