Page 23 of Letting Go at 40

Calvin leans against the wall and slides down to the floor beside me. The bottle of scotch that I nabbed earlier rests between us. My head is tipped back. My wrists dangle over my bent knees. I should be concerned that he sees me in this condition, but he’s grown up quickly in the past year. He’s a young man whose childhood imploded when his father died. An unwarranted responsibility presses on his young shoulders to be the man of this family. I don’t want him worrying about his mother and siblings. That’s what I’m here to do.

“Think she’ll ever stop crying?” Calvin asks, genuine concern and a dash of fear fill his voice. It can be frightening to hear your mother cry so much, so often.

I straighten my legs before me and roll my head against the wall at my back. “Eventually.”

“Is this what they call a broken heart?” Calvin whispers.

For some reason, I snort. “More like a severed one.”

“What do you mean?” Calvin’s voice is louder, inquisitive.

“A broken heart is when you lose someone. Like a breakup or a loss of trust.” I pause, listening for any noise behind the closed door. “But the sobs from your mom are the sound of her heart being ripped out. Two halves of a whole being separated.” I pull my hands apart, dramatically imitating an explosion.

“That was graphic.” Calvin snorts.

Maybe I’m a little drunker than I think.

Anna’s tears are different from my mother’s. My mother’s wail was that of a heart shattered like a dropped vase. More elevated, like a piercing wound. She was painfully vocal when she learned of my father’s infidelity. Then she became eerily silent, disappearing into a bottle.

My gaze drifts to the alcohol container beside me. Maybe I’m cut from the same cloth as her.

“But I get it,” Calvin admits. Lowering his head, his voice drops. “I miss my dad, too.”

With the admission, I reach out for Calvin, cupping the back of his neck and tugging him to my side. The kids have been incredible through everything. The transition of moving. The making of new friends. The loss of their father. They’ve known the outcome—Ben’s passing was inevitable—and their quiet strength has been a blessing, but Anna and I have been vigilant about watching for signs of depression.

“You know you can talk to me about anything,” I remind him before he pulls away from me.

He nods once while keeping his gaze toward the floor. “I talk to Keli about things.”

My head shoots upward. “You got a girl?” How have I not heard of this?

“She lives in Chicago. We’re only talking.”

“Is that code for something else?” At forty-one, I pride myself on knowing all the latest lingo, but this sounds too simple.

“Nope. We just . . . talk. You know, like learn about each other.”

“Did you kiss her?” I tease, leaning over to bump his shoulder with mine but realize we are too far apart from one another.

Calvin’s face turns red. He looks so much like Anna in male form. A spitting image of what Archer looked like in his twenties.

“So, it is more than talking?”

Calvin softly chuckles. “A little bit. We met right before I learned about Dad.” Calvin slowly lifts his head. “I didn’t want to move. Was that selfish?”

Aw, man. “No. Not selfish at all. And you did move, so that was very selfless of you.”

Calvin nods and returns to looking at his knees, bent toward his chest. “I want to go back,” he whispers.

“Back in time?” I pop my head forward, wishing that could be an option in life and yet not wanting to turn back the clock. If I’d erase one thing it’d be Samantha but then I wouldn’t have Lynlee.

“Back to Chicago. I’m only applying to colleges in Illinois.”

“Oh.” My head falls back to the wall. “Doesn’t sound unreasonable. It’s your life, Calvin. Your dad would want you to live it.”

Calvin deeply sighs. “He wants everyone to live their lives, even Mom.”

“She’ll get there,” I suggest, although I know nothing about grieving.