Page 10 of It's a Widow Thing

“Sorry I’m a little late,” Sabrina said. “Things are busy at work.”

“Ladies! Sabrina’s here!” she called back over her shoulder. There was a ribbon of excitement in her voice that always took Sabrina by surprise. Orla was always so enthusiastic about her arrival. In Sabrina’s teenage years, walking through the front door was something she did with as little fanfare as possible. It made life easier if her mother remained passed out in the recliner in front of the TV. Her dad had passed away when Sabrina was ten, so he was gone by then, and her mother found solace only in a bottle.

Orla turned her attention to Sabrina again. “Let me take your things.”

Sabrina worked her shoulders out of her coat and followed Orla to the front hall closet, then painfully witnessed her struggle with the hanger. Orla was barely five feet tall and could hardly reach the thing, but Sabrina knew better than to offer to help.

Orla finally completed her task then attempted to give Sabrina a hug.

Sabrina crouched down to accept the embrace. “How are you, Orla?”

“Good. Good. And how are you?” Orla stepped back and narrowed her gaze, studying Sabrina. Orla was a retired therapist, a detail that was both a blessing and a curse. It was wonderful to have her insight, but sometimes it was a bit too keen. As in it sometimes felt like she was looking right through you.

“I’m good. No complaints.”

Orla didn’t respond, except to purse her lips and tilt her head to the side. “Something’s different.”

“Different how?”

“There’s been a shift in your life. I can see it on your face.” She waved her hands in circles, like she was washing windows. “I can feel it radiating off your body.”

Sabrina had to wonder if Orla had been like this with her patients. A lot of people avoided therapy because they wanted to keep some things to themselves. There was no hiding from Orla. “I’m struggling with something. Maybe that’s what you’re picking up on.”

Orla grabbed Sabrina’s hand and started for the French doors at the far end of the foyer, which led into the living room. “Is it a man?”

“Sorta.”

“Ladies, we have amanto discuss,” she announced, delivering “man” with extra emphasis as she swept into the room.

All eyes were suddenly on Sabrina as the members of the group, seated in the usual circle and each settled in one of the countless fussy upholstered chairs Orla owned, turned to watch her walk in. There was Daisy Burke to start, the flirt, a pale complected woman with dyed red hair, epically luscious false lashes, and even longer fake nails. “If you’re looking, there’s always a man. The question is whether he’s worth keeping around.” Daisy had buried six husbands, a fact that Orla liked to bring up whenever she and Daisy were butting heads. It was always posed as something like,Does anyone find it odd that Daisy has outlived a half-dozen men?Has anyone checked under her kitchen sink for rat poison?For what it was worth, Sabrina was fairly sure that they’d all been thinking it.

“Well, maybe you all can help me sort it out.” Sabrina took the empty seat next to Kendra Palmer, who’d lost her wife of ten years around the same time Sabrina had lost Andrew. Kendra had close-cropped natural curls, flawless light brown skin, and a smile that lit up the room. She was a cardiac surgeon, brilliant, and always working on a knitting project at their meetings. Tonight, her needles silently worked on a project in blue wool. She was unfailingly kind to Sabrina, like a surrogate mom, although Sabrina’s troubled relationship with her own mother left her with little idea of what that was supposed to look like.

“I’m not great at love life advice,” Kendra said. “But I’m an excellent listener.”

“Before we start, I want to formally introduce our newest member, Aurora Monroe,” Orla said. “Aurora, why don’t you tell us something about yourself?”

Aurora didn’t have to say a thing for Sabrina to know exactly who she was—the founder of Aurora Beauty, a seminal beauty brand started in the 1980s. Her daughter, Brooklyn Monroe, was the founder of Posh Post, a booming beauty subscription service. Mother and daughter were a real powerhouse in Sabrina’s world. “I found out about your group through Leticia. She’s my neighbor,” Aurora said.

“I want to be perfectly clear up front that I’m not entirely sure Aurora qualifies as a widow, but I didn’t feel as though it was my decision to make.” Leticia Carroll was the pragmatic member of their group, a former middle manager for Bloomingdale’s with mousy brown hair and the wardrobe to match. She’d been widowed for the longest of any of them, nearly seven years, and was still having a hard time getting past it.

“Well,nowI’m intrigued,” Daisy said.

Aurora sat a little straighter in her seat. She was nothing short of polished, with wavy dyed brown hair, makeup on-point despite a bit too much bronzer for this time of year, all wrapped up in a cream-colored turtleneck and matching pants. “My husband left when my daughters were young, and I never heard from him again. I used to get calls about him from bill collectors, but that stopped a few months ago, so I Googled him and he’s dead.”

“Massive coronary,” Leticia quipped.

“This group is about learning to live with grief,” Orla said. “Are you grieving?”

“Oddly enough, I am. I was granted a divorce years ago, but I still can’t help but feel sad. I did love him at one point.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’m mourning my youth. Being a single mom raising two girls and running a business, I never had a chance to do anything for myself. That’s all because of him.”

“I don’t think we can judge who does or doesn’t belong here,” Kendra said. “We’re a support system for women who’ve lost a partner, former or otherwise.”

Orla quietly blew a breath out through her nose. “Yes. That’s true.”

“So, let’s support Sabrina. Who’s this man we need to talk about?” Kendra asked.

Somewhat embarrassingly, Sabrina had never uttered a peep about Michael to the group. Perhaps she’d been in denial of where their chemistry was taking them. “His name is Michael. He’s my neighbor.” She took a deep breath for confidence, then delivered the condensed version of the story, which started months ago when Michael first moved into the building, and the sexual tension was present between them from the moment they said hello and stepped on to the elevator together. She recapped those morning descents to the lobby, the clever quips and smoldering glances, then his crossword puzzle stealing spree, and finally, the kiss that cracked the whole world open. “I panicked. It was so amazing, but my brain butted in with all sorts of inconvenient thoughts. All I could do was ask myself whether I was really ready for it.”