“You look pretty, Mommy,” Braxley tells me, and I look at my reflection in the mirror. My lips are plump with a thin coat of gloss over them, and my exhausted eyes look deceivingly alive from all the makeup that I’ve applied.

Then the doorbell rings and my heart thuds the way it used to when Ben was here, and suddenly, I question everything. What am I thinking, getting all dressed up for a play date? I’m a widow and grieving. I am in no shape to be—

“Come on!” Braxley drags me by my arm to the front of the house, and I feel like I’m about to hyperventilate.

Then he lets go of me and looks out the glass on the side of the door and says, “It’s them, open it, Mommy, open it.”

Proceeding onward, for my son, I let all of my worries go. I know how much this play date means to him. Plus, I’m sure Thane is just going to drop his son off and then go on his own way. But as I open the door, both of his hands are full of bags, one with what looks like food and the other with his son’s toys sticking out of the top. And I have a feeling he’s going to stay.

“Hey guys.” I put on a fake smile and welcome them inside.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Thane says. “We were starving, so I brought lunch.”

“Yeah, we can eat, right, Braxley?” But the boys are already off and in his room. I close the front door and remember to let all my worries go. I’m doing this for Braxley. “Here, let me take the food,” I tell him, and he hands me the bag, which I take into the kitchen. I glance over at Thane as he is looking around the inside of my home curiously.

“Where are the boys?” he asks me still holding the bag of toys.

“Oh, I’ll take it to them.”

“It’s heavy; I’ll do it.”

I direct him down the hall where the kids are playing on the floor in Braxley’s room, and he sets the bag down. “Do you guys need anything?” I ask them, keeping myself calm with Thane standing so close to me.

“Nope.” I turn and about run into Thane who smiles as we walk out together, leaving the two kids alone.

Back in the kitchen, my palms are sweaty, and I find myself a little nervous. He begins to take the food out of the bag, and I automatically open a bottle of wine to calm my nerves.

“Do you want a glass?” I ask him.

“Yeah, sure.” He chuckles, and I know it’s because it’s the middle of the afternoon and I’m drinking, but I need it. “I texted you about lunch, but since I didn’t hear back, I just ordered a bunch of different things. I hope that’s okay.”

“You texted me?” I ask him and reach for my phone in the back pocket of my jeans, but it’s not there. “Sorry, I don’t have it on me.”

“No biggie.”

I grab a few plates and swallow a bountiful amount of wine as I spot the kids’ meals. “Are these for the boys?”

“Yup.”

“I’ll run these to them.”

“‘Kay.”

Walking down the hall with the two bags in my hand and a big smile on my face, I set them on the small table in Braxley’s room. “Here’s lunch, boys.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Heading back into the kitchen, my heart is still racing, and part of me wants to lock myself in my bedroom. I could lie and say I’m not feeling well, but I have a feeling that Thane would just come in, so I remind myself this is just a play date. Like any other one Braxley has had where I hang out with the mom, this time…it’s just with a dad. A gorgeous dad that makes me think and feel things that are so wrong.

Thane glances over at me from the bar and says, “I’m sorry again about my ex the other night, she can be a lot to handle.”

“She looked like she was gonna pounce on me,” I tell him remembering the skinny blonde with giant tits who made it very clear she didn’t like how close Thane and I were to each other.

“Char is a very different woman now compared to when we first met. I really don’t get her or the things she does. Looking back, I’m not sure why I put up with it for as long as I did.”

“Were you together for long?” I ask, intrigued that he would say that about his own wife, or soon-to-be ex.

“No, not long before she got pregnant and that’s really what spurred the marriage and for us to stay together for as long as we did. What about you, why are you divorced?”

“Oh…I’m not,” I tell him, not sure how to say this. He observes me, completely surprised, and I don’t want him to get the wrong impression, so I just say it. “I’m a widow. My husband, Ben, passed away a little over a year ago.”

“Oh, wow, Faye, I’m so sorry to hear that. I had no idea. I just noticed you didn’t have a ring.”

Reaching beneath my t-shirt, I pull out the long chain that holds both my and Ben’s wedding rings on it. I know he feels bad, but the word “sorry” does nothing. For some reason as humans, we feel obligated to say it. “Here are our rings. Ben asked me to not wear my ring after he was gone. He didn’t want me to stand still in time, but even without this ring on my finger, time still stands still, because he’s not here.”

I blink a few times, pushing away the tears and find myself back to the night I lost him, the image so vivid in my mind, but Thane pulls me back to the present, placing his hand over top of mine on the countertop. “He sounds like a very brave man. I don’t think I could do that.”

“He was.” I let out an exhale and tell him, “I’m sorry,” not even sure why I feel so comfortable sharing so much with him.

“No, don’t be sorry, that’s the last thing you should be.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course. So should we eat and talk about butterflies or something?” he asks with a smile. I nod, chuckling as I imagine butterflies floating all around, then look at the huge spread of food laid out in front of us. “Do you like Mediterranean food?”

“I do, I love it.”

We dig in, each filling our plates, and he asks me, “So do you work?”

“Yes, I’m an artist. I’ve taken some time off, but am trying to get back into the swing of things.”

“What kind of art do you do?” He keeps looking over at me as he talks, making my heart race even more. Watching the way he licks his lips, I tell him, “Panting. Shit, I’m sorry, I meant painting,” I tell him, looking away.

But he doesn’t seem fazed by my blunder. “Can you make money at that?”

“Yeah, I do. I’ve been doing it for years now and have a lot of galleries that sell my work.”

“You have any here?”

Finishing my glass of wine, the alcohol seems to make me more settled and more okay with things. “Mmhmm. I’ll show you when we’re finished eating.” I get off my chair and grab more wine, refilling our glasses.

After we’re done eating, I ask him, “Ready?” and lead him into my studio. There are paintings all around on the walls, from floor to ceiling. There are some that are my favorites that I just can’t part with.

“Wow!” Thane exclaims, taking everything in and then he stops in front of one of Ben sleeping.

He swallows and crosses his arms, observing the piece. “Ben would never sit still long enough for me to paint him and then when we were waiting for the news of his test results, he was already so tired before we knew. And I feared it would come back positive—I think deep down we both knew he was sick. I prayed for it to be negative, but I couldn’t sleep or do anything except worry. I knew if he had cancer, our life would never be the same, even if he got through it, so I painted him sleeping, as a reminder of how he was in that moment. As the sun capped the morning sky, I finished the painting, and he woke to the phone call we’d been dreading.”

“Jesus, Faye…I…I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything; I don’t know why I’m even telling you all of this.” I clam up and feel completely stupid for spilling my feelings to him.

“Don’t stop talking,” he encourages me, and I stare at the floor as I say to him, “One month after I painted this picture, Ben passed away.”