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The doorbell rings, pulling me from the depressing cave of bedcovers that are well overdue for a wash. It’s almost noon the following day, and I’m still buried deep inside my blanket fort. I had to take a bereavement leave from the restaurant, too scattered to focus, too broken to perform, so the days are all bleeding together and time doesn’t seem to exist.
I traipse from my room in a white T-shirt and athletic shorts, my hair looking like a bird’s nest made of grass and twigs. When I turn down the short hallway to the staircase, I falter. I pause, pivoting toward the opening of Theo’s old bedroom, now a guest room.
Andrew is sitting on Theo’s bed.
He’s just sitting there.
Staring at nothing.
A deep ache hollows out my heart, and I have to look away. It hurts too much.
Ring, ring.
The doorbell chimes again, startling me back to the present moment, and I make my way down the staircase to the front door.
It’s Wendy.
Surprise claims me for a beat. While she made an appearance at Theo’s wake to pay her respects, we didn’t talk much. We haven’t talked much at all since she infected me with her depraved perspective on my relationship with June. A perspective I’ve come to internalize to the point of imminent annihilation.
Resentment bubbles to the surface, but I’m not sure if it’s aimed at Wendy for digging up my buried feelings or at myself for allowing them to exist in the first place.
“Hey.” I pull the door open wider, letting her inside. “What are you doing here?”
Wendy hesitates before stepping through the threshold, her burgundy hair pulled up into a loose bun and a purple silk scarf around her neck.
My eyes narrow at it, my teeth clinking together.
“Sorry to bother you,” she says, dangling a little gift bag from her fingers. Her copper eyes are wide and glossy, shimmering with sympathies. “Chef Marino wanted me to bring this by for you. He sends his condolences.”
She hands me the bag, and I peek inside. “Chocolates?”
“His renowned hazelnut truffles.”
A smile lifts. Pauly sent me a handwritten card after hearing about Theo, telling me to take off as much time as I needed—that there would always be a place for me when I was ready to return.
It meant a lot.
For as prickly as Pauly comes across, there is something genuine about him. Something sincere.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
She nods. “Of course.” Wringing her hands together, Wendy clears her throat, glancing down at her sandals. “How are you, Brant?”
The truth?
The watered-down truth?
A blatant lie?
I’ve never understood that question in the aftermath of grief and loss—especially when it comes from people who aren’t equipped to handle the truth.
And if a lie is what they’re after, why bother asking?
“I’m not good, Wendy.” The truth wins out, causing her head to snap up, her brow furrowing with worry as if she anticipated the lie. “In fact, I’ve never been worse. I can’t remember the last time I showered or dragged myself out of bed before noon, and I don’t really know how to move on from any of this. I’m not okay. And mostly, I wish I could go back in time and take Theo’s place.”
Her lips part, but no sound passes through. She takes a hesitant step forward, her hand extending for a hug, or a touch of comfort, but she’s stopped short when a new voice sounds from behind me.
“What is she doing here?”
