I kneel for her in front of the candle and close my eyes. I say the prayer in French, as she taught me. “Vous avez expiré, Jésus, mais…”

It’s a comforting prayer. Who wouldn’t want an afternoon reminder of an ocean of mercy? I’m basically a lapsed Catholic like my father. And I only say the prayer once instead of the three times the ritual calls for.

But then I address her. “Maman, please be careful about hairpins on the ice. Someone could trip.” In the silence of my new apartment, I feel more self-conscious than usual, even though I know Fiona is out shopping for throw pillows. “Okay, a hairpin probably won’t kill anyone, but it’s not a good look. I’m sure you were just reminding me to be patient. Especially with Bryce. The look on his face, though…”

I fall silent, remembering his expression. It wasn’t joyous. First, I saw shock, followed swiftly by confusion. And then discomfort, especially when I made that joke about sleeping in his bed. I swear all the color drained from his face.

“It wasn’t the reunion I’d hoped for,” I tell my mother. “I thought he’d laugh and maybe pick me up and twirl me around. But he just looked like I’d run him over with the Zamboni.”

Sure, I’d expected some surprise. But a small part of me thought he might see it as a sign.

But, nope. He was definitely stuck on the shock phase.

“I could be patient,” I whisper. “If I thought that patience was the issue. And we already knew he doesn’t like surprises.” He’d had too many of those in his life already, many of them bad. Bryce likes order and planning and preparation.

But I’d sprung myself on him, because I wanted a big romantic reunion. Laughter, followed by the kind of kiss that sailors gave their women after returning from war.

I didn’t get it. And after that awkward greeting in the hallway with my teammates, I’d hurried away to regroup.

The candle flickers gently. It’s not a sign. My mother only communicates in lost hairpins and memories. “You did tell me to be patient,” I whisper. “A year ought to be enough, though. He doesn’t love me, Maman. It wasn’t real. I wish you were here. I wish you could tell me what to do.”

My voice cracks a little bit. I miss my mother so much that it aches. She and I were nothing alike, just as Bryce and I are nothing alike. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t get along. She was so strong and beautiful, and I thought she’d be with me forever. Instead, she was cut down on a sunny autumn day.

Nobody plans to die young. Nobody except my mother, that is. She’d had a will, which I guess is something responsible people do. But she’d also left me a letter.

It began: Dear Sylvie, if you are reading this, then I have left this Earth. But I will never leave you, my baby girl.