My dad thought that as long as we weren't doing it in my princess bed with its sheer white bed hangings I was still untouched. Ironically, my princess bedroom had become a haven, a place I could escape the suffocating memories of Will and me. I’d spent a lot of nights here right after Will died.
Pulling the pink gingham quilted coverlet back, I climbed inside and tucked an old teddy bear next to me. The image of Gray as he effortlessly held me up flitted through my brain but I didn't want to be having a fantasy about him tonight. As I allowed exhaustion to pull me under, I wondered if my attraction to him was based on the fact that he was military and he reminded me vaguely of Will even though the two looked nothing alike. Oh, Will. God, why did you leave me alone? And I was alone—and so, so tired of it. The pang in my chest felt vaguely like guilt, and when I closed my eyes, my aching loneliness soaked my pillow.
CHAPTER SIX
Samantha
”NICE PAJAMAS. ARE YOU FIVE?" Bitsy wandered into the breakfast room as I was getting breakfast, or brunch to be technical given that it was half past ten in the morning. I glanced down at my Smurfette nightshirt and shorts and at the bowl of Cheerios I'd just poured.
"Yes, I am. What are you?”
"It's hard to believe you’re the older sibling."
My response was to grunt into my cereal. I wasn’t equipped to verbally spar with her on my best days, let alone one that followed an emotionally exhausting evening. I just wanted to eat my cereal and read the new messages on the knitting message board that I’d pulled up on my phone.
“We can’t all look like fashion plates.” I squinted at her, taking in the high-waisted shorts, off-the-shoulder midriff top, and high-heeled cork sandals. “Is this normal weekend attire for kids these days?” I gestured at her outfit.
“This is everyday attire for normal people.” She set one hand on a bony hip and struck an I’m-too-good-for-this pose.
“Normal people are exhausting then.” Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to my phone where I could read the debate about whether wool or acrylic yarn should be used for knitting baby booties and hats. I liked both and acrylic was very soft but lots of people thought babies should only be in natural fibers. That was about as an important of a discussion as I could handle this morning. “I told David you were going to be the one to take over the firm in eight years.”
“Ooh, you had lunch with the Andersons?” She rushed over to take a seat at the table. “Was Tucker there?”
“You do know that Tucker is old enough to be your dad, right?” Bitsy’s weird crush on Will’s older brother was funny in theory but kind of scary if it was real. “Aren’t there guys your own age you can date?”
"No one dates anymore, Sam." Bitsy sighed dramatically. Man, only a few years out of high school and I didn't even understand the mating rituals anymore. Coffee for sex and no dating. Actually, Will and I never really dated either. We’d moved from childhood friends to something more when we both realized that there were stronger feelings than just friendship.
"So what do you do? Hang out? Hook up? Cavort?”
“Cavort?"
"You know, fool around.”
Even though she made no sound, I could tell she was rolling her eyes.
“Cavort is an old lady word,” she mocked.
“I feel old,” I said, stretching my arms out. “I feel eighty.”
“It’s because you hang out with old ladies all the time.”
“They aren’t all old ladies,” I protested. She was referring to my grief support group, the Yarn Over Widows Knitting Club. “I think some of them are in their fifties.”
“Mom’s not even that old!”
“Husbands don’t usually die when they’re in their twenties,” I pointed out, quickly regretting it when Bitsy’s face fell. Hurriedly, I added, “Anyway, can you be sure to tell Mom that you’re going to take over the firm when Mom and David are ready to retire.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, no. I don’t want to be a lawyer. I’m going to do something else.”
“Like what?”
“Not sure, but it’s going to be fun and awesome.”
“I hope so, Little Bit.” I wanted her to be happy. Hell, I wanted to be happy, I realized, but I think my little sister had a better idea of how to achieve her goals than I did.
“So was Tucker there?” She was like a dog going after a bone, persistent and relentless. Actually that was all Mom right there. I was more like Dad—letting things come to me instead of pursuing things.
No.” I shoveled the rest of my cereal into my mouth and then added more dry cereal to soak up the remaining milk. “At our last anniversary luncheon, Tucker yelled at his dad, and they almost got into a fist fight. Carolyn cried, and I wanted to crawl under the table.” Two years ago, Tucker had started law school. When Will died, Tucker had dropped out and started inking people. Life was too short to live the life other people wanted for you, he'd told me. So I guess Tucker's dream was to be a tattoo artist, because that's what he was doing now. “But it’d be nice if he came to hold his mom’s hand.”
“Mom says that Carolyn needs to learn to hold her own hand.” Bitsy took the cereal from me and poured herself a bowl.
Holding Carolyn up emotionally was an exhausting task and I wished Tucker would help me since his father wouldn’t. “He’s still a selfish jerk and way too old for you.”
“Mom says I’m an old soul.” No, Bitsy, I thought, you’re so bright, shiny and new my heart aches at your beauty. I wished I still had that look. Instead, I felt dull and used and, after last night, rejected. When I had woken up, the memory of Gray telling me he had to get out of my condo was the first thing that popped into my mind—not the long meaningful discussion we’d had afterwards. The invitation to do something adventurous felt like a pity date rather than a genuine desire to spend more time with me. I felt foolish and embarrassed.
“What does Mom say?” questioned our mother as she walked into the breakfast room dressed in slacks and a blouse. She must be meeting clients at the office today.
“That you work too hard,” I said affectionately. Mom leaned down and kissed both of our heads.
“Someone’s got to keep you girls in cereal,” she teased and went over to make herself a cup of coffee. “Your father says hello by the way and would like for you to Skype him tomorrow.” Dad was over in England teaching a summer fellowship on comparative American Lit at Cambridge.
A horn honked outside and Bitsy jumped up, kissing Mom goodbye and running out the door. A cloud of perfume and hairspray threatened to choke me as she sprinted past.
“Bad night?” Mom sat in Bitsy’s now-empty chair and pushed the abandoned cereal bowl aside.
I considered lying to Mom, but I hadn’t been able to get away with it when I was a teen and I doubted I’d get away with it now.
“Just felt a little lonely, I guess,” I admitted.
She mmhmmed mysteriously but didn’t say anything else, just sipped her coffee and looked at me like I wasn’t spilling all my secrets. I knew this trick. She’d once told me that the best way to get someone to start talking was to be quiet because people hated uncomfortable silences. Trying to resist the pull of her unspoken command, I looked everywhere but her. After not even a minute had gone by, I started blurting it all out.
“I met a guy last night and he…” There were limits to what I wanted to share so I tried to think of some euphemisms to describe what he’d done, what we’d done together.