GROCERIES BE DAMNED. I was going out for a change. Ever since Jude left that night, I’d been thinking about what he’d said, especially the part about being my Band-Aid. And maybe it was true. I liked Jude because, when he was around, I didn’t feel sad anymore. If that made him a Band-Aid, then I suppose he was. Although, I didn’t see it that way. Spending time with him wasn’t hiding my sadness; it was alleviating it. It wasn’t until I met him that I realised I didn’t want it anymore. I didn’t want the weight of it on my body. I’d been wrapped in a thick blanket of it for long enough.

I loved Tyler. Loved him with every single fibre of my being. Our love made a beautiful boy who I enjoyed every day. Our love taught me compassion. It taught me how to fight. And it taught me how to be selfless. But it didn’t teach me how to live without him. Even though I knew his illness would take his life, I wasn’t prepared for what would happen when it was all over.

In January, he’ll have been gone for five years. For five years, I’d held on to him so hard that I hadn’t wanted to move on. I was happy that way, swimming in my grief. The idea of moving on felt like a dirty word. In all honesty, I’d convinced myself that Tyler was it for me. Then fate stepped in.

How could it be anything but fate? I sat in the exact spot where fate intervened in my life the first time, throwing Tyler and me together for the emotional roller coaster our life together was. Then, exactly six years later, it did the same again. Another piece of gum. Another man. But the same result—two people forced into each other’s orbit.

The events were too similar and too perfectly timed to be pure coincidence. Call me crazy, but what else could it be? I didn’t believe in ghosts and I didn’t believe in God. It had to be fate. It had stepped in and forced me to pay attention to two different men at two different times in my life. How cruel to then take both men away from me. I didn’t feel ready to be outside of Jude’s orbit, but I also didn’t see how I could be in it. I had never been able to speak about Tyler without breaking down. It’s why I avoided talking about him unless it was with someone who knew him like Susan or Janesa. How could he expect me to share that with him? How could I sit there and tell a man I was interested in about the heartache I felt after losing the man I’d loved so deeply. It would destroy anything between us before we even started; especially when he realised there was no way I could love another man with that same intensity. He’d feel like a consolation prize. Talking about it wasn’t fair to either of us.

While I didn’t understand Jude’s father turning away from his children and allowing his grief to consume him, I did understand him not wanting to speak about the loss of his wife. Sometimes, it felt impossible to even think their name, let alone say it out loud.

As I pressed my lips together after applying lipstick, I decided that fate needed to stop messing around in my life and go take a flying leap off a very high bridge. I was angry at it. So angry with it for taking Tyler, plunging me into the depths of grief. So angry with it for showing me Jude, who’d grown up with a father destroyed by his grief. What was the lesson there? That I had no hope of being happy and should therefore give up and drink myself into oblivion? Why did fate have to make everything so damn hard?

I had started to have feelings again. I had started to smile again. I was working through things. I actually wanted to be with someone again. I wanted to be Sarah the woman for a change instead of Sarah the widow. Was that so wrong?

I sighed, fluffing my hair in the mirror, checking over my appearance. On my lunch break, I’d gone shopping and bought a dress from a store that was far too young for me. It hugged my body, accentuating every curve. I looked good, but inside, my heart and soul was a mess.

So, I was going out. I had a plan to go out and drink and dance and have all that mess spill from my mind and slide right off my body. I didn’t want it anymore. I didn’t want any of it.

I didn’t want to sit around the apartment feeling sad.

I didn’t want to be forced to talk about my dead husband.

I didn’t want to have my chest ache so much that I thought it might cave in.

I didn’t want to feel like shit anymore.

I’d. Had. Enough.

I just wanted to be me. Me. I wanted to be Sarah. I wanted to have fun. I wanted to remember who I used to be.

Before.

That girl who had an opinion on everything. That girl who had her whole life ahead of her. That girl who had hope. I wanted to be her again.

I called a cab and went to a nightclub that had been a favourite back in my uni days. I went alone. There wasn’t anyone I could do this with anymore; they were all grown up and married, having kids. They were at the beginning of it, and at twenty-seven, I was on the other side. Talk about having your life fly by too fast. I blinked and all the best parts were over.

As I stood in the line, I began to feel self-conscious. I was surrounded by eighteen-year-olds. They looked so much younger than I remembered and much surlier than even I remembered being. I felt like I was standing in line with a bunch of girls waiting to get a HPV vaccination. It didn’t seem like anyone was planning to have any fun at all. What was wrong with kids these days?

My hand flew up to cover my mouth, even though I didn’t speak. Did I seriously just think that?

Looking up and down the line, I shook my head at myself, laughing at the absurdity of this plan. Who was I kidding? A night club wasn’t the place I’d find myself in.

Stepping out of the line, I walked in the direction of the train station, planning to catch a cab there and just go back home. Some young guys told me to get my ‘fine arse back in line’, but I ignored them and continued on. I wasn’t in the mood to humiliate myself, which was exactly what I was doing. So stupid.

Twenty minutes in that line made me realise that eating ice cream out of the tub while drinking wine straight from the bottle was a perfect Friday night. I think I was OK with that version of me.

Just as I’d resigned myself to a lifetime of stretchy pants and rom-coms, I heard some decent-sounding music coming out of a hipster-looking bar. I’d never been in a place that cool and decided that since I’d gone to all the effort of getting dressed up, I might as well do something with it.

Inside, I found men with perfectly shaped beards and women with winged eyeliner, dark lips, and tattooed arms. It was like another world, but in a good way. On the wall were bottles of whiskey. As many different types as you could think of. And there were the normal-looking people there too, but I didn't feel so stuck-out-like-a-sore-thumb different there. I liked it.

Taking a seat near at the bar, I picked up a menu and played with my earring as I perused the different whiskey-based cocktails. “You waiting for someone?” the guy behind the bar asked. He was a blond, with perfectly coiffed hair, a full beard, and those stretcher things in his ears. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a white T-shirt with a black vest on top of it.

“No. Just...checking things out, I guess.”

He smiled. It made the points of his beard tilt upward. “It’s a great place to check out. Are you familiar with any of the drinks here?”

“I honestly have no idea. I don’t think I’ve ever tried whiskey.”

“Whoa. Don’t let anyone else in here hear you say that.” When he laughed, his blue eyes sparkled. “How about I start you out with something mild?”

I agreed and handed over my debit card. He selected a bottle from the shelf, pouring it into a large glass with a ballooned shape. The amber liquid looked like a tiny splash inside it.

“Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be keeping an eye out for you.”

“Why? Because I’m here alone?”

He nodded. “Pretty girls shouldn’t be out drinking alone.”

I should have summoned the feminist in me and argued that pretty girls should be able to do whatever they wanted. But his words catapulted me back in time to when Tyler had helped me home after breaking my ankle.

“This isn’t really the safest place for pretty girls to live alone.”

I let out a laugh as he brought me my pain pills and some water. “Is that a line?”

He held out the glass for me to take. “I don’t need lines, Sarah,” he said softly, as he placed the pills in my hand, his fingertips brushing along my palm. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m already alone with you in your apartment—anything could happen.”

I smiled at the memory, downed the whiskey, then ordered another. That one arrived with a warning from the young bartender not to drink them too fast. I was supposed to sip it, apparently.

Turning on my bar stool, I surveyed the dimly lit bar. There were couples huddled together, couples flirting. Groups of singles laughing, and then there was me, sipping whiskey alone.

“Want to tell me why you decided to come out all by yourself? You don’t seem like you’re on the hunt,” the bartender asked during a quiet moment.

“On the hunt?”

“You know, like those two.” He nodded his head toward a couple who were obviously flirting with each other. The sexual tension between them was crazy.

“Oh, no. No. I’m not on the hunt. I’m just...reclaiming my life, I guess.” I took a sip of the whiskey, feeling like the grown-up Sarah I’d always imagined I’d be.

Back in high school, I’d always sworn to never be boring or normal. I was going to do exciting things—the kinds of things I saw the beautiful people doing on TV. I’d hold dinner parties where only the smartest people were invited. We’d eat gourmet food and have scintillating conversations where I’d undoubtedly make an uproariously funny joke and everyone would leave, still smiling at my wit. And they’d talk about how wonderful my parties were for weeks after each one was done, begging me for the date of my next one.

Swirling the liquid in the glass, I watched the tiny tornado it created, smiling at trite fancies of a teenage girl who had no idea what the world was like outside her little country town.

“You’re learning,” the bartender commented, watching me.

“There’s life in this old girl yet,” I joked.

“You don’t seem that old. I wouldn’t peg you past twenty-five.”

“Close. Twenty-seven.”

He somehow managed to wince and smile at the same time. “I won’t tell you my age then.”

“Why would it matter? Oh, unless of course you’re flirting with me.”

He laughed and his cheeks pinked up. “I might be. I might also just be doing my job. But we’ll just have to wait and see.” He winked.

“Ha.” The single sound popped out of my mouth and I sipped away the last of my whiskey. “There isn’t very much in these things.”

“I’ll make you something with a mixer this time.”

Taking my debit card for the third time, he made me a whiskey sour and set it in front of me. It was served in an old-fashioned champagne glass. “Fancy,” I said, slipping my card back into my purse.

Smiling, he leaned on the bar in front of me, his forearms looking taut with various black and grey tattoo designs on them. I pegged him in his early twenties. He had that cockiness about him that twenty-year-olds seemed to have.

“So, what are you reclaiming your life from? Breakup? Divorce?”

“I’m widowed,” I responded, the answer surprising me as it fell straight from my lips without catching in my throat. I didn’t know if it was the alcohol relaxing me or if I really was ready to talk about it, but I was secretly pleased with myself. I had been so vehemently opposed to telling anyone about him, that I had no idea I could. Before now, I had barely been able to think about him without choking up. But then, I’d been doing that a lot lately too. I’d been thinking about Tyler yet I hadn’t been crying. I’d been feeling guilty for loving him while wanting Jude. But I hadn’t been crying.

Huh. That was interesting.

The bartender looked a little taken aback. “What happened?” he asked before apologising for being nosey.

“It’s fine,” I said, testing this newfound ability of mine. “He had MS and he took his own life when the pain got too much for him.” I cannot believe that just came out of my mouth. Was I high?

“Oh my God,” he said, leaning forward to hear me better. “Did you know that he was planning to?”

I was so shocked that I was able to talk about this to a stranger no less that I just kept going. “Yes. He didn’t want to lose complete control of his body.”

He stood there, watching me carefully, that look of pity that people get slowly taking over his face. “That must have been really hard for you.”

“I just wish there had been another way, you know? Like how in the movies there can be these miracle drugs or experimental surgeries that make everything suddenly OK. He suffered so much.”

“How long were you with him?”

“A little over a year.”

He was leaning in his elbows at this point. “And how long ago did he die?”

“Almost five years. It still feels like yesterday.”

“Sounds like you’re still really hurting.”

“I don’t want to. But it’s hard to let go. I get the logistics of it, I get that you’re supposed to pack up their things and say goodbye properly. But that feels a lot like erasing a memory to me.”

He opened his mouth to say something but I stopped him and stood up. “I’m sorry, I have to go. I should really be having this conversation with someone else.”

The bartender pulled his head back, looking a little dumbfounded. But it wasn’t his sympathy I was after. I wasn’t after sympathy at all. I’d had enough of that to last me a thousand lifetimes. What I wanted, no, needed, was to be talking to the one man who helped put a little colour back into my world again—the man who made my heart want to beat again. I needed to talk to Jude. I didn’t want to lose him.

I was ready.

Jude opened the door about ten seconds after I knocked. He was wearing pyjama bottoms, a faded black cotton T-shirt and he had his glasses in his hands.

“His name was Tyler. He died at twenty-two after a long battle with MS. I helped him go and I hate that that’s how things ended. I especially hate that he died not knowing he was going to be a father. And you’re not a Band-Aid, Jude. You’re a reason.”

“I think you should come inside,” he said, sliding his glasses on before looking at me. His eyes almost bugged out of his head when he caught a clear sight of my skin-tight dress. “Have you been out somewhere, drinking?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “But I’m not drunk. And I didn’t go out to pick up, I just...wanted to be Sarah for a few hours.”

“And this is Sarah?” His hand gestured toward my dress and heels.

“No. This is someone trying to be something they aren’t anymore.”

“Who are you now?”

“I’m a mother. I’m a widow. I’m a woman knocking on a man’s door in the middle of the night because I want to add happy to the list of things I am. You make me want to be happy, Jude. That’s a really big deal for me.” I paused, expecting him to say something. But when he didn’t, my nerves flared and I continued on, needing to convince him to give me a chance. “I went out tonight, trying to prove that I could be the girl I used to be. I thought that if I could find her then maybe I could find that strength I once had to tell fate to fuck off; I’m in control of my life. But that’s not really how it works, is it? When you meet someone, and you connect with them, you can’t turn around and decide you don’t want that anymore because you’re scared, right? Because when you’re apart you feel like there’s something really important missing. That’s how I feel right now, Jude. I don’t want to be Sarah on my own. I want to be Sarah and Jude. So here I am. I’ll answer any question you want to ask.”

“You want to be Sarah and Jude?” His voice was calm, giving me no real idea what was going through his mind after I vomited words all over him.

I nodded quickly. “Yes. If you still want that, of course.”

He lifted his head in thoughtful acknowledgement then turned and moved into his kitchen, switching on the kettle.

I followed behind him, my heart thumping like a horse galloping across my ribcage. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Had he already changed his mind about me? Should I just leave and forget this whole thing? The longer the quiet dragged on, the more foolish I began to feel. I took a moment to look around his apartment as a means to calm down so I didn’t turn around and run. It was much smaller than mine, with the lounge room pressing right up against the tiny kitchen. He had it filled with bookcases overflowing with books. There was a couch, a lamp, a coffee table, and a TV. That was it.

“How am I a reason?” he asked finally as he took two mugs out of his cupboard and set them down. My head snapped back to attention, and I stepped a little closer, placing my hands on the edge of his bench top while he prepared the coffee. He didn’t have to ask how I took mine because he’d already figured it out from our previous interactions. I don’t know why, but watching the simple movement, knowing he’d been quietly paying attention to me, calmed my racing heart.

I took a deep breath, ready to explain whatever he needed. “I’ve been mourning for so long. Even before Tyler died, I was in mourning. Knowing it was going to come didn’t make it any easier. It made it so much harder because I felt responsible. I should have convinced him to hold on, just a little more...”

He handed me the mug of steaming coffee and we sat together on his dark brown leather sofa, our knees facing each other. He didn’t say anything, he just waited for me to keep talking. For once, I actually wanted to. It felt surprisingly good to be getting this stuff out of my head. It felt good to be calm while doing it. I knew that Jude was the reason I was able to do that. Something about my developing relationship with him gave me the strength I needed to start healing.

“I know that the end still would have been the same,” I continued. “He only had suffering ahead of him and I helped him have the tiniest shred of control over something that had taken everything from him. I know that, understand it even. But it still feels so heavy on my shoulders. I feel like I’ve been drifting through life counting days, counting anniversaries, honouring his memory by doing some of the things he couldn’t with the money he left us. But nothing was changing. I wasn’t coming out of the cloud of grief I’d found myself in. Until you stepped on my gum and became the reason I stopped being so damn sad all the time. Every time I saw you or spent time with you, I’d forget to be sad. And then somewhere along the way, the sadness stopped coming back and I started to feel more like me again.”

I looked at him, thinking that surely he’d say something at that point, but he just took a sip of his drink and waited for more. My nerves returned, and I wondered if maybe my explanation wasn’t going to be enough. Maybe he’d given it so much thought over the last week that he’d decided that dating a widowed woman with a child would be too hard for him. Maybe I wasn’t explaining myself properly… Was I not saying the words he needed to hear?

“I know that sounds like you were a Band-Aid.” I tried again. “But a Band-Aid is something that covers up the pain. And you haven’t been that for me. You’ve made me want to smile again, to laugh, to...well, feel something more than sorrow and loss. I want this. Whatever this thing is between us. And I know that I have Ty to consider in this scenario and I want you to know that I’m not looking for you to be the stand-in dad. I don’t want that at all. But I’d like you to be the friend you have been to him. And with me? I was hoping you’d like to be something more.”

Sitting forward, he placed his mug on the coffee table before taking mine and doing the same. Then he removed his glasses, leaned in, and kissed me. It tasted of the coffee he’d been drinking mixed with the whiskey I’d had earlier, his tongue far more sure of its movement than Jude seemed as a man. The butterflies in my stomach rose with full force—wide awake and excited.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back. He was a smart man with a confident mouth. I found that sexy as hell as I lost myself to the kiss, felt myself sink into his arms, enjoying every nuanced movement. In that moment, I felt happy. I felt something close to whole again.

And Jude Baker, with his quiet strength, his determined, intelligent mind, and beautiful presence, was my reason. He was my reason.