Page 86 of L.O.V.E

Mom wasn’t entirely off the mark. Wasn’t easy to admit, though. I was about to tell her so, but she continued.

“You rarely smiled or laughed with Victoria. You were always so serious and focused. Too worried about keeping her happy.”

“That a bad thing?”

“No.” Mom reached up to cup my face. “You’ve got a beautiful spirit, my boy, and a smile that brightens everyone’s day. And it killed me to watch that brilliant light of yours dim.”

Mom wouldn’t talk ill of my dead wife, and she’d said too much already, guilt evident in the quiver of her lips and the shimmer in her eyes.

“I want you to be happy. To be with someone who makes you happy without having to work at it.” She shoved a hot mug of coffee my way. “You’re going to have an epic love story. I’ve known that since before you were born.”

Cue the eye roll. “No, Mom. Not with that story again.”

“Fine.” She laughed, poured a hearty dose of Baileys into her coffee, then mine. “But it’s true. Your grandfather knew it. I know it. Your soulmate is out there, and when the time is right, you’ll know.”

Relieving mom of her drink and anymore uncomfortable truths, I pulled her into a hug and whispered into her hair, “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

“Love you more.”

“I’m gonna say my goodbyes and head to Ellis and Lacey’s.”

A full glass of Glenfiddich sat untouched in Martin’s empty spot at the table.

Cigar smoke poisoned the air.

Unwanted memories stifled the mood.

Ellis, unusually quiet, couldn’t keep his eyes off the door.

Upstairs, Natalie and Lacey laughed, and danced by the sounds of their footsteps and the low bass thumping through the floorboards overhead. I envied their joy.

Martin wasn’t at the table, but his presence was stifling, choking all pleasure from the game.

Ellis was the first to state the obvious. “This feels like a betrayal. Playing without him.”

“Betrayal?” I huffed. “Shitty choice of words.”

“Sorry.” He slammed his cards on the table. Scraped his fingers over his scalp. “Fuck.”

“I think we should bury this tradition along with Martin.” The words tasted sour. So I snatched the tumbler we’d filled for our dead friend, downed half the glass, the burn exquisite, then shoved the remainder Ellis’s way.

Eyes liquid, he stared at the whiskey. His throat moved. He took the drink, his glare dark and tortured, swallowed the rest of the amber liquid, and then threw the glass against the wall, the shatter unsatisfying.

Ellis pushed from the table and paced the small room, hands to hips.

One by one, carefully constructed walls of ice shielded my battered psyche.

“I loved him. But he doesn’t deserve to be here. Doesn’t deserve a place of honor at our table. Not after what he did to you.”

Stone still, guarded, I allowed Ellis his release.

“I was stupid to think we could do this.” He stopped in front of me. Crossed his arms. “I’m sorry, brother.”

My chest caved, but through that wall of ice, I mumbled, “Me, too.” And I meant those words. “I’ve been caught up in my own shit. I haven’t considered your suffering. I’ve been a shitty friend, and I’m sorry.”

He moved around the table, poured two more shots. “To new traditions?”

We raised our glasses.

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