“Hey, relax. Just breathe, okay? Breathe.”

It’s a simple request. But what she doesn’t realize is that the air was sucked out of the room the moment I found out Decker was gone and it never really came back. Ask any widow and they’ll confirm the ability to take a deep breath doesn’t quite regenerate back to the way it was before. Just breathing is a little harder for me, no matter how many years have passed.

“Sorry, I’m not sure what to say. I like to think I have all the answers,” Casey says. “But I’m still just wrapping my head around the fact you were even married. I mean, you’ve been a widow for five years and I never even knew.”

The way she explains it, it’s like she’s offended that I kept her in the dark. But I kept everyone in the dark and it’s not like I hid some scandalous, dangerous criminal past from her. I just neglected to tell her the ins and outs of my marital status. Why? Because when I met her, I didn’t know the formula for making my own self feel better. I’m not sure I really do now. And therefore I couldn’t just pretend it into existence around someone I hardly even knew.

“Did anyone else know?” she asks.

“Not really. Mostly just my parents and some people I’ve met at support groups.”

Sure, there are a few mutual friends from back in the Decker days who also obviously know I’m a widow now, but I don’t mention them. One girl messaged me a month after he died and said she couldn’t talk to me anymore because it just made her sad and want to emotionally eat more. Being told I was a liability to her ideal weight range put a bad taste in my mouth. The others? They all faded away once they realized inviting the widow to stuff like bachelorette parties and book clubs was kind of a buzzkill. But it’s all good. Because I used to think, Since Decker’s gone, do these people still like me? Now I think, Do I even like them?

“I mean, I get it. We don’t talk about our periods, so why would you tell me about your love life? I guess I’m just mad at myself for not picking up on it. I’m usually sups intuitive like that. Hey, is that what this is for?”

Casey grabs my wrist, plucks it out from under my bum, and twists it so that the inside of my arm is facing up. She moves the band of my Apple Watch up an inch, exposing my D tattoo. I nod my head to confirm. I got the tattoo after Decker proposed. After I knew we’d be together permanently. Or so I thought.

“Well, for what it’s worth, you’ve done a good job,” she says.

I look up at her, surprised. “Of what?”

“Hiding it. Now that I know, I can’t say that I could look back on the last five years of living with you and think Aha! That explains it! So, I’ve got to hand it to you, kid. You definitely don’t act like a widow.”