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Every freaking thing is at stake. My sanity, my heart, my determination to power through unimaginable losses, to find meaning in my new life without my wife and girls, to survive what shouldn’t have been survivable. There’s no way I could survive a loss like that twice, which is why I’ve planned to stay single, even if that means living a lonely life.
Being lonely beats being decimated by grief any day.
But then I recall how fun it was to put the model together with Tyler last night, how excited he was to see it take shape and his endless questions. I’d forgotten about the questions. My girls used to drive me mad with them on the morning rides to school, so much so, I limited them to three each per morning, and they had to take turns. I wish now I recorded those conversations. I had no idea at the time how precious they might one day be or how much I’d miss that time with them. I thought I had years of driving them around still to come, so I didn’t appreciate those moments when they were happening. Not the way I should have, anyway.
Mostly, their nonstop questions irritated me when I was eager to drop them off so I could get to the office. I was always so damned excited to get to work. Now I know I should’ve been more excited to drive my daughters to school. Sometimes that was the only time I got with them all day, and my inclination was to rush through it, to get it over with, to get on with the “important” part of my day.
I regret that so much now. Natasha worked seven to three as a nurse and picked them up after school, so my job was to get them up and dressed, feed them breakfast, make sure they had everything they needed from a list Nat would leave for me every day and drive them to school. After they died, I would stay up as late as I could, hoping to sleep through the hour that had belonged to me and them. On many a morning, I’d startle awake, thinking there was something I was supposed to be doing, only to remember that the thing I was supposed to be doing was gone forever.
If I let this thing happen with Iris—and her kids, for there is no thing with Iris without her kids—I’d be risking all the hard-won progress I’ve made in the thirty-five months since I lost my wife and daughters. I’d be taking on a new family, one I will love and care for as if they were my own, and that’s what scares me the most.
I’ll love them so much.
Hell, I already do. I’ve come to know the kids well. I know that Sophia won’t eat a vegetable even if it means sitting at the table until the next morning, which Iris doesn’t make her do. We agree that you can’t force kids to eat, sleep or go to the bathroom on our schedules.
Laney hates orange juice, and Tyler is fascinated with anything on wheels. They can’t stand when their food touches other food on their plates, and they like ketchup on just about everything. Laney is allergic to mosquito bites, and Tyler gets heat rash the minute the temperature goes above seventy-five. Sophia is shy with people when she first meets them, but once she’s comfortable, she becomes a chatterbox.
I remember the moment when I realized Sophia was comfortable with me. She told me an elaborate story about one of the kids at school who’d fallen off her bike and ended up in the hospital for awhole week. She was so damned cute telling me how the girl had broken her arm and ruptured her spleen falling off her bike.
She said she was afraid to ride her bike now, but I told her how in my whole life, I’d never heard of another person rupturing their spleen falling off their bike. And then I had to explain what a spleen is and how you can live without it.
I love them.
I’d do anything for them—and their mother.
I’m already in deep trouble where they’re concerned.
I need to decide if I want to stay that way before this gets any more serious than it already is.
I used to be a very intentional person, meaning nothing happened in my life unless I wanted it to. I’d see something I wanted—a woman, a job, a house, a car—and I’d direct all my formidable energy toward bringing that person or thing into my life. Nat would tell you I pursued her relentlessly, overwhelming her with flowers and romance and elaborate dates until she had no choice but to fall in love with me.
It hasn’t worked that way with Iris. I’ve sort of backed into this thing with her, and that’s why it’s come as somewhat of a shock to me that my feelings for her are deeper than I would’ve thought. I didn’t plan this. I didn’t execute a campaign to win her over. I didn’t set out to take on her or her kids, but now…
“Shit.” I take a deep breath and blow it out before glancing at my computer screen to check the time. I’ve been staring off into space contemplating my non-relationship with Iris for more than half an hour by the time I snap out of it. I’ve got a ton of emails to answer and meetings to schedule, and everything is more intense than usual after I took the last two days off.
If only I could work up an ounce of enthusiasm for any of it. Standing, I stretch out the kinks in my back with my arms over my head and move to the window to look out on the street below. It’s a scene I’ve looked at so many times since I bought the converted loft in Arlington more than fifteen years ago, hoping to build my business into something more than a big idea.
In the years since, the business has exceeded my wildest dreams. Among the many emails awaiting my attention is the latest in a string of inquiries about whether I might be interested in selling the business. Cybersecurity has become huge in the fifteen years since I started my company, and the need for what we offer has grown exponentially.
I’ve turned down every offer I’ve ever received—and there have been a lot of them.
Now, however… I’m open to the idea of selling and seeing what else might be possible, but only if the team that’s supported me through the best and worst of times is protected. I experience a little tingle of excitement at the thought of not being tied to the business any longer.
I’ve enjoyed writing the daily Instagram posts about widowed life and feel like I’m making a real difference for people sharing the journey with me, especially those who are newly widowed and looking for any lifeline they can find. At times, I’ve wondered if I might have a book in me about navigating deep grief and the lessons I’ve learned along the way.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I return to my desk and reply to the email inquiry from the industry leader that’s interested in my company.I’d be open to a conversation.I send the email before I can talk myself out of it. That’s nothing that can’t be undone. If it’s not the right offer, I’ll hold out for one that is.
I scroll up to check my new mail and see one from David Lyons, the Assistant Commonwealth’s Attorney handling the case against the man who killed my family.
Hey, Gage,
Give me a call when you have a free minute.
Thanks,
Dave
Ugh, what’s this now? Dave is a nice enough guy, but every time I talk to him, my gut clenches with anxiety. Wanting to get it over with, I make the call, give Dave’s assistant my name and am put on hold to wait for him.
