Chapter 136 Chapter 136 A Year Without Him
One month.
I visit his grave. I clean it, carefully, like it matters—like it still takes care of him somehow. I place carnations in a vase. I still don’t understand how he ever thought they were beautiful. They’re awkward, over-textured, stubborn things.
“I’m fine.”
It’s my new favorite phrase.
I wear black every day.
Two months.
I visit his grave. I clean it again, replace the flowers with fresh ones. My hands move automatically, like they know the routine better than I do.
I feel nothing.
No desire. No joy.
Just autopilot.
Three months.
I visit his grave. Clean. Flowers.
School starts again. I go back to work. I keep myself busy—too busy to think, too busy to feel.
My cousin asks Tiana to marry him.
I should feel something.
I don’t.
“I’m fine.”
Still my favorite lie.
Four months.
I visit his grave. Clean. Flowers.
School. Work.
Ivan is still here.
We move around the apartment like ghosts, passing each other without speaking. No acknowledgment. No connection. Just shared space and silence.
Five months.
I visit his grave. Clean. Flowers.
Fuck the holidays.
My cousin asks why I’m mourning Nick like he was my husband.
I don’t answer.
I still wear black.
I will wear black until it’s been a year.
I still cry every day.
“I’m fine.”
I say it too often now.
No one believes me anymore.
Six months.
I visit his grave. Clean. Flowers.
I make it to the tennis court.
I stand there.
Then I turn around and go home.
I’ve lost weight. My waist is smaller, sharper. People are starting to notice, starting to worry.
Ivan hugs me while I’m cooking.
Out of nowhere.
“I miss you,” he says.
I don’t respond.
Seven months.
I visit his grave. Clean. Flowers.
The girls want to have a Galentine’s.
I skip it.
I focus on school.
I get a promotion at work. The gallery is doing well. I close a deal with a photographer—black and white images of body parts. Raw, intimate, stripped down to form and shadow.
Out of twenty pieces, only one remains.
Ivan leaves me roses.
Pink ones.
Flown in from across the world.
They look like the ones tattooed on my lower back.
Eight months.
I visit his grave. Clean. Flowers.
Spring Break comes.
I skip it.
The girls go to Mexico with some of the guys.
“I’m fine.”
There’s too much to do. School. Work.
Ivan starts cooking more.
He makes me eat.
I still hate him.
Nine months.
I visit his grave. Clean. Flowers.
I’m preparing for graduation.
Bachelor’s degree in fine arts.
I think about a master’s. One more year. Maybe.
Ivan talks to me every night at dinner.
I don’t answer.
Why is he still here?
Ten months.
I visit his grave. Clean. Flowers.
I sit in the grass for an hour and talk to him.
To myself.
“I’m fine.”
I’m busy. Too busy.
Graduation is close.
My friends call.
I don’t answer.
I don’t call back.
My cousin asks about the black clothes again.
Ivan hugs me again.
I push him away.
I feel nothing.
I see Dragon at the grocery store.
I turn around and walk the other way.
Eleven months.
I visit his grave. Clean. Flowers.
I talk to him again.
Another hour.
On my way out, I pass Vince.
Graduation comes.
My family is proud.
Another college graduate.
Life moves forward whether I want it to or not.
Gabby and Roman are separating—divorce. He never told her about the vasectomy.
Helena is pregnant. I hope the baby looks like her.
Not Oliver.
Ivan brings Vladimira into my apartment.
I hate him.
He shushes her the same way his brother used to.
Dimitri texts me.
I leave him on read.
“I’m fine.”
One year.
I visit his grave. Clean. Flowers.
I talk to him.
His mother approaches me quietly.
“I thought it was you,” she says softly. “Leaving flowers. Keeping it clean. I can take over now. You did your time.”
Did my time.
The words hit harder than anything else.
I cry the entire way home.
This is the last day I wear black.
Mike texts me.
Checks in.
Asks how I am.
Asks if I’m ready for that second date.
It’s been over a year.
I’m not ready.
I still feel nothing.
No desire. No joy.
Ivan hugs me again.
Then he leaves.
Back to California.
He tells me to take care of myself.
I’m glad the extra security is gone.
They were always there, even when I pretended they weren’t.
Ivan never travels alone.
“I’m fine.”
—
It’s a warm Sunday afternoon.
I skip tennis.
I meet the girls for cake and mimosas.
They all watch me as I eat.
Like I might disappear if I don’t.
I stay quiet.
No jokes.
No teasing.
No moaning over food like I used to.
Mason watches me closely.
Too closely.
“You look good in color,” Tiana says, offering a soft smile.
I give her one back.
It’s fake.
But it’s all I have.
“Andreas was right,” Alek adds.
I look up sharply, gripping my fork tighter than I should.
I want to stab him.
Fucking asshole.
“Elle!”
A familiar voice cuts through everything.
I turn.
Mike.
I force a smile onto my face and stand. I hug him, introduce him to everyone. His eyes move over the table—the guys, the girls, the dynamics. He’s trying to figure it out.
Gemma and Alek.
Stanislav and Tiana.
Tish and Erika.
Mason.
Grant.
Oliver and Brown.
And then me.
He doesn’t ask.
“Do you want to go out in a few weeks?” he asks, his voice almost cracking.
“Yeah,” I say. “Text me. We’ll plan it.”
Another fake smile.
He nods, satisfied, and walks away.
I sit back down.
Lift my glass.
Take a sip.
The bubbles burn down my throat.
Still sore.
Still raw.
Mason reaches across the table, placing his hand over mine.
I look at him.
My expression flat.
Cold.
Uninviting.
I pull my hand away.