I’m standing on the porch of my parents’… of my dad’s house. I spent the last week in mourning, hiding out from the world. Crying, or sitting in my apartment and staring at things while trying not to cry.

Mostly I just wanted to stay out of my dad’s hair. He’s been wandering through the house, touching things that were my mama’s. I couldn’t stand to watch him, so I made myself scarce.

Today is the last day that I have nothing scheduled. I stopped by my parents’… my dad’s… house to sort out the recycling, something that I know my father can’t be bothered to do. It’s something that mattered to my mama, though.

So now I’m standing outside, sorting through plastic bottles and aluminum cans. My mama used to save all the recycling up until it overflowed the bins, so now the recycling is all here, waiting for me.

It’s quiet, except for the cans clinking. A couple of people have come up to give me their condolences, like ancient Miss Juniper from down the street. She pushed her walker all the way over to my house to tell me she was sorry about my mom, and that she was a very nice person.

I just said thanks, and stared at the ground while she smiled and patted my hand. She’s a sweet old lady and it was kind of her to come to me, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what they want from me. I waited until she hobbled away again, then started stacking some of the aluminum cans in the can crusher.

My fingertips tremble as I stack them. I’m barely able to grapple with the idea of my mama being gone. I keep thinking I’ll turn around and she'll be right there, leaning against the doorway, asking if I want a sandwich.

I don’t turn to look, though. I force my mind away from those thoughts. They aren’t helping anything.

I look up from stacking cans to find Hunter’s dad, Milton Graves, walking up the driveway. I clench my fist around a can.

I haven’t seen or spoken to Hunter since the funeral. I’ve seen his texts though. They make me weak. I want to tell him yes, I need him. I want to get lost in his embrace, but I can’t… if I did, there’s no way I’d be able to let him go. And I know he could leave me. It would ruin me.

Late at night when I want to talk to mama, I talk to her about him. I wonder what she’d think about me going to him and giving in to the feelings that I have for him.

One of the last things she told me was to follow my heart.

Right now it’s pulling me in two directions, and I don’t know which to run toward. I feel like I should be in pain. And that I should hang onto it. Hunter would ease it, but for how long, I don’t know. And he could cause me more pain. If he did, I don’t know how I could possibly survive.

I’m too raw and fragile and I don’t know that I trust him.

“Violet, how are you?” Mr. Graves says to me, stirring me from my thoughts.

His face is worn, but he looks just like Hunter. Or I suppose Hunter looks just like him.

“I’m alright, thank you,” I say softly, moving the crushed cans and trying my best not to break down again.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says and it causes me to focus back on him.

“Thank you,” I tell him just like I’ve told everyone else.

He starts to walk past me, but then he stops and he turns to me. “You know,” he starts to say and then shoves his hands in his pockets, “I remember when I lost my father. It was Vietnam.”

I watch the old man talk. I’ve never said more than a few words to Mr. Graves. Not even when Hunter would bring me home for dinner. I’m surprised he’s talking to me now.

“I’m sorry,” I say the words softly. He doesn’t acknowledge them, he’s looking past me and down the street.

“Messed me up pretty good to lose him. My mother even more. I was young, and I remember him, but not much,” he says, then scratches his face and his brows furrow. “My mom of course, she wasn’t too well after that. Didn’t live much longer either.”

My lips part and I try to say something, but I can’t. I don’t know what to say, other than that I’m sorry.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I know it hurts,” he says and finally looks at me, the same hard expression he always has, still on his face, “but time heals a lot of things.”

He nods his head and doesn’t wait for a response before heading inside and leaving me alone to think on what he said.

I look down at the plastic bottles and metal cans and toss the one in my hand down, not caring really where it lands.

“Violet,” my body jolts as Mr. Graves' voice comes out of nowhere and scares the shit out of me. I put my hand over my racing heart.

“Sorry,” he says, his forehead scrunched. “I just… I owe you an apology.”

The old man surprises me again. I stand there shaking my head. He hasn’t done anything wrong.

“I thought I was doing you a favor. I swear I did.” He pauses and looks at the front door before looking back at me to say, “I didn’t know I was splitting up something real.”