Page 81 of More With You

Lyndsey chuckles. “Half of them have already sold and the exhibition hasn’t officially opened yet. You’ve made her year. She just keeps weeping into her champagne, muttering, ‘The commission. The sweet, sweet commission. Barbados, I’m coming.’ I’ve got David watching her, because she is going to be drunk with a capital “D” before ten pm.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” I take a sip, at last, knowing it’s well deserved. “Seriously, if you want to be a partner in this thing, just say the word.”

Lyndsey grimaces. “If only I could, but advertising is like the devil—it tempts you with the money and the travel perks and the full-slate of insurance goodies and that’s it, you’re in it for life. Anyway, you don’t need any help. You’ve got a good eye for this, and I fully appreciate the secret naughty pics. Stunning. Ben had a good eye when he found you, for sure.”

“It’s that obvious it’s me, huh?” I contemplate taking them down, but Lyndsey grabs my arm, no doubt sensing what I’m thinking.

“Don’t you dare. They’re extraordinary and they deserve to be up on that wall with the rest,” she insists. “I keep having to steer Oscar away from them. I’ve caught him gawking at least three times since we arrived.”

I nod down at her ring finger. “How goes the planning?”

“Ugh, I can’t even talk about it, or it’ll ruin my whole night. Who knew so much went into getting married? Everything is so expensive, and I’ve got my mom telling me I have to have flower arrangements and centerpieces and his mom telling me there has to be wedding favors and this and that, and the cost is just piling up, but I’m sure it’ll be worth it.” She sighs and smiles the contented smile that always comes to her face whenever her fiancé, Oscar, is involved. It’s sweet to behold. So sweet, I see no need to remind her that she could just elope with a couple of friends, a minister, and a beautiful view.

After six months without Ben, there’s a pinhole of light at the end of the tunnel. I still get days where I don’t want to budge from my bed, or everything feels like it’s too much, but they’re spread out in a way that’s manageable. The grief isn’t eating me alive every day, like it did once. I have Lyndsey and Grace and Ms. T and Cybil to thank for that. They rallied around me, and continue to, and slowly but surely, I feel the fragments of my broken heart getting glued back together again. The cracks will always be there, and there are still some gaping holes that might not hold the glue, but it’s progress. Day by day, week by week, month by month, I’m morphing back into a functioning human.

“Actually, speaking of travel perks, the company wants to send me to London for two weeks next month, and I was wondering if you’d have Grace for one of those weeks? Cybil and grumpy ol’ Bennybobs will have her for the other, if that’s okay with you?” Lyndsey looks at me hopefully. I know she thinks I’m doing her a favor, every time she leaves Grace with me, but it’s her who’s doing me a favor.

I peer down at Grace. “What do you think, Baby Bear? Would you like to come and stay with me at the cottage for a week?”

“Yes, Big Bear! I can play in the water and watch Henry!” Grace claps her hands together excitedly. I don’t know why, but she’s completely in love with the blue heron that always stands in the reeds, otherwise known as “Henry.”

I smile at Lyndsey. “I think that settles it.”

Warmth spreads through me like melted butter on a corn cob. I never point it out, but there’s been a change in nicknames since Ben passed. Grace is now “Baby Bear,” I’m “Big Bear,” Lyndsey is “Mama Bear,” Ms. T is “Bristles,” and Cybil is “Grandma Bear.” It’s a subtle shift, and I know she’ll never call me any variation of “Mom” because, in the end, I’m not her mom and I wouldn’t dare to take that place in her heart, but I’ll take “Big Bear” for as long as she wants to call me that.

“She loves that place,” Lyndsey tells me, with a happy sigh. “And I love that she loves it.”

I laugh. “That’s like saying, ‘I’m happy as long as you’re happy.’ Backhanded compliment.”

“No way! I’m green with envy, Summer!” Lyndsey protests playfully. “If I could have a waterfront cottage that’s as cute as yours, I would, but the property prices here are next level insane. If I weren’t marrying Oscar, there’s no way we could afford the townhouse. Still, I’m glad we can. It’s nice, right?”

I give a low whistle that makes Grace chuckle. “It’s more than nice, Lynds. It’s freaking palatial.”

It’s been fun having weekend getaways in New Orleans. I never got to enjoy the bright lights and wild nights of Bourbon Street when I was here on my own, toiling away at another casino, but I’ve indulged in a few since meeting Lyndsey. Oscar looks after Grace, and Lyndsey and I go out on the town, savoring our youth while we can still get away with one-day hangovers. Sure, it occasionally ends in tears after one too many Hurricanes, but I’ve come to realize that crying is catharsis. It empties the tank for a while, and sometimes, that’s what you need.

Lyndsey loops her arm through mine and, together with Grace, we do a few circuits of the laidback gallery. It’s one of the reasons I used to love it so much, when I first came here, because I could walk in and never felt like I didn’t belong. Who would have thought that, one day, I would technically own it? Although, if I could swap it for Ben, I would in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, death doesn’t work like that, and I should know. In the first few weeks after he died, I’d be on my knees in the grass outside my house, begging, pleading, bartering, threatening, praying for some way to get him back. The best the heavens sent was a rainstorm, to wash me back to my senses for a while.

“Lyndsey!” someone calls, prompting her to turn.

I turn with her and see a man pushing his way through the throng. He looks stressed, his suit disheveled, but there’s a kind smile on his face as Grace immediately breaks away from me and her mom and tears toward him. The man scoops her up and swings her around, the pair of them in their own little world, in the center of Ben’s gallery.

“You haven’t got two boyfriends, do you?” I arch an eyebrow at Lyndsey, who pulls a face.

“That’s my brother.” She smacks her forehead. “Honestly, I feel as if you’ve been part of the family forever. I keep forgetting there are people you haven’t met yet. To Grace, he’s Uncle Ro-Ro. To me, he’s a variety of things I can’t say in front of the kid. To everyone else, he’s Rowan.”

I nod, seeing the resemblance a little.

Lyndsey drags me toward Grace and her brother. “Grace, Uncle Ro-Ro is going to take you home, okay? Mommy won’t be long, but it’s way past your bedtime,” she says, brushing a crumb of something off Grace’s cheek. “Rowan, meet Summer. Summer, Rowan.”

Rowan’s eyes widen. “Ben’s Summer?”

“Ben’s Summer,” Lyndsey confirms, with a note of warning in her voice.

Rowan rests Grace on his hip and clears his throat. “I’m… uh… sorry for your loss. Bit late, I know, but according to my sister, I’m always late.”

“Thank you.” I smile stiffly, feeling a lump begin to form in my throat. Whenever someone new offers me condolences, it’s like picking at a scab. Conscious of not bleeding my grief all over the happy occasion, I pretend to see someone I know in the crowd. “Grace, I’ll come and see you tomorrow, okay? I have to go and speak to some boring journalists.”

Grace reaches out her arms, and I steal one more hug from her. “Can we make vamilla cupcakes?”

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