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Everyone knew I loved Anton. They just didn’t know how much. I want the same for my grief. They can know I’m still hurting… just not how much.
I take a deep breath. “Okay, so let’s talk about tonight. You said you’d explain the process when you got here.”
That sounds accusatory, as if I’ve been waiting and he’s failed to deliver.
I rub my mouth. “That came out wrong. I’m just… not good with spontaneity. I like plans, and if I can’t be the one making them, I’m eager to know them.”
“Eager.” That’s a good word, a positive word. Much better than admitting I’ve been anxious, not knowing what’s coming.
I grew up planning my days around my CF. It wasn’t intrusive; it just required planning so it didn’tfeelintrusive. My insistence on scheduling worked well for day-to-day life. It worked less well when an infection exploded my schedule.
And it really, really did not work well when the universe stole my husband in the blink of an eye, ripping up my entire future, incinerating all our plans.
I realize Dr. Cirillo is talking, and I don’t know how long he has been while my thoughts swept me away.
“—making a place for Anton,” he says. “That’s our focus tonight. We will make no attempt to actually contact him.”
“We’re rolling out the welcome mat,” Jin says.
Dr. Cirillo smiles. “Yes. Think of the séance tomorrow as the arrival of a guest. Tonight, we’re preparing. We want him to feel welcome here, comfortable here.”
“If I were expecting a guest,” I say, “I’d get out the good towels and change the sheets on the spare bed. I’m guessing this is different.”
“Not entirely. If you were expecting a guest, is there anything else you’d do?”
I consider the question. We didn’t have a lot of guests at thecondo—while we did have two bedrooms, the second was an office with a pullout bed. We’d had the kids—Hayden and Lucy—over about a dozen times, though.
“Clear my schedule,” I say. “Figure out a meal plan. Buy foods they like. Decide what we’re going to do while they’re here.”
“Good. It’s something like that, then. We clear our mental schedule to fully focus on the séance. We spend some time getting comfortable ourselves. We set out food and drink that Anton would associate with a party. And we relax, as much as possible. Maybe it’s better to think of it less as entertaining a guest and more as inviting Anton to join the gathering.”
“Nothing tonight then?” Jin says. “No ritual or whatever?”
“I do a small welcoming ceremony. It’s a little woo-woo, but it sets the tone. We can have that whenever you’re ready.”
Shania and Jin both look at me.
I rise. “Let’s do it.”
Dr. Cirillo had asked whether there was a place in this house Anton liked best, especially one from our visits here together. My first thought had been “the bedroom.” We had just gotten together, after all. But the honest truth is that his favorite spot—and mine—hadn’t been in the house at all. It was the cliffside.
Anton had even carried out chairs from the deck for us, which was an absolute violation of the rental agreement. We’d sat there, bundled up, watching the lake and feeling as if we were at the edge of the world. Some postapocalyptic drama where the last two people on earth dragged chairs to the edge of a cliff and enjoyed the view in the silence of a dying world.
Holding Cirillo’s welcome ritual outside is not an option. So we move to Anton’s next-favorite spot—the breakfast nook that overlooks the rear garden.
We keep the door into the rest of the house open. I even light afire in the living room. It’s cool enough for that, and it’s one of my favorite memories of this place, with its three fireplaces.
While we have the living room fire going nearby, we also open the breakfast-nook windows. Anton always loved throwing them open to hear the sounds of his childhood here—the lapping of waves, the cry of cliff swallows, the chirps of tree frogs. That’s one reason we’d planned to move into the countryside. Get our fill of the city and then escape to a place where we could have the windows open and drink in the smells and sounds.
I’d wanted that, too. It’d been part of my “someday” list for as long as I can remember. Live in the heart of the city until I was sick of it and then move into the country. When I reunited with Anton, I hadn’t even completed the first part of that plan.
I tend to postpone things I want, as if I haven’t earned them yet. I must endure life in the suburbs to save money for living in the city. I can’t take vacation time until I’ve banked enough time for a big trip. I must get through the chocolates I don’t care for before I indulge in the ones I like.
Anton taught me to eat my favorite chocolates first… and discard the ones I didn’t want. He converted my “someday” list to an actual plan. He didn’t remind me that I was unlikely to live past forty-five, but that’s the truth, and I didn’t want to be housebound, waiting for a lung transplant that might never come, thinking of all the things I’d wanted to do.
There’s a reason why I didn’t buy a downtown condo even when I could afford it. Fiscal responsibility. I don’t know how long I can work, and so I must be prepared for that eventuality, along with increased health expenses. While my parents left me money for that, guilt made me lock it all up, in hopes the lion’s share will pass to Keith.
Anton didn’t advocate for spending my inheritance. Yes, when the new medication made a huge difference—and wasn’t completely covered by my plan—Anton and Keith convinced me to dip into thatmoney, but otherwise, Anton respected my decision. He brought his own “professional with zero dependents” earnings to our marriage, though, and he showed me the joy of splurging. The trick is to keep them as splurges. Fly business class on every trip and it soon becomes just part of travel.
