‘May the ninth,’ he fills in. I start to do the calculation. May had snuck up on me; the fact that we were only two days away from it being four entire years since I lost him was impossible.
‘Oh my God.’ I feel sick, a kind of wave of panic spreading through me. Florian gawps at me as if I’m having a stroke.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks and I’m unsure if he means physically or mentally. I am not doing great on either front.
‘I forgot.’ I screw my face up a little, the sourness of those words sitting heavily on my tongue.
‘You’ve had a lot going on…’
‘I forgot, Florian!’ I say again; this time the words are cutting, fierce. I grab my wrist on the steering wheel, pinch a bit of skin with my nails until I can feel the sharpness, wince a little from the pain.
‘Stop that,’ he scolds. ‘Ava, it’s okay,’ he lies, a poor attempt at making it seem alright, to forget the landmark date now automatically etched into my calendar, which should be this big red beacon in my year that makes the grief almost unbearable. Instead, I’ve been playing dress up and fantasising about getting with his brother.
He tries to reach out, rescue my hand that is starting to redden, but I snatch it away and I drive the last mile up to Rue Saint Jaques in an uncomfortable silence.
As soon as we park up, I throw myself out of the car and slam the door, the hem of the dress getting caught and ripping a little as I pull it away.
‘Fuck!’ I yell and slump myself down on the steps of my front door. Florian hangs back, leans against the car, arms crossed. I cry. I properly cry. All the anger and fury dissipates and despite the dress, the intentions, the bravery of tonight, I’m just a girl, sobbing on her own doorstep.
‘Hey.’ He takes a few slow steps towards me until he knows I’m not going to lash him again and slips his body down beside me. He wraps his long arm around me and strokes my arm gently. ‘He would be happy.’
‘That I forgot the day he died?’ I ask incredulously.
‘Yes. Of course. It’s a horrible day, Ava. He would be happy that you aren’t living your life around a dead man.’
‘He’s my husband… was my husband.’
‘What, and he never forgot an important date, your birthday, a Valentine’s Day perhaps, your anniversary?’
‘I – ’ I stammer, remember the dinner reservation that I made on that first year, him entirely unaware why we were there, me breaking apart a little at his lack of awareness of what I considered a pretty vital day in our lives. ‘Did he tell you?’
‘He didn’t need to,’ Florian chuckles softly. ‘I know Ettie; he’s not exactly the kind of man that would have tried too hard to purchase a calendar.’
‘But you remembered Wednesday?’
‘Only because it’s my least favourite day of the year.’ He presses his lips into my head and I relax a little, feel the strange sensation of genuine care wash over me. ‘Mum makes us go to the graveyard, lay down some shitty flowers and then we have this awkward little dinner, just the two of us, and we both get entirely too drunk until it gets late enough that we have an excuse to go home.’
‘That sounds disgusting.’ I manage a stifled snigger.
‘Oh it is exactly that.’
‘Don’t tell her that I forgot.’ I sound like a child, my voice warped by the aching void of sadness that has set up camp in my throat.
‘Ava, I would never.’ He sounds sad that I would ever think that he would. ‘Here’s an idea.’ He clears his throat. ‘Maybe this year you can join us?’
‘Seriously?’
‘Why not? It would be nice to have the company. You can absolve yourself of your guilt about forgetting and I get to have someone there who I genuinely want to talk to.’
‘And your mother?’
‘Well maybe we can both revel a bit in the fact that it will really piss her off.’
‘Ha,’ I splutter and then the sadness descends again. ‘I’ve never been back there.’
‘Why would you? It’s a shitty place.’
‘Okay.’ I sniff and then wipe the snot that has accumulated around my nose with the back of my hand. Hardly the glamourous impression I was hoping to give.
