Page 38 of Letting Go at 40

“Nothing to forgive.” Nothing happened, I tell myself again, wanting to believe the lie while my skin prickles with the memory every single time I recall what we did. Mason watches my face and I school my expression in hopes not to give away my recall of that night.

“Shake on it.” Mason holds out a hand and I glance down at his long fingers.

I will away more reminders of him touching me and tighten my hold on my dress. “Uhm.” Looking up at him, recognition crosses his face. I’m still not fully dressed.

Mason licks his lower lip and bites at the corner. “Yeah. Sorry about that, too.” He points at me and then hitches his thumb toward his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have . . . I’m just going to . . . I’ll give you a minute.”

Awkward tension falls between us, and Mason turns toward the door. However, he pauses before he opens it. His gaze catches on something on my dresser.

“You still have all the heart rocks?” He looks at me. A collection in various sizes are scattered around the base of a lamp and piled in a small dish.

“I couldn’t part with them.” They remind me of Ben. The rocks stopped appearing shortly after his death. In the days following his passing, another one or two showed up, and I assumed they were little messages from the grave. Signs of strength and love. Silly to admit. However, I needed them. They were reminders that I would go on as he asked me.

Live every minute, Anna.

Mason pauses, staring at the collection on my dresser. Then his head swivels, and he glances once more at the wall where he cupped my face and kissed me senseless.

Nothing happened, whispers through my head, but when Mason looks back at me one more time, I’m aware of the lie I keep telling myself.

Because I’m afraid to admit something did happen.

Chapter 15

2 Years Ago

February

Galentine’s Day

[Anna]

February is the month of love, and for the first time in my forty-one years, the shortest month of the year feels like the longest. Thankfully, the high school has a four-day weekend and I take a much needed mini-vacation to visit Amelia in Chicago. Her condo isn’t big enough for my family of four, so each of the kids stay with old friends.

Calvin and I fought a few times last summer about some girl he was interested in, but I’ve decided to pick my battles with my oldest child before he graduates and heads off to college. He’s spending his weekend with her at her parents’ home. It isn’t that I don’t like the girl, but I don’t want Calvin making decisions based on her. Then again, Ben and I did that. I attended Michigan State University for education when I could have gone to a college in Illinois instead, especially since I wanted to be certified in my home state. I chose MSU to be with Ben.

I don’t regret that decision.

Since our awkward conversation at Thanksgiving, Mason and I have both made a better effort to text each other. The few words aren’t conversations. Just a passing wish for a good day. Or a funny meme about construction work or teachers. The exchange is an attempt to fulfill promises to Ben. For Mason, it’s obligation. For me, it’s guilt. Ben would be disappointed in me for pushing away someone he loved.

“Happy Galentine’s,” Amelia cheers, holding up her margarita as we sit inside a popular Mexican restaurant. Joining us is a new friend of hers named Eva Nazar, who happens to hate Christmas. I’ve decided Valentine’s Day is my new holiday nemesis.

“To gals without pals,” Eva toasts and downs the entire margarita in one steady drink.

I stare at the thirtysomething as she sets her empty glass on the table.

“Well, gal, I needed that.” She smacks her lips and heavily sighs. “But I need to get back to work.” Eva works for Ashford’s, an upscale department store in downtown Chicago.

“As I’m married to my job, I need to go make love to it.” She snickers before standing. “Drink more for me.”

Downing a margarita and returning to work would never be an option for me. I hardly have time to pee during my twenty-five-minute lunch break. The substitute teaching job I had in the fall turned into a full-time teaching position as the young woman who had a baby decided not to return to work. As I teach high schoolers, some days my teacher friends and I wish the water cooler held wine, though.

“So, this is your glamourous life,” I tease my sister after Eva leaves. I hold up the margarita I’m drinking at three o’clock in the afternoon on a Friday.

“Please. There isn’t much glamorous about my life. But these margaritas are going to be my lover for the evening.” My sister rolls over the word before licking the salty rim of her glass.

“Please,” I exaggerate back at her. “You must let me live vicariously through you.”

Amelia slumps back in the booth and twirls the stem of her margarita glass. “Nothing too vicarious.” She sighs. “The only thing wet in my life is this flute.”