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“Your wife.”
“Finley,” I say her name aloud to someone other than Claire for the first time in a very long time.
“Finley.” She nods. “What was she like?”
“Unlike anyone I had ever known before or since.” I let out a slow sigh, sitting back in the booth. “She was fearless, strong, stubborn as all hell.” I pause, having to physically push past the knot in my throat. “She was beautiful, full of life, and had more courage in her little toe than most people have in their entire bodies.”
“You really loved her.”
“Still do.” I shrug.
“And you always will. We don’t stop loving people just because they are no longer here. If anything, we love them more once they’re gone.”
“Yeah,” I agree, nodding slowly.
“I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about this.” She must read something on my face that gives her the impression I’m not enjoying this conversation.
“No, it’s okay. I need to learn how to talk about her,” I say, surprising even myself.
Isn’t this what I’ve been trying to accomplish for the last three years? Being able to talk about her without feeling like I’m dying. And while yes, it’s not an easy conversation to have, something about having it with Peyton makes it a little easier. Maybe because she’s so easy to talk to, or maybe because she knows what it feels like to lose someone the way I lost Finley.
“Will you tell me about how you met.”
“Well, we actually met at a bar. I was there meeting my brothers for drinks. She was sitting at the bar drinking water. We locked eyes and the rest was kind of history. I knew right there, in that moment, that I had to know her. So, after my brothers left, I sat down next to her. It was the start of the best night of my life. Then she ghosted me the next morning and I spent the next few weeks trying to track her down like a crazy stalker.”
“Wait, what do you mean she ghosted you?” She laughs.
“I mean, she snuck out sometime after I had fallen asleep. I didn’t know her last name, something she had purposely kept from me I later found out. We didn’t exchange numbers and I had failed to learn where she worked or lived over the course of our night together. I woke up the next day and she was gone.”
“Oh my god. So then how did you two end up together?” She leans forward, placing her elbows on the table.
“I had a private investigator buddy of mine track her down.”
“You didn’t?” Her eyes go wide, and I can tell she’s fighting off a smile.
“Oh, I did.” I laugh at the memory.
“So, what happened?”
“He finally located an address where she lived with her sister, Claire.”
“Claire,” she repeats, seeming to piece together the dots.
“Claire is Finley’s sister,” I confirm. “So anyway, I showed up at their apartment and Claire answered the door. She said Finley was out of town but agreed to give her my number. A few days later she finally text me.”
“Did she say where she’d been? Why she’d left?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I could tell she was keeping something from me, but I was so happy to be talking to her again that I didn’t really push it. It wasn’t until I accompanied my mom to chemotherapy one day that it all came together.”
“Wait, your mom has cancer?” Concern wrinkles her forehead.
“Had. She’s been in remission for nearly three years.”
She flattens her palm against her chest and lets out a slow breath, the situation obviously hitting a little too close to home.
“So Finley was at the hospital?” she prompts me to continue with my story.
“She was coming out of chemo as we were going in. Imagine my shock to see her sitting in that wheelchair. I didn’t even know she was sick.”
