Page 19 of Letting Go at 40

Amelia meets my gaze. “But he’s too pretty to ignore.”

Mason laughs behind me. His presence closes in at my back. He’s become a shadow, following me, watching me, waiting for me to break, which I do only in the privacy of my room.

Amelia tugs free of my grasp and steps around me and into Mason’s open arms. He tugs her close, hanging onto her a little longer than necessary, and pressing a kiss to her hair.

“I’m so sorry,” she mutters to his chest.

“Me too,” Mason mumbles back before gazing up at me, holding on to my face before I look away. I’ll need to get used to these words. The next few days will be filled with condolences and apologies for something beyond anyone’s control.

+ + +

As the funeral obligations wind down, exhaustion hits me hard. I check on the kids one final time as they hang out in the den, a designated kids’ area in our home. Calvin and Bryce sit close on the couch, playing video games. They each have a friend lingering in silent support. Lorna and Mila are using colored pencils to fill in a flower print coloring sheet. Their collective comfort comes from being in close proximity to each other. I hug each of them extra tight before I’m led to my room by my sister.

At some point, I fall asleep with her arm over me. Amelia has been a solid comfort. Waking in the shared bed reminds me of when we were younger. When we’d crawl into this same bed when the suite belonged to our parents, and we were teens. We’d watch a movie with our mom on the television across from the bed on a dresser.

“What am I going to do?” I whisper to the room and Amelia shifts behind me.

“You’re going to live. One day at a time.”

I roll to my back and stare up at the ceiling. My eyes have been surprisingly dry today, but I doubt the tears have subsided for long. I notice someone has removed my shoes.

“I miss Mom.” My throat thickens with a strong need for my mother.

“Daddy, too,” Amelia says. “And Archer.”

I held out small hope that Archer would magically appear for Ben’s funeral, but he hadn’t. His absence would make me angry if I had the strength to be mad.

Amelia and I remain quiet, each with our thoughts. The holes in our hearts are open wide today. So many missing pieces in the puzzle of our family.

“When did Mason get so hot?” Amelia finally asks and I turn my head in her direction, ignoring that she’s laying where Ben once laid.

“What?”

“Mason Becker. He’s always been hot but damn . . . In a suit, he’s like chocolate mousse on cookie crumbles.”

“What?” I repeat, brow pinching.

“Chocolate cake isn’t a good enough metaphor for him. He’s more decadent. More creamy. More melt on your tongue and explode in your mouth with goodness.” Amelia closes her eyes and purrs.

I huff out a laugh. “How is this appropriate?”

Amelia’s eyes open and she rolls her head to face me. “You can’t meet a hot guy at a funeral?”

“You already know Mason,” I remind her.

“And I’m saying I don’t remember him like he is now. Suit porn.” She fans her face with her hand, and I crack a smile.

Twisting her body, she rolls back to her side and stares at me. I don’t admit I can’t remember the last time something was melting in my mouth. Ben and I hadn’t had sex for months before he passed, and it’s the last thing I should be thinking about in the present.

My eyes well and Amelia blurs in my vision. She swipes at a tear that slips free.

“Of course, Mason will never think of me as anything other than Mealworm.” She shivers at the nickname, reminding us both of turd-looking little bugs.

“Do you want him to think of you as more?” I ask, distracting myself as the tears slip down the side of my face to my ear.

“Could you imagine?” Amelia smiles slyly. “Come for me, Mealworm.” She drops her voice, doing a poor impression of Mason. “That’s it, baby mealworm.”

I huff again.