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Nor is there anyone in this city of millions I want to ask.
As I turn the corner on Fifty-Fifth Street, a familiar place draws me.
The St. Regis.
I blink, almost surprised I’m here.
But not entirely.
This is one of my places.
This is an anchor, and maybe that’s what I need right now.
As I head into the lobby, I picture the night with CJ. Only I’m not thinking of the stripping, though that was fantastic. I’m thinking of how we left together—as a team. How we found her brother’s cat. How we packed and returned to my place and fell asleep without screwing.
My mind jumps to the next night, to dinner, when I told her I was glad I could show her what she’d been missing, and she said two simple words in reply—me too.
But it wasn’t the words. It was the way she said them. How she looked at me like there was more between us than just sex.
Like how it’s been for me too.
I furrow my brow as I stand in the lobby, memories from the last week crashing into me, words I didn’t pay enough attention to at the time.
Before we made love. “I’m so glad it’s you.”
At the rink. “I do trust you.”
In the town car. “I’ll miss this.”
But more than the words, I linger on the look in her eyes. Was there more hidden there all along?
I don’t know the answer, but there’s one person I need to talk to. I call Luna’s wife. Right now, I need to use my words with her so I can use them with someone else.
27
CJ
I find what I’m looking for at the bottom of a shoebox of cards from Sean’s funeral. The church had been full of gorgeous flower arrangements, and every one of them had been accompanied by a card. I saved them all—touched by the evidence of how many people loved my brother and would miss the light he brought to the world—but I’ve never gone back and reread them.
It still hurts too much.
Maybe it will always hurt too much.
In my experience with grief, the weight becomes easier to carry, but I’m always aware of it, slung over my shoulder. Losing my mother so young, I’d made Death’s acquaintance before I lost Sean, but never so intimately. Never with an adult’s knowledge that forever without one of your special someones can be a very long time.
From the moment I open the box, freeing the scent of cardstock, long-faded flowers, and a church filled with women’s perfume and musty winter coats, there are tears in my eyes.
By the time I pull out the cards and the program with Sean’s smiling face on the front, two hot trails are leaking quietly down my face. But I don’t fight these tears. I gave myself permission to feel this hurt a long time ago. To deny it would be to deny Sean and to push the memory of him away, which I never want to do.
I want him close, even if it hurts.
I find Graham’s card near the bottom and pull it free, opening to the message written inside.
Dear CJ,
I don’t know what to say.
I’m usually good with words, but they escape me now that I really need them. When I want so badly to make this easier for you, and for myself.
But I can’t.
All I know is that I will never forget him. Sean was one of the best of us. He was a true friend to me, and from now on, I hope you’ll let me be the same to you. I’m here for you. Anything you need. That means today, tomorrow, and ten years from now, because I’m not going anywhere.
I know I can never take his place. I wouldn’t dare to try. But I’m here to hold your hand or be a shoulder to cry on or to take you for brunch the way Sean used to do. Whatever will help. I know it helps me to know that you’re still here. To know I’ll have someone to share memories with. I don’t want to lose those memories. Or you.
Sending you all my love today, as we gather to honor your wonderful brother.
Your friend for always,
Graham
With my throat so tight it’s hard to draw a full breath, I press the card to my heart. I knew he had said it before. And he means it. He wants to be there for me, and the last thing I want to do is push him away.
Maybe it’s time to stop moping around my apartment feeling sorry for myself and take action. To fight for Graham’s heart as fiercely as I negotiated for a week in his bed.
Sure, I could sit here with my hurt feelings and try to figure out the least painful path forward. But then I would be acting like a coward, like a woman who didn’t know how short life can be and how imperative it is to be brave. That may be the most important lesson I’ve learned, and I will draw upon all my courage to put my heart all the way on the line, no matter what. Graham is worth it, and I’m worth it too.
