I heard the knock just after lunch.
I had spent the morning pretending I wasn't waiting for it.
The kitchen was clean.
The cups were on the counter, and the kettle was full.
Jack and Theo's photograph sat in the middle of the table.
I had moved it twice before deciding to leave it there.
When I opened the door, Theo stood on the step in an ordinary pair of trousers and a dark shirt.
No red dress.
No bright color.
For some reason, that made me feel worse.
I had been telling myself that the dress was the thing I needed to understand.
Seeing him dressed like everyone else made me realize how little clothing could tell me about a person.
"Hi," he said.
"Come in."
He stepped inside and looked past me toward the hallway.
His eyes paused on the stairs.
Then he followed me to the kitchen.
I noticed that he kept his hands in his pockets.
He seemed unsure whether he was allowed to move around the house as freely as he once had.
That hurt.
I had never thought of our home as a place where Theo needed permission to belong.
Perhaps I had never considered that belonging could feel different to the person receiving it.
"Would you like some tea?"
"Please."
I filled the kettle.
Theo stood beside the table, looking at the photograph.
He didn't pick it up.
He didn't touch it.
But his expression changed when he saw Jack's face.
I had seen that look at the funeral.
It was the expression of someone trying to keep a feeling from becoming visible.
I turned away before I could stare.
The kettle began to hum.
I took two cups from the cupboard and placed them on the table.
Theo sat down.
I sat opposite him.
For a while, we talked about nothing important.
He asked how I was sleeping.
I said badly.
He told me he hadn't been sleeping much either.
I asked whether he had been eating.
He gave a small, tired smile.
"People keep asking me that."
"I suppose we all think food will solve things."
"It hasn't so far."
I almost laughed.
Then I remembered why we were sitting there.
The smile disappeared from both our faces.
I wrapped my hands around my cup.
I had promised myself I wouldn't begin by asking about the dress.
I wanted to keep that promise.
So I asked him how he had been managing since the funeral.
He looked down into his tea.
"Not very well."
I nodded.
"Neither have I."
He moved his cup slightly, turning it by the handle.
"I wasn't sure you would want me to come."
"Why wouldn't I?"
He looked at me.
I realized how quickly I had answered.
I wanted him to believe me.
But I also knew that wanting to be believed was not the same as having earned someone's trust.
"Because of what happened at the chapel," he said.
I felt my face grow warm.
"I'm sorry about that."
"You didn't do anything."
"I stared at you."
He looked away.
"Everyone stared."
"That doesn't make it right."
He didn't answer.
I wanted to explain that I hadn't meant to judge him.
Then I stopped myself.
Intentions were easy to offer after the fact.
They didn't erase what someone else had experienced.
"I'm sorry," I said again.
This time, I left it there.
Theo looked at the photograph.
"Jack would have hated that everyone made such a fuss."
I smiled before I could stop myself.
"Jack hated fusses of every kind."
"He once left a birthday party because people kept asking him to make a speech."
"He told me he had a headache."
"He told me he couldn't find his shoes."
I laughed.
It was a small laugh, and it ended quickly.
But for a few seconds, Jack was not a coffin or a photograph.
He was a young man making an excuse to escape a room full of people.
Theo smiled too.
Then the silence returned.
I watched him touch the edge of his cup.
There were so many things I wanted to ask.
I wanted to know why he had worn red.
I wanted to know why Daniel had reacted the way he had.
I wanted to know whether Jack had shared something with Theo that he had never shared with me.
But I remembered what I had promised myself.
I would listen first.
"Can I ask you something?" Theo said.
"Of course."
He hesitated.
"Did you think I was trying to upset you at the funeral?"
The question caught me off guard.
"No."
He watched my face.
I knew I needed to be careful with the answer.
"I didn't understand why you were wearing the dress. I was surprised, and I probably let that surprise show more than I should have."
He lowered his eyes.
"I knew people would react."
"Then why did you wear it?"
The question slipped out.
I regretted it immediately.
Theo went still.
I nearly apologized again, but he lifted his head.
"Because I couldn't pretend that day."
I waited.
He looked at the photograph.
"Not after losing Jack."
The words were quiet.
I felt my chest tighten.
I wanted to ask what he had been pretending about.
But something in his face told me that he was already struggling to say as much as he had.
So I remained silent.
Theo took a breath.
"I spent a long time thinking I could keep certain parts of myself separate. I could be one person with some people and another person with everyone else."
He rubbed his thumb against the side of his cup.
"It worked until it didn't."
I looked at him.
I was beginning to understand that the dress had not been a random choice.
It had been connected to something he had carried for a long time.
But I still didn't know what that something was.
"I don't want you to feel you have to explain yourself to me," I said.
He gave me a sad smile.
"I think that's part of the problem."
I didn't understand.
He seemed to notice.
"I mean, everyone says I don't have to explain myself. But then they keep looking at me like there's something they need explained."
I had no answer.
Because he was right.
I had done exactly that.
Even when I tried to be kind, I had been waiting for him to tell me what the dress meant so I could decide how to feel about it.
I had wanted the mystery to end.
I hadn't considered what it was like to be the person everyone treated as a mystery.
"I'm sorry," I said.
Theo shook his head.
"You don't have to keep saying that."
"Maybe I do."
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he nodded slightly.
I took a sip of tea.
It had gone lukewarm.
I didn't mind.
"Jack understood you," I said.
Theo's eyes moved to mine.
"Yes."
There was no hesitation in his answer.
Something about that certainty made me ache.
I wanted to know what Jack had understood.
I wanted to know how he had shown it.
I wanted to know whether my son had been happier in those private moments than I had ever realized.
But those questions belonged to a different conversation.
I wasn't sure we were ready for it.
Theo looked at the photograph again.
"He never made me feel like I had to prove anything."
I swallowed.
"That sounds like Jack."
"It was one of the things I loved about him."
The word stayed in the room.
Loved.
Theo didn't take it back.
He didn't look embarrassed.
He didn't rush to explain what he meant.
He simply sat there with his hands around his cup, as if he had finally said something he had been holding inside for too long.
I looked at the photograph.
Jack was smiling.
I had seen him smile thousands of times.
I had never thought that a single word spoken over a kitchen table could change the way I understood the expression on his face.
I didn't know what to say.
So I didn't pretend I did.
Theo stayed for another half hour.
We talked about Jack's habit of forgetting appointments.
We remembered a meal he had once tried to cook and the mess he had left behind.
We laughed about the time he insisted he could fix a loose cupboard door and somehow made it worse.
The memories were ordinary.
That was what made them precious.
When Theo stood to leave, he paused beside the table.
He touched the back of the chair he had been sitting in.
"Thank you for letting me come."
"You don't need to thank me for that."
He looked at me.
"I think I do."
I wanted to tell him he would always have a place in our home.
But I hesitated.
Not because I didn't mean it.
Because I was beginning to understand that promises about belonging needed to be supported by more than kind words.
So I said something smaller.
"You can come back whenever you want."
Theo nodded.
At the door, he turned toward me.
"I really did love him."
My throat tightened.
"I know."
He searched my face, perhaps looking for doubt.
I held his gaze.
"I believe you."
For the first time since the funeral, he seemed to relax.
Then he left.
I stood in the doorway until he reached the end of the path.
Afterward, I returned to the kitchen.
The two cups remained on the table.
One had a faint mark where Theo's lips had touched the rim.
I picked it up, then put it down again.
I wasn't ready to wash it.
That evening, Daniel came into the kitchen and noticed the photograph.
"Was Theo here?"
"Yes."
He looked at the two cups in the sink.
"What did he want?"
I felt a sharp irritation.
"He came to see me."
Daniel's expression changed.
"I didn't mean it like that."
"Then how did you mean it?"
He didn't answer immediately.
I waited.
Finally, he looked toward the photograph.
"Did he tell you anything?"
I studied my husband.
For the first time, I wondered whether Daniel's discomfort had less to do with the red dress than with what Theo might say about Jack.
I couldn't know.
But I no longer wanted to ignore the question.
"He told me he loved our son," I said.
Daniel looked away.
I watched him do it.
And I realized that the conversation I had been waiting to have with Theo was not the only conversation our family had avoided.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: My Husband Asked What Theo Had Said, and I Began to See How Carefully We Had Learned to Avoid the Same Subject
The Funeral Had Barely Begun When the Person I Trusted Least to Surprise Me Walked Through the Chapel Doors
Part 5 of 20
