Page 94 of My Dead Wife's Ex Will Do
“I loved your mom so much, sweetie. Nothing will ever change that. But after she died,” he swallows, and there’s a small catch in his voice. “I guess there was something else that I didn’t let myself feel for a long time.”
She starts plucking cilantro leaves again but she’s making a mess of it. “And Mom?” Her voice is quiet and she sounds more like the little girl she used to be than the grown woman she is. “Do you think she would be okay with this?”
“Well, if your mom were here, we definitely wouldn’t be doing this,” I say. That earns me a quiet chuckle from Kelsey. “But she was pretty perceptive and she knew us both pretty well. I think if she were looking down on us now, she’d mostly have some things to say about how long we took.”
Kelsey finally looks up at us and her eyes are wet, and this time, I don’t think it’s because of the onions.
“Oh, sweetie,” Jason says, but I get to her first. She drops the cilantro and turns into my hug. Jason wraps his arms around us from her other side and we sandwich our girl, grown as she is, between us.
She’s got her face squashed against my chest, Jason’s chin is on the top of her head, and my arms are long enough that I can enfold her and cup the back of Jason’s head with my hand. Despite all our years of co-parenting and comforting Kelsey through various teenaged crises, we’ve never jointly hugged her like this.
But it’s time to stop dwelling on past mistakes and enjoy this moment and all the moments still to come.
“For what it’s worth,” Adrienne says. “I think your mom would have been right. They’re both idiots and it took them long enough.”
Kelsey giggles through the tears that are dampening my shirt.
“Come here, you,” Jason says. We pull apart just enough to make room to include Adrienne in our four-way embrace.
Moments like this one.
Forty-Six
Jason
The last notes of the last of Gesualdo’s Tenebrae Responsoria fade into the vaulted ceiling of Saint Sebastian’s, and for a moment, the whole church holds its breath. Two hundred years of sacred acoustics cradle the silence, letting it settle like incense over the congregation that fills every pew.
Then the applause begins.
I stand between Calvin and Kevin in the Saint Sebastian Six, and I let myself absorb this moment. The warm lights, the faces turned toward us, the weight of having just sung some of the most technically demanding sacred music in the choral repertoire, and nailing it. All six of us are in black concert dress, arranged in our usual semicircle at the front of the sanctuary, and I can feel the satisfaction radiating from each of them.
This is our final concert with me as music director of Saint Sebastian’s. It’s fitting that it’s here, in this church that’s been my musical home for more than twenty years.
Father Gabriel rises from his seat in the front pew and approaches one of the microphones set up near the altar. The applause dies down as he adjusts his glasses and looks out at the audience with that gentle smile I’ve come to know so well over the years.
“What a gift we’ve been given tonight,” he begins. “Sacred music has the power to lift us beyond ourselves, to connect us with the divine mystery that dwells in beauty and truth. The Saint Sebastian Six has been blessing this parish with that gift for a decade, under Jason Perez’s inspired direction.”
My throat tightens. I wasn’t expecting this.
“Jason has decided to step down from his position as our music director,” Father Gabriel continues, his voice steady but warm. “While we will miss him terribly in that role, I’m pleased to announce that the Six will continue performing, and that Jason will continue conducting and singing with the ensemble.”
More applause. I catch Kelsey’s eye in the third row, and she’s beaming at me, Adrienne next to her with an arm around her shoulders. Beside Adrienne sits Victor, looking devastating in a charcoal suit and burgundy tie, his eyes locked on mine with an expression that makes my heart stutter.
“But tonight,” Father Gabriel says, “is a celebration, not a goodbye. So please, join us in the parish hall for a reception in honor of Jason and all the beauty he’s brought to this community.”
The six of us file down from the sanctuary, and immediately I’m surrounded by parishioners. Mrs. Kowalski from the choir hugs me and tells me she’ll miss seeing me every Sunday. Victoria Kwan, whose twins sing in the children’s choir, presses a handmade card into my hands. Silas appears with Logan, both looking sharp in suits, and Silas is talking a mile a minute about the harmonic choices in the Palestrina piece we performed.
But I’m looking past them all, searching for Victor.
He’s hanging back, letting the crowd have their moment with me, and when our eyes meet across the sanctuary, he gives me that small, private smile that’s just for me. The one that says I’m proud of you and I love you and take your time.
“Jason.” Father Gabriel touches my elbow. “Could I have a word before the reception?”
I nod and follow him through the door behind the altar that leads to the sacristy and his office. The familiar smell of candle wax and old wood surrounds us before he closes the door, muffling the chatter from beyond the sanctuary.
“That was a beautiful concert,” he says, settling into the chair behind his desk and gesturing for me to sit. “But then again, you’ve never given us anything less than beautiful.”
“Thank you, Father.” I sit, my hands folded in my lap, suddenly feeling like I’m back in confession. Which, in a way, I suppose I am.
