Page 86 of The Art of Dying

No one else would’ve noticed Grant sizing Tobin up, his height, his clothes, his physique, probably even his shoe size.

Tobin was an inch or two taller than Grant, putting him at around six feet, two. His hair was just a tad longer than a buzz, faded, and he was clean cut. If he worked outside the home, he’d already changed into basketball shorts and a T-shirt for the evening, the faded orange hue emphasizing his deep, rich skin and smooth features. Grant was an attractive man, but Tobin might’ve surpassed him as the easiest to look at during HOA parties.

Tobin watched me, still smiling, and I shifted Emily in my arms. She was growing so fast, almost too big for me to hold for longer than ten minutes at a time. She was changing so much every day, and Kitsch was missing it. That thought weighed down my arms even more. I opened my mouth to excuse myself from the conversation to take Emily inside, but Grant spoke first.

“You move around a lot?” Grant asked.

“I bought a house with my wife when we got married. We sized up a few years later… you know… planning for a family.” He sighed. “But wasn’t in the cards for us. She passed last year, so I’ve been living in an apartment until the house sold. Hopefully, this is my last move.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I inwardly cringed. Of all the things people inevitably said the few times I’ve mentioned being a widow, that was almost my least favorite, a close second beingI’m sorry for your loss. In that moment, I finally understood why it was so compulsive. What else was there to say to a stranger?

“I,” he hesitated, peeking at Grant before returning his attention to me. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but I heard we have that in common.”

I was stunned for a moment and then thought about what Gina had said. “Oh?”

“I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that, but it’s nice to know someone else my age who… well, anyway, it’s nice to meet you.” He looked to Grant. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“Hey, same,” Grant said, shaking his hand again. “Welcome to the neighborhood,” he called after him.

Apollo made a quick boof noise again, and after Grant and I traded a quick glance, we returned to our homes.

“Dylan?” I called, realizing my mistake too late. “Wesley!” I corrected myself. “Wes!”

Dylan trotted into the kitchen, giggling. “Mommy, you always mess it up.”

“I know,” I said.

Emily had been out cold for a solid two hours, but at the sound of her brother’s laughter, she roused.

“Well, hello, sleepy head. Did you get a good nap?” I asked, combing down her bed head with my fingers. Her little cheeks were red, one side shiny with slobber that had escaped her mouth while she slept.

She frowned and shook her head, so I immediately reached into my bag for her pacifier. “Oh, what a face,” I said. “Here’s your bink, maybe that’ll help.” I tried not to judge myself as she took it from my hand and popped it into her mouth. My baby girl wasn’t a baby anymore, past the acceptable age of using one. But, with the move, changing my hair, our names, losing Dorito, and Kitsch being gone, I decided one vice for comfort wasn’t the end of the world.

“What’s for dinner?” Dylan asked.

“Grant and Gina invited us over. He’s cooking burgers, so I’m going to make a side and then we’ll head over.”

“Yay!” he yelled… all the way to his room.

I set Emily on her feet, watching her trot to Dylan’s bedroom.

I tapped on the screen next to my stove, watching all eight zones pop up in black and white. I pressed a button, enlarging Dylan’s room so I could keep an eye on the kids while I cooked. Standing over the stove was when I did the most thinking, the most worrying, and my mind kept churning over Grant and Gina’s invitation. Maybe they thought I was depressed and needed to step up their interaction, or maybe they had news that Grant had learned just before we returned from the dog park that he didn’t want to tell me right before I’d be alone with the kids.

My stomach sank, and the closer it came to six o’clock, the more anxious I felt.

“You ready?” I asked Dylan, standing at the front door with a covered tin pan in my hand.

“Bye, Apple!” Dylan said, waving to her. With his other hand, he led Emily to the door.

“Keep hold of sister’s hand while we walk over, okay?”

“I remember.”

I opened the door and we walked over, Gina standing in the open doorway smiling as we stepped onto the porch.

Dylan coached Emily inside, but I stayed behind, eyeing Gina. “Everything okay?”

“Everything is great,” she said with a smile.

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