Page 130 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
“Seriously?” I say, looking at Perry. “Is this place for real?”
And there it is.A smile. A real, wide, genuine smile that is every bit as overwhelming as I expected it to be. There is pride in that smile. Pride and appreciation and gratitude.
Perry’s eyes narrow. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because I can tell you love this place,” I say. “And because you have a really nice smile.” I bite my lip, hoping I haven’t said too much. But of course I did. I always say too much. And you know what? That’s me. Perry can take it or leave it.
Perry wipes a hand across his face, and the smile disappears, but the warmth in his eyes stays. “We called it the ledge growing up. We still do, really. I have a lot of happy memories up here. A lot of conversations with my brothers.” His head tilts the slightest bit. “My first kiss. My first beer.”
My eyebrows lift, and he smiles again, holding up a hand.
“Noton the same night.”
“Glad to know you were clear-headed for that first kiss,” I say on a chuckle, but honestly, we have gotto change the subject,because the thought of Perry kissing someone is messing withmyclear head.
We’re standing side by side, our shoulders not quite touching, and I swear, despite the blue skies in every direction, you could convince me there was a thunderhead directly above us for all the crackling energy in the air. I want to lean into the feeling, but I also have a strange impulse to flee.
I’ve forgotten how to do this. How tofeel.
“Trevor was a fighter pilot in the Navy,” I blurt out, my eyes cutting over to Perry. “Or at least training to be.”
There’s nothing but warmth and understanding in Perry’s gaze.
“It was a training exercise. Something went wrong with his ejection seat, and . . . he didn’t make it.”
Perry is silent for a long moment. “I’m so sorry, Lila,” he finally says.
It’s gotten easier to say it out loud over the years. To think of the event as a tragedy that happened in my past that no longer has to define my present.
At the same time, I’m still working on letting go of the guilt that fills me whenever I think about mymarriage,which is different than thinking about losing my husband. My grief counselor told me to expect the guilt to flare up when I start dating again, or even just start considering the possibility of happiness with someone new.
With my eyes still fixed on Perry, I hear my therapist’s words repeat in my brain.You deserve happiness, Lila. It’s okay to want it.
I take a steadying breath. I can do this. I can let the joy in.
I nod and give Perry a small smile. “Thank you. He was very good at his job. And the Navy has changed protocol as a result of his accident, so that’s something at least.”
“That’s no consolation.”
It isn’t. Not even a little bit. But it’s a fact I can easily repeat. More easily than admitting that had my husband not died when he was training in California, I likely would have filed for a divorce as soon as he came home.
“Not a consolation,” I agree. “But I’m glad his loss will lessen the likelihood of it happening to someone else. I’ve taught Jack that his father’s service to his country persisted even beyond his death.”
“Still. It’s a lot for a little guy to go through,” Perry says.
I press a hand to my stomach and feel the rise and fall of my breathing. Time to wrap this conversation up, because if I start talking about Jack, Iwillstart to cry. I give my head a little shake and force a smile. “So. Where to next?”
The moment I back away like this—because that’s enough talking about my dead husband, thank you very much—is usually when people’s faces shift into that mournful expression I’ve grown to know so well. Hands pressed to chests. Fingers covering lips. Eyes turned down and sad. Those expressions are so hard because they can meanI’m so sorry for your loss,but they can also mean,I’m so glad I’m not you.And sometimes the line between one sentiment and the other is very thin.
True compassion is always welcome.
Pity, or someone making my pain about them, is not.
Fortunately, Perry’s guileless expression is only full of understanding. “Next, we get to work,” he says, and I relax the tiniest bit. Work sounds good. Work sounds like exactly what I need.
“You lead, I’ll follow,” I say.
And I do.
