I lay down on my couch, my head buried in my pillows, trying to ignore my phone, which was buzzing quite a bit. 

It was exactly a year. And the passing of this year hadn’t made things any easier like I’d thought they would. 

I guess I’ve gone back to my regularly scheduled life in a lot of ways. I work, I feed myself, mostly with take out, I go to sleep on time and wake up every day. I go through the motions of life. 

But that’s all I really do. I just go through the motions. And I feel… so fucking detached from my life. 

I don’t know, I just didn’t used to be this person. I didn’t use to live my life comfortably numb. I used to be happy. I had hobbies. I got lunch and dinner with friends. I read books, I did puzzles, I thoroughly enjoyed cooking. 

But it felt like all of that had just faded away. I didn’t have the interest anymore. I filled my time when I wasn’t working curled up on my bed or my couch, watching endless amounts of bad television. 

I know it’s not great or healthy. I’ve been avoiding the few close friends I have, and everyone’s noticed my withdrawal from the world. But I just can’t bring myself to care. 

And I know people are calling and texting to check in on me. I know they’re all just trying to be nice. But I don’t want to talk to them. 

Especially Joe, even though he’s always been my closest friend and a big support in my life. It was embarrassing to talk to him, though. Because he’d been right. I’d told him over and over I’d be able to handle the pain of it all. I’d said I’d be fine, and I’m not. 

Initially, when I’d realized this was all harder than I’d thought, I’d decided I’d tried to hide it. Even though I’d felt like I’d been broken, I’d acted like I was happy and normal and like nothing had changed, so none of my friends or coworkers would know. 

But that didn’t last long. Eventually, the act was just too hard to put on, and I couldn’t make myself do it anymore. I didn’t care what anyone thought about me anymore. I didn’t care about anything. 

I didn’t even care about getting out of this funk. It would be too much effort to try and change my life. So, most days, I hung out on my couch and hoped that this was a problem that would just fix itself with time. That’s possible, right? To just get slowly better with time and no effort? 

I don’t know. I don’t know much. All I know it’s been a year.

A year to the day since I’d lost my husband. 

Lost my husband… it still felt weird to use the word. I’ve heard it takes a year or two to really get used to using the world “husband” or “marriage” when referring to your spouse. And I guess that made sense, because it’d been barely over a year since I’d married him. 

I remember the day like it was yesterday, though. It’s still vividly etched in my mind. I’d had a lot of nerves before the ceremony had begun, but, once it had, it’d been beautiful. It was a wondrous day, where I’d shared all I could with a man I love. 

Loved. 

Our relationship had been anything but ordinary. But, not in the way you’d normally assume. It wasn’t, like, extraordinary, like you see in romantic comedies. It wasn’t some magical, incredible, whirlwind romance. 

Although, we did move fast. We had only been dating for six months when we’d gotten married. I’d proposed during the fifth month, and we were married right away. 

I know that most people think that sounds crazy. I can’t disagree, it is crazy. Trust me, whenever I’d hear about someone getting engaged who hadn’t been with their partner for two years or more, I’d immediately judged them. 

I mean, everyone is in love during the first year of the relationship! You don’t really know someone until you’ve been with them longer. And, what the hell is the point of rushing into marriage? If you’re going to be together forever, why do you need to get married right now?

But that was the problem. Blake and I were not going to be together forever. That had never been an option. We’d been living on a fixed amount of time. 

When we’d first started dating, everything had been pretty much normal. We’d met on a dating app, had dinner, hooked up a few times, had a few more dates. I’d really liked him. He was sweet and easy to talk to, and I could see us becoming a long term relationship. Eventually, of course, I’d never planned to be married within six months. Like I said, my natural inclination is to take things slow. But, everything had changed a few weeks after we’d started dating. I’d gotten a serious text message from him that he wanted to meet to talk, and we’d met at a local coffee shop. 

And that’s when he’d told me. He had gone to the doctor after several months of constant headaches. I’d known he’d been seeing a doctor about this, he had gotten a migraine on one of our dates and had told me all about the affliction. But, of course, neither of us had thought it was a very serious problem. 

But it was. And it was a serious problem that had been addressed far too late. Unfortunately, by the time he’d learned about it, there was nothing to be done. Blake had cancer, and he was terminal… without a lot of time left.

I still can picture the pain in his eyes when he’d told me. His world had been completely flipped upside down. One day, he’d been a normal guy with plans for his future, and, now, it was just all gone. 

He hadn’t meet with me just to tell me the tragic news, though. He’d come to end things with me. He’d said that, after just a few weeks of dating, it wasn’t fair to involve me in all that was to come. He wasn’t going to be able to be the same fun, carefree guy I’d been dating. 

It was going to be exhaustion and medical procedure. It was going to be sad and awful, and he’d wanted to save me from all the horrific shit to come. 

But, of course, I couldn’t think that way. I couldn’t just leave a man only because he was sick. I liked Blake, I really did, and I couldn’t imagine what kind of piece of shit wouldn’t want to support him through this. 

And, eventually, I came to love Blake. I loved his perseverance and his ability to be positive, regardless of the situation. Even at his sickest, he never stopped being fun. He never stopped being someone I genuinely enjoyed spending time with. 

I went with him to his doctors’ appointments; I spent a lot of time at his house taking care of him as much as I could. And, in the course of being there for him, I learned more about him. Like the fact that he had always fantasized about having a big, beautiful wedding day. 

It had come up in casual conversation. It wasn’t like he’d hinted it at me, trying to tell me that what he’d really wanted from me was a proposal. I still don’t think he’d ever expected that from me. He hadn’t expected much from me, really. 

As soon as I knew how important it was to him, though, I went out and bought a ring. How could I not? He was sick. No, not sick, he was fucking dying.

He didn’t have a lot to look forward to anymore. There were no more milestones in his life. Everything was just about surviving. 

I didn’t want that for him. I didn’t want that for anyone. I knew I could give him at least one last milestone… his wedding day. And it wouldn’t require much from me. 

At least, I’d thought it wouldn’t require much. 

In the way of wedding planning, at least, it didn’t. I didn’t have to plan or pay for a thing. His parents were loaded, and they’d understood that Blake was not in good enough health to do all the errands and running around that wedding planning required. 

So, they did the whole thing for him. They’re really fucking sweet people. Like, the best parents I could possibly imagine. Completely and totally supportive of their son. We still keep in touch, but only barely. Because, like I said, we were technically only family for a few months. 

Though, I do think they are grateful to me for marrying their son after only a few months. They knew him, they knew his dreams, they knew how important it’d been to him. They’d been so thrilled to see him have his special day. 

I was happy to see it, too. Because I’d really found myself caring deeply about him, after spending months of time with and caring for him. His joy had been my joy. 

But, even though I’d cared about him, it wasn’t like… 

No, I can’t even think it. I feel so guilty thinking it, though the thought crosses my mind all the time. 

That’s another issue I’ve been having. That, in addition to all the grief and pain, I find myself dealing with an inordinate amount of guilt. Guilt that I’ve never had to experience before and that mostly I don’t try to deal with.  

I rolled over on the couch, sighing as I finally reached out to grab my phone. 

Just as I thought, it was all friends sending well wishes. Short and sweet messages, nothing I felt particularly compelled to reply to. 

But I had a rather long message from Joe that I didn’t bother reading completely, though I saw that he’d said something about needing to get me out of the house and that he was always there for me. 

I tossed the phone down and started to shift my body to turn over, but just as I was going to move, I heard the doorbell ring. 

For a split second, I considered answering it. But it truly was a split second. Why would I answer it? There was nobody on the other side of that door that I cared about seeing. 

I honestly thought whoever it was would go away, so, even the second time the doorbell rang, I ignored it. The third time, I ignored it again. 

But it wasn’t just three times or four times or five times. I literally lost count. Whatever asshole was at my door would not fucking stop and even started knocking loudly on my front door while pressing the doorbell nonstop. 

I mean, seriously, why the hell was someone aggressively knocking on my door like this?! When they’d rang it the first couple times, I’d thought it was maybe just a concerned friend really wanted to make sure I was okay. 

But I can’t think of any friend that wouldn’t eventually give up and walk away. Obviously I don’t want to be fucking seen. Leave me the hell alone already. 

I finally got up to answer the door. The only thing that could counteract my laziness was my sheer anger. 

I stomped off to the door, fully preparing to give whoever was at the other end of it a piece of my mind. This was unbelievably rude, and I was going to guilt the hell out of them. 

To my surprise, when I did answer it, it was nobody I recognized. It was a man with dark brown, long hair which he had gelled back pompadour style.

“Excuse me!” I said rudely. 

“You’re excused,” he said with a cheeky grin, as if we were playing some fun kind of game. 

Now he had me seeing red. 

“Why the hell are you pounding on my door?!” I snapped. “Don’t you think it’s kind of fucking rude?!”

“Uh yes, I do,” he said, still sounding nonchalant. “But I also think it's the only way to get your attention.”

“I see!” I said loudly. “Well, what is so fucking urgent that you need my attention for? Please, spew whatever solicitor bullshit you’re going to give me out now so I can go back to grieving my husband. Who died literally a year ago today, by the way,” I said, attempting to make him feel as guilty as possible. “But, by all means, try to sell me whatever you want to sell me.”

To my shock, he didn’t look guilty at all. He seemed completely unfazed. 

“That’s why I’m here, actually!” he said, way too cheerfully. 

“What?” I asked, anger beaming from my eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m here for your dead husband!” he continued excitedly. 

I could not hate this guy more. Here for my dead husband? Who the fuck talks like this?! What is his deal?! Who is he?! And why is here to torment me? 

“Why the fuck would you say that to me?” I asked. “Look, don't even answer. I don’t know who you are, and I really don’t care. Just leave me the hell alone.” 

I went to slam my door on him, but, when the door was about to hit the frame, it stopped. I looked down to see his foot was between the frame and the door. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” I snapped again. “Go! Get the hell away from me! You’re fucking trespassing.”

“Yeah, as much as I’d like to do that, I can’t,” he said. “I’m not allowed to leave. Blake’s orders.”

That was the first thing that actually caught my attention. Even him mentioning that he knew about my dead husband didn’t really register for me. I thought maybe he’d been just someone with a flower or food delivery from one of my friends. 

But he actually used his name, Blake? 

I swallowed hard. “What are you talking about?” I asked. 

“I’ve got direct orders from Blake. And those orders tell me very specifically that I am not allowed to leave until I’ve done my job.”

"Your job?” I asked. 

“Can I come in?” he asked, ignoring my question entirely. 

The last thing I wanted to do was let this asshole in my house. But he had mentioned Blake… not only mentioned him, but claimed that Blake had some kind of job for him to do. 

How could I ignore that?

“Okay,” I said bitterly, as I walked away from the door and to my couch. It wasn’t polite, not to let him in or tell him he could have a seat, but I don’t care. We hadn't gotten off to a very polite start. 

He seemed unbothered, though. He opened the door himself, shut the door behind him, and took a seat in my recliner without so much as asking me.

“Lovely place you got here, ” he said casually, as he looked around. “You must make a lot of money.”

“Uh huh,” I shrugged him off, “so who are yum exactly?”

“Oh, right!” he said, extending his hand. “My name is Derek. And I already know you’re Bailey, of course.” 

Derek didn’t immediately ring a bell for me. 

“Of course?” I asked. “What do you mean, of course? What exactly do you know about my life?”

“Uh, well, not much outside of you marrying Blake actually. All my information comes from him.”

“And how did you know him?” I questioned. 

“We were best friends since childhood!” he said emphatically. 

“You were?” I asked, an eyebrow raised. “But you weren’t at our wedding… and I’ve never met you before.”

He sighed. “Right. I was actually doing some traveling abroad. You know, backpacking across Europe and stuff. I actually planned this whole year-long excursion.”

Oh, right! I remember this dude. Blake often told me little stories that he told him over the phone or video chat about his trip. 

Even back then, all I could think was that this guy was an asshole. 

I mean, geez, I know long trips like that are a big deal and hard to plan out. But if my friend told me that he was sick and dying, I’d fucking fly back for him. At the very least, I’d make a small trip for his back for his wedding and his funeral. 

“Why didn’t you ever visit?” I asked bluntly. I usually wasn’t so blunt, but this guy had already pissed me off, and I could give a shit less about how rude he thought I was. 

“I offered to!” he said quickly. “As soon as Blake told me about the cancer, I immediately told him I was coming back home. But he didn’t like that. He insisted I stay in Europe and finish my trip. It wasn’t the end of the world, he’d said. They’d caught it early, and he was going to be just fine. He’d specifically said, ‘we’ll have all the time in the world after your trip.’” For the first time, he didn’t look nonchalant. His casual face sunk, and I actually really felt bad for the guy. 

And I could empathize. If I’d stayed on a trip because of my best friend’s insistence that everything was fine when it wasn’t, and then he’d ended up dying? I’d be heartbroken. 

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “That is… really rough.”

He nodded. “I would’ve been here, I really would have. I’d have gladly canceled the whole thing if I’d known he was living on borrowed time, but… but he’d lied,” he shrugged.

I could tell there was some resentment there. 

“That’s just Blake, isn’t it?” I asked, as my fingers made swirly patterns on the couch cushion. “Forever trying to do the selfless thing.”

He gave a single chuckle. “Right, yeah, that’s exactly him. Though I wish he could have known how much it’d suck to never get to see him again. He apologized, so I don’t hold any grudges—”

“Wait,” I cut him off, “what do you mean he apologized? Like, on his death bed?”

“Of course not,” he answered, as if that was a ridiculous question, “he sent me a letter.” 

To me, the sending of a letter to apologize for lying about the seriousness of your cancer is much more ridiculous sounding. 

“A…letter?” I asked, trying not to sound like I was disappointed because I’d never gotten any letters, though I was. 

“Several letters, actually. A box with a bunch of letters and tickets and—”

“Tickets?” I interrupted again.

“Yeah…” he sighed, “actually, that’s kind of why I’m here.”

“Oh?” I asked. 

“Before he died, Blake put together like… a project for you. I mean, it’s not really a project, but that’s seriously the best way I could think to describe it. A few months ago, I got this box with a bunch of plans and letters, and he explained the whole thing for me.”

I couldn’t accurately describe how exactly I felt in that moment. Confused, shocked, anxious, relieved… I mean, the round of emotions were endless. My relationship with Blake was so complicated that there was no one way to feel after hearing that he was reaching out to me, even after death. 

“I just still don’t understand…” I mumbled. 

“I didn’t either,” he said, “not until I read my letter. You can read yours now.” 

“I have a letter?!” I gasped. 

“Of course. You have several. Though I’m not allowed to let you open them all at once. You can just have this one.” 

He handed me a small white envelope, and my heart pounded in my chest. Again, it was a mixture of emotions. But each and every emotion was incredibly intense. 

My hands were shaking as I took the letter and began to open it. It was like the wind had been knocked out of me once I saw Blake’s handwriting again. 

 

My love, 

I know this is strange. I know you’re probably going to be freaked out by this, and I understand completely. If everything in my plan is going right, then it’s been a year since I died. An entire year, and, while I was living, I couldn’t bear the thought of you being hurt and miserable for an entire year without me. 

I decided, back when I was alive, I was going to set something up for you. Something that would hopefully, in some small way, take the edge off. Something to lead you into a new existence, one without me in it. 

So, here’s the deal. My very amazing friend here is going to take you on some adventures. He’ll be your guide and your company, but, really, I planned all these trips. Every single one. And I think every trip is going to be very important to your healing. 

I know you’re probably not going to want to do this, especially if you’re still unhappy or still grieving. You’re going to want to shrug this off and go back to your regularly scheduled life, because, let’s be honest, love. You’re just not that spontaneous of a person. 

But I urge you… no, demand you do this. For me, for yourself, for everything we experienced together. I put a lot of work into this, and I don’t want it to go to waste. 

So take a goddamn week off work for once and vacation! Let me be your guide. 

Love you, 

Blake

 

I was stunned. 

“He… he can’t be serious, right?” I scoffed. “He wants me to… do what now?”

“To go on vacation… with me, a total stranger. I know, it’s ridiculous, but… yes, I guarantee you that he is indeed serious.” 

I didn’t know how to feel. It was nice to read Blake’s handwriting again and feel his presence in a small way, but… a vacation? A fucking vacation with a total stranger whom I’ve already managed to yell at? I mean, fuck, man. 

“I can’t do this,” I muttered. 

“You can,” Derek answered, “if I can work up the courage to bring a letter to a total stranger from their dead fiancé, then you can do this.” 

“But, I… I have work.” 

He looked around my place again. “Like I said, this is a nice place. What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a software engineer,” I muttered. 

“A software engineer?!” he gasped sarcastically. “Oh, no, however will the world live without a software engineer for a week?” 

I glared at him. “The world might keep moving, but that doesn’t mean the business I work for will.”

“Come on, Blake knew you. Blake knew your place of work. He wouldn’t have planned this if he’d thought it would be impossible for you to get any time off.” 

“He did know my old job pretty well,” I said, “but after he died, I stopped going to work for weeks. They called and called, and I ignored every single one. So, when I wanted to get back into work, I looked for a new job. A new job that happens to be incredibly fucking strict. And they’re paying me a lot more than my last job, so I really don’t want to lose it.”

He thought on this. “So, you can really get no time off at all?”

“Not really,” I affirmed. 

He seemed to think this might be a valid excuse, for such a split second, until another idea came into his head. 

“Fine, okay then, don’t take a week off work.” 

“Fantastic!” I said, as I stood up and went to open the door for him to leave. “Then you can just—”

“We can split it up.”

“Say what now?”

“We can split it up,” he nodded triumphantly. “We’ll do everything on his list, we just won’t do it at the same time. I see nothing wrong with that. We’ll just utilize our weekends to go to every place he wants and—”

I scoffed. “And how many weekends will that take?!”

He shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. A lot. I’ll have to go over the list again…”

“You’ve got a full list?” God, when did Blake have the time to go through all this trouble? “Well, what exactly is on it?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you,” he shook his head. 

I rolled my eyes. “And why not?”

“The list is private. I’m not allowed to tell you what’s on it. I’m not supposed to say anything about it, it’s part of my rules. The only thing I’m allowed to give you right now is this specific letter. There are other things I can divulge as we go on the trips.”

I couldn’t believe this was happening. Part of me was wondering if this was some weird dream… or, nightmare, more like.

It was like I was in some shitty romantic comedy. Except it’d only be a real romantic comedy, if, like, Blake had faked his death and was going to be waiting for me at the end of all these trips or something. Because no romantic comedy starts with the love interest dying off before you can even get into the story. 

Still, it was movie-like. I just really didn’t know what to make of it. 

But I knew I couldn’t do it. 

“I just… can’t.”

“Why?” he asked. “You don’t need work off now.”

“Because… because this is crazy. I can’t just go off on a bunch of trips that my dead husband has laid out for me. It’s insane, and it’s unhealthy and—”

“How is it unhealthy?” he cut me off. 

I scoffed. “Uh, I don’t know, maybe because I’m supposed to be moving on with my life? I’m supposed to be, like, distancing myself from the tragedy of his death, but, here you are, wanting to give reminders of him every weekend. I just can’t. And… you know what? Blake would have understood that. He would’ve gotten it. He wouldn’t have been mad about me not doing this for him.” 

Bailey’s eyes narrowed at me. He had been so laid back this whole time that it caught me off guard when he finally seemed angry. I mean, all my overt rudeness hadn’t pissed him off in the slightest. But evidently this had. 

I waited for him to snap at me, to tell me how shitty of a person I was that I wouldn’t do this for him. Or something else equally angry. But he didn’t. 

“What were you doing today?” he asked.

The question caught me off guard. 

“What?”

“What were you doing today? Before I got here.”

“Nothing,” I shrugged, “I didn’t have plans. I was just watching TV on the couch.”

“So why didn’t you answer the door?” he asked, catching me off guard again. 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

"I don't know, it’s just confusing. You were on the couch here, just feet away from your front door, you definitely heard it. And, considering what day it was, it easily could have been one of your friends coming to hang out with you. Which seems great, since you’re wasting away on the couch with no plans. But you didn’t answer. I take it you didn’t want to see your friends.”

I furrowed my brow. “What's your point?”

“My point is, maybe you’re not as ‘moved on’ as you think you are.”

I tried so hard to think of a comeback, something that would prove he was horribly wrong. But I couldn't think of much, because he wasn't wrong. Me being home today and sulking with myself definitely proved that I had not moved on. 

“Even if I haven’t, so what?” I asked again. 

“So, maybe Blake could forgive you for not doing this trip if you truly had moved on and just didn't want to bring up the pain of the past. But I don’t think he’d forgive you if you hadn’t moved on and were allowing yourself to wallow in pain when you could be doing something about it.”

I was seeing red again. I wanted this guy out of my house, and I never wanted to speak about this fucking trip vacation whatever thing ever again. 

“Get out,” I told him. 

He looked even angrier.

“You know what?!” he snapped. “I’m wrong. I’m totally wrong. Because, you know what? Blake would totally have forgiven you. He would have. He would have let it all go. Because that’s the kind of guy he was. He forgave everyone and never expected anything in return because he was a downright good person. And he suffered and died and is just… gone. He’s just fucking gone.”

“You think I don’t know that?!” I bit back. “You think I’m not mourning this day? You think I didn’t love him? That I didn’t know what a fantastic person he was?! I did, I knew him. He was my husband, of course I knew him. “

“Then you should be on the same page as me!” he argued. “You think this is something I really want to do? Go on a bunch of trips with my best friend’s ex-husband? No, of course not, this is awkward as hell for me. Do you realize the courage I had to muster to come here and talk to you in the first place? But I did it because I owed it to him, and so do you.” 

I knew I was going to regret what came out of my mouth next, but I didn’t care. I let it fly. 

“Do I? Do I really owe him? Or do you owe him? Because while you were having a blast backpacking around Europe, I was here with him. I was taking care of him constantly. I was with him as his body crashed and burned. I was here when he was barely a human, and it took everything I had to support him. I married him knowing he was going to fucking die. I think I’ve done my part.”

The instant hurt that registered on his face was painful for even me. Dammit, why did I say that? Why did I try to hurt him so badly? What kind of bitter person have I become that I actually try to say hurtful things?

“He didn’t tell me,” he muttered. “I didn’t know how sick he was, I had no clue he was dying, and he insisted I not stop traveling to come back to his wedding. I would have been back here in no time if I’d known.”

I immediately felt terrible. 

“Look, I shouldn’t have—”

He held up his hand to stop me. “No, don’t. Clearly we shouldn’t discuss this anymore. Not only is it going nowhere, it’s becoming hurtful. I’m going to go now. You just read that letter. Read that letter and remember what kind of person he was. Remember what he would have done for you. I’m thinking if he loved you, if he married you, you must be a decent person, too. And if you are, you’ll do the right thing.” 

He took something out of his pocket and laid it on the table. It was a small scrap of paper with a phone number written on it. 

“This is my number. Give me a call when you decide you’re going to do it.”

My mind fixated on the word when. Not if, but when… I’m not sure he should be so confident that I’m going to do it. I definitely wasn’t. 

I took the scrap of paper, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I didn’t want to keep arguing with him. I’d already said hurtful enough things, I didn’t need to bury myself into a deeper hole. 

He didn’t have anything to say, either. He just got up, walked out, and shut the door behind him. 

I fell back onto the couch as soon as he left. I grabbed the nearest pillow, buried my face into it, and screamed. 

Fuck, and I’d woken up thinking this day couldn’t get any worse.