“This isn’t right,” he said. “None of it feels right.”
“It’s grief,” I replied automatically. “People do strange things.”
I don’t know who I was trying to convince, him or myself.
Over the next few weeks, everything moved quickly but quietly. There were no announcements and no celebrations. There was only paperwork, appointments, and whispered conversations when they thought we weren’t listening.
Marianne tried to include me. She asked if I wanted to help choose flowers or see the venue. I declined every time.
“I’m fine,” I told her. “Do whatever you want.”
One afternoon, my father pulled me aside. “You’re okay with this, right?”
I hesitated, then nodded. “If you’re happy, that’s what matters.”
His shoulders relaxed, as if he had just been absolved of something I didn’t yet understand.
Continue reading…
