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I actually laugh when he passes back a gold star sticker. “Thanks, Dad,” I say and stick it on my shirt.
He smiles and nods. He’s pleased, and I’m happy that he’s happy. My mom looks happy too. I know I’ve scared her the last few weeks. It’s been hard adjusting to life without Ben and I know this isn’t even the half of it. The storm is only beginning.
“I can’t find my pen,” I shout at no one in particular. I’m in my office trying to catch up on work and my mountain of emails is out of control. I’m so overwhelmed, and this is just adding to my stress. I can’t take much more. I’m losing my mind.
“What’s wrong?” my mom asks, standing in the doorway of my office.
“I can’t find my mother-fucking pen,” I yell, slamming my hands on my desk.
“Blaire—” I begin to sob. “Blaire,” she says again, taking a hesitant step into my office. “What’s really going on?”
I cover my face with my hands and wail. I’m pretty sure this is my soul crying. I never knew that was a thing until today. I can’t believe my mom hasn’t figured out what today is.
I wipe at my face. I know it’s bound to be red and splotchy. I point to my desk calendar even though she can’t see it from where she stands. “We were supposed to get married today,” I croak.
Her mouth parts in a surprised O shape. She forgot. Ben hasn’t even been gone a month yet and she already forgot our wedding day. He’s gone, so suddenly today doesn’t mean anything to anyone else.
“I’m so sorry, B,” she says, coming around my desk to hug me. I don’t want her hug, but I do at the same time. It’s a weird feeling—feeling like you want someone to hold you together, but wanting to fall apart at the same time. “I’m sorry,” she says again as she holds me. “God, I wish you didn’t have to go through this.”
“I wish no one ever had to feel this kind of pain.” My voice cracks when I speak. My throat is raw and sore from so much crying and screaming.
“Me too, sweetie.” She lets me go and looks me over. “I’m going to make you some homemade soup. How about that? Your favorite—broccoli and cheese?”
I’m not hungry, and the thought of food makes me want to throw up, but I nod anyway. I know she wants something to do besides sit around while my dad watches sports. “Sure, yeah, that’d be great.”
She smiles. “I’ll go to the grocery store, is there anything else you want?”
I think. “Fruit roll-ups,” I say. I don’t know why I ask for that, of all things. I haven’t eaten any in years, but right now it sounds like the best thing ever.
“Okay. Anything else?”
“I don’t think so.”
She starts for the door, but turns back. “Is that the pen?” She points at one lying five inches to my right.
I look at the pen—studying the slender barrel. “Yeah, that’s the one.” I sigh.
She leaves me alone then and I breathe a sigh of relief.
I force myself to focus on replying to emails—there’s over two hundred so it’s going to take awhile. I’m grateful that so many people are interested in working with me—and city people, at that—but it’s a bit overwhelming. After answering close to thirty emails, I decide to take a break. It’s probably not a good idea, because the chances of me going back to work are slim, but I can’t take another second of staring at my computer. I go to shove my keyboard back under the desk when my pen goes flying through the air.
“Stupid pen,” I mumble to myself and climb under my desk to retrieve it.
While I’m under there, I happen to look up at the underside of my desk. Taped beneath it is a paper crane. I gasp, and my heart momentarily stops before restarting and picking up speed.
Ben.
It’s like he’s speaking to me from beyond the grave.
I carefully peel away the tape and the paper crane comes loose. I want to open it and read it immediately, but at the same time I want to savor the moment.
I opt for savoring.
I slowly peel open the wings of the bird to find what he’s written.
“Why didn’t the lifeguard save the hippie?
Because he was too far out.”
