Cassidy took another sip of her beer. “Hey,” she finally remembered to say. Her eyes had strayed to Mark, who must have told another Pete story because the group surrounding him laughed and shuffled their feet. A tiny flutter of that same sensation from earlier passed through her.
“So, how did you know Pete?” Wren asked.
The question caught her off guard and it took her a moment to get her mouth to work. “He was . . . ” Cassidy couldn’t finish. Since she had started taking the pills two days ago, her emotions didn’t feel so raw. It was like the pain was still there, just more diffuse. But the doctor only gave her enough to get her through this “rough patch,” and to help her sleep. Instead of renewing them, she was supposed see a grief counselor. Her first appointment was the following Tuesday, but Cassidy planned to cancel it. No way could she go through another series of grueling questions like at the hospital with some stranger. And by then, the pills would be gone, meaning no assistance.
“Cassidy and Pete were engaged,” Emily finished for her.
Wren’s face blanched. “Aw, shit,” she said. “I’m sorry,” she said, and Cassidy realized that she must be drunk. She extended her arms and pulled Cassidy into a tight hug. Wren’s perfume filled Cassidy’s nostrils and the nausea returned. When Wren finally let her go, her eyes were glassy with tears.
“When I started at the Times, Pete showed me the ropes,” she said, dabbing away a tear with a tissue. “He offered to read my first few stories, coached me along, you know? I really looked up to him.” She paused to sniff loudly and wipe both of her eyes. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” she added, sipping from her cup. “So tragic.”
Cassidy needed to sit down. Soon.
“When were you guys getting married?” she asked.
The room felt suddenly hot and her knees ached from standing for so long. “Uh,” she said, her head feeling light, like it might detach and float away. “We hadn’t set a date yet.”
“Ohhhh,” Wren cooed in a high voice, as if comforting a child. She reached for Cassidy’s hand and held on when Cassidy flinched. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her brown eyes oozing pity.
Cassidy looked away, swallowing a hard lump in her throat.
Wren let go.
“I think we need another drink,” Emily said, and carefully steered Cassidy away.
A soft moaning sound crowded into her ears, and Cassidy realized the noise was hers. Emily pulled her through the crowd, which parted as if Cassidy had a disease, their faces blurred and distorted. She felt high and disconnected, floating above it all. Emily led her into the empty covered porch, which was cool and blissfully quiet.
Emily pumped the keg, then tapped the release so beer flowed into Cassidy’s cup. She noticed that outside on the grass, a circle of Pete’s friends stood sharing a pipe, puffs of marijuana smoke trailing into the night.
“Sorry about Wren,” Emily said, handing Cassidy her full cup. “I thought everyone knew who you were.”
“What, did you tell them beforehand?” Cassidy imagined an invitation with her picture overlaid with a bull’s eye. Don’t talk to this woman, it would say in bold print.
Emily sighed. “Mark was supposed to take care of it.”
Cassidy sat on the cubby-style bench that used to hold her and Pete’s shoes, and lay her head back against the cold glass. She sipped her beer, which had lost its taste. Emily joined her. “You wanna go smoke?” she asked, glancing outside.
“No,” Cassidy replied, rolling her head side to side against the glass. “I’ve probably reached my limit for one night.” She didn’t want to end up in the hospital again.
“I saw the pill bottle,” Emily said.
Cassidy avoided her eyes.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop.” She paused. “Do they help?”
Cassidy tried to answer, but it was like her thoughts kept wandering away. “Yes and no.”
“Are you okay, though?” Emily asked.
Cassidy turned to look at her friend.
“I mean, I know you’re not okay,” Emily continued. “But, you’re not, like, thinking of hurting yourself or anything, are you?”
Cassidy looked into her beer. “No,” she said. The doctor in the ER had drilled her on this, but no, Cassidy wasn’t a threat to herself. She just wanted the pain to go away.
Emily looked away again. “I wish I had some way to help you. Nobody’s ever died in my family. I mean, my grandma died but I was little. I don’t really remember it.”
Cassidy shivered. “That’s okay,” she said. “Thanks for being here,” she added, her words sounding thick.
Emily’s eyes clouded. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call you . . . after,” she said. “I didn’t know if you wanted space, and, well, to be honest, I was chicken shit.” She laid her head back. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
“It’s okay,” Cassidy said again. She had been saying that a lot. Why did people feel the need to apologize to her?
“Still,” Emily said.
From the other room, they heard the ping ping ping of a fork tapping glass followed by Mark’s booming voice gathering everyone into the living room.
Oh, God, Cassidy thought, her stomach turning to lead. Her throat felt like it might close completely and she felt her breathing accelerate. Not again, she thought, remembering the geology office secretary calling 911.
Emily stood but Cassidy resisted. Their eyes met.
“I can’t,” Cassidy said.
“Come on,” Emily said. “All these people loved Pete,” she added. “This is your chance to receive some of that love.”
Cassidy’s leg muscles felt locked in place.
“You won’t have to speak if you don’t want to,” Emily added.
Cassidy looked away. How could she not speak? Pete loved words, stories. She, of course, had to share a story with these people. She owed that to Pete. But would the words come? What if her tears got in the way and she dissolved into a blubbering mess? That
