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“I always have my children over for Sunday dinner, and I was wondering if you’d like to come this Sunday.”
I swallow.
The panic is immediate.
Sunday dinner means people.
A lot of people.
I haven’t done well at social events since Damiano died. People tend to expect things from me. They expect me to smile when everyone else smiles, laugh at the right moments and somehow have this healed spirit that makes them comfortable.
Nobody really knows what to do when my grief shows up instead.
“I don’t know, Lily. I…” I shake my head.
“Oh, honey, I can’t promise it won’t be awkward. With my family, that’s practically impossible.” She smiles. “But I can promise you one thing. I have a rule in my home.”
I look up at that.
“No hiding behind masks.”
I stare at her.
“So if that day you feel like absolute crap, you come just as you are. You eat and you feel like crap. If you’re happy, you come and be happy. If you want to laugh, you laugh, and if you need a minute, you take a minute.” She reaches over and pats my hand. “No expectations, honey. I just want to share a meal with you. You don’t have to be feeling better to come.”
I cock my head. “You know grief?”
Lily nods, and sadness fills her eyes. “I lost my father a few years ago. He was eighty-three and had lived a long, full life, but that didn’t mean I didn’t lose someone who had been part of mine for as long as I could remember.”
She gives me a small smile.
“Grief doesn’t care how old someone was or whether people think you should be grateful for the time you had. You still have to learn how to live without them.”
I sit with that for a moment.
“Can I say maybe?” I ask. “And see how I feel Sunday? Is that okay?”
Lily smiles. “Of course.”
I let out a breath of relief, but then she continues.
“But I hope you know the invitation stands for every Sunday, so if you can’t make it this week, I hope you can make the next one.”
I hold back a laugh.
Jude told me about his headstrong mama who always somehow gets what she wants, and I can totally see it now.
“I think Damiano wasn’t the only person in Lander who knew how to get what he wanted.”
She laughs and waves me off. “I’m… creative like that.”
“Right.”
She stands, and I follow her toward the door. Before leaving, she turns and takes my hand between both of hers.
“But I hope you know that you’re always welcome, Nora, and there will never be judgment in my home.”
I nod, and she squeezes my hand.
