Page 31 of Letting Go at 40

I tip back my head and stare up at the ceiling. Frustrated with myself, I accept I need to do better, be better.

“Has Mason contacted you?” River hesitantly asks. She’s had her own issues with Zack since summer ended and he’s returned to Detroit. I really want the two of them to work something out because I miss my childhood friend and he deserves the love River would bring to his life.

Rolling my head on the headrest, I glance over at River on my other side. “No.” Sorrow fills my tone when I have no reason to be sad about Mason. Maybe it’s more disappointment. In me. In him. He’d devoted all that time to Ben, but he’d also been helping me. Then again, he wasn’t there for me. He was there for Ben. Ben asked him to stay for us. Mason’s presence had been at Ben’s request.

When Mason decided to leave, the sudden panic shouldn’t have been there, but it was. Watching him exit the apartment with his bag over his shoulder, the rush of anxiety was a jolt to my heart. I didn’t know how to be alone . . . how to be without him.

Did you want Mason to stay? River had asked me this question shortly after the guys left. While my head said he needed to go, another part of me wasn’t as eager for him to leave. That thought makes me a terrible person. I kissed my husband’s best friend only weeks after Ben’s funeral. What kind of person does that make me?

Later, this question, along with three margaritas and a touch of melancholy at another night alone in my bed, has me holding my phone in hand.

I type out a question but don’t hit send.

Why didn’t Ben leave me a letter?

I stare at the words, a bit blurry in the text bubble. Mason’s name dances as the contact at the top of the screen.

Why didn’t Ben write me a letter? Why didn’t he leave me a directive? Give me instructions on how I am to move forward without him.

You’ll fall in love again, Ben had said to me months before he passed.

I’d been so angry.

Your heart is too big to belong only to me.

I hated his words.

My forefinger eagerly jabs the screen. Delete. Delete. Delete.

I was never going to love again. I shouldn’t reach out to Mason. I shouldn’t ask him something I’m certain he can’t answer.

Holding up the phone, the screen glows in the darkness of my room. The last message from Mason is mundane and reminiscent of his presence shortly after the funeral.

Need me to grab milk at the store?

I hadn’t answered him, and yet, I vividly remember him returning to the house with milk in hand. Setting the jug in my refrigerator, among all the casseroles from well-meaning friends. I had needed milk. I hadn’t had to ask him to purchase it.

I sigh, frustrated with myself. Still harboring my guilt over kissing him.

This never happened.

But it did happen.

My phone lights up. The screen brightening with the presence of three little dots blinking. A message is being typed.

My heart races. My fingers sweat against the device in my palm. I actually hold my breath.

Then the three dots disappear, and the blank space under the last text remains.

Need me to grab milk at the store?

There are so many things I need, all of which can’t be bought in a store. Most of which I’m afraid to admit to myself.

Because deep, deep, deep down inside, Mason had become important to me over the past thirteen months. A piece of me I can’t shake loose, and I miss him. He’s reaching out to the kids and sending them memes. He’s checking in on them and offering them support.

And selfishly, I want my shadow back. It’s foolish really. He’d been here for Ben, and it was a thought I needed to remember.

Mason was not mine.