I notice a single tear trace its way down Ben’s cheek. He doesn’t seem to feel it, and I don’t want to interrupt him. So, we just let it fall.

BEN

Holly places her free hand over top of our joined ones, and that gentle touch draws me back from the toxic darkness of my memories. I realize my face is wet, and I do my best to wipe away the tears. This wasn’t my plan for the weekend. Yeah, I thought I’d tell Holly about Grandpa Ben because he was important to me. But I didn’t think it’d hit me so hard. Not after all these years.

Now, she’s got this look on her face, like I’m a wounded animal she has come across and has no idea how to help.

I try to smile, but I don’t think it comes out right. “It’s been a while. But I still miss him.”

“Of course you do. God, Ben, getting that news, it must’ve been horrible.” She rubs her hand over my forearm, soothing me with each stroke.

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t want him to suffer. So, if that’s how he wanted to go, then okay. He could’ve told me. I don’t think I would’ve tried to stop him.” Who really knows though? The man was everything to me. Maybe I would’ve begged him to stay as long as possible. “It’s just … I never got to say good-bye.”

That’s what hurts the most. Him leaving without a word. And me never getting to tell him how much he meant to me.

I always thought I’d have more time.

“That really is the worst, isn’t it? One minute, they’re there. The next, they’re gone, and you’re left, trying to figure out how to keep living.”

Something in Holly’s voice draws my focus to her. She’s got her eyes on our hands, a frown shadowing her mouth. Her shoulders bow forward like there’s a heavy weight on them.

Sometimes, clarity comes without words.

“You lost someone, too. Didn’t you?”

Her head flies up, and her expression gets guarded. For a minute, I don’t think she’s going to answer, but slowly, her defensiveness cracks until I glimpse pain and vulnerability behind her mask. She dips her chin.

“My grandma. I always called her Grams.” Holly’s normally cheerful, joking voice sounds watery.

Suddenly, sitting at the kitchen table seems too formal for this kind of intimate talk. I stand up, using my grasp on her hand to tug Holly after me. She follows without protest, hesitating for only a moment when I settle on the couch. The cushions next to me sink down, and I relax as her warm body presses against mine. With one hand, I hold hers, and I move the other to rub soothing circles on her back.

“What happened with your grams?” I whisper the question, but she still hears me.

Before responding, Holly leans her head on my shoulder, making my chest swell.