“I’m sorry to hear about—”
“Don’t, please don’t say it.” I held my hand up to stop him. Hearing my husband’s name come off his lips seemed like another betrayal to Evan.
He nodded as if he understood. “How was your trip? I was in town a month ago and Martin said you went to Europe.”
“It was nice.”
He cautiously took a seat on the other side of my desk, and I wished he hadn’t. I hadn’t returned his calls or his texts in the past few months. I was hoping that would be enough of a hint, but as he sat there with his dark brown eyes pinned on me, I realized it wasn’t. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.”
“I can’t, Jonathan. What we did. What I did was wrong. I loved…I love my husband. I was in a really bad place, and it should’ve never happened.”
“I just thought that maybe you’d need a friend.”
“I appreciate that, but I think we both know that you and I can’t be friends anymore.”
“Understood,” he said with a reluctant sigh as he stood up and pushed his chair in. “If you change your mind, you know I’m here.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, lowering my head to my desk until he walked out the door.
_______________
I arrived home, mentally drained and happy the workday was over. It was Thursday, which meant tomorrow I didn’t have to go back into that place. Fridays were always spent working from home. I had settled on a new routine of two days at the office and three days working from home. Friday was always a given, but the other two were always up in the air depending on what we had going on. I was wishing today was one of the days I had chosen not to go in. Just seeing Jonathan reopened a gaping wound that was starting to close ever so slightly. I hadn’t really been back in the land of the living, but at least I had felt like I was starting to thrive somewhat, until he showed up.
I took a seat at the kitchen table and painstakingly went over the pile of mail I’d been ignoring for the past few days while I waited for my pasta water to boil on the stove. Bills, advertisements, nothing out of the norm, until I came to the last envelope from Life Alliance Donor Family Services Program. A painful reminder of the selfless choice Evan had made to donate his organs upon his death. “None of those things will be doing me any good when I’m gone. Why not give someone who’s still living and needs them another chance?” Evan would always counter when I’d say I didn’t want to think about anyone else having his organs inside of their bodies. Hesitation came over me for a moment, afraid of what was inside, but then I quickly tore it open, realizing how foolish I was being. My husband was dead. What could possibly be in that envelope that was worse than that? I laid the piece of paper flat on the table instead of trying to steady it in my shaking hand.
Dear Mrs. O’Rourke,
We have been contacted by two of the recipients of your husband’s organs who would like to contact you and possibly meet with you. Please know that we hold the personal information of all of our donors, recipients, and their family members to the highest level of privacy. We understand this is a very personal matter for you and respect whatever decision you choose.
If you have any questions or would like to schedule a time to meet with these individuals, please do not hesitate to reach out to me via the email address and/or telephone number above.
Sincerely,
Janet Seigel
The bile rose in my throat, thinking of pieces of Evan scattered among other people. I knew it was selfish of me, but I was still dealing with the fact that he was gone. I couldn’t make peace with the fact that parts of him saved others when they couldn’t save him. Why did he have to die for them to go on living? Tears were falling down my face faster than I could wipe them away.
The water from the pot overflowed, hissing when it hit the stovetop, but I couldn’t bring myself to get up and turn off the burner. I just stared at that letter, wondering who these people were, and who all the others were. Could some random stranger that I ran into on the street have his heart or his kidneys? I hated that I couldn’t be happy for them and proud of my husband for doing such a noble thing.
I placed the letter back in the envelope, standing up on wobbly legs, and shoved it in the junk drawer with all the other papers I deemed somewhat important but unable to deal with. My mind finally drifted back to the stovetop, and I rushed over to turn down the temperature before throwing my pasta in the water. I’d deal with the burned-on liquid later, just like I seemed to be dealing with everything else in life—later.
My iPad rang from the kitchen table, signaling a Facebook Messenger chat. I had all about removed myself from Facebook but was thankful I hadn’t taken the final step of deactivating my account. The Messenger feature and video chat proved to be a great way to keep in touch with Kate and Theo. I rushed over to see who it was, surprised to find Theo’s name popping across the screen. It was well after 6:00 p.m. my time, which meant it was almost midnight in England.
“Theo!” I answered, as his face filled the screen.
“Hey there!” He seemed wide awake for the hour of the night it was in his time zone. I noticed right away that his hair seemed more closely cropped and his beautiful curls a little more manageable.
“Did you get a haircut?” I suddenly thought
