Unraveled (Woodlands) by Jen Frederick Page A

what is it that you’re going back to school for?”
    “I don’t know.” I stirred the milk left in my bowl a few times and watched the Cheerios swirl around the tiny current I was creating. Talking about the future was one way to kill any sexy thoughts. “It seemed like the thing to do. I can’t even remember what it was that I wanted to study in the first place.” I scrubbed my face with both hands. “I’m just tired of being sad all the time. I had all these excuses why I couldn’t move to Alaska with Will and now I wish I didn’t live here where everyone who knew me recognizes me as one part of a unit that’s broken and missing a major piece. I’m Will’s widow here.”
    “So move away. Start over,” Mom urged. “You’ve got to stop living your life based on what other people think you should do. I get that you have regrets and that you wish you moved to Alaska so that you could have spent those months with Will together instead of apart. But that doesn’t mean you have to spend the rest of your life trying to be the best widow possible because you weren’t the best girlfriend or because you weren’t the best wife or because you resented the hell out of the fact that Will decided to join the Army. You were both teenagers at the time. Just because you didn’t move when he went combat infantry and jumped out of planes all over the world doesn’t mean that you lack a spirit of adventure. Get out there and start living.”
    I stared at her, my mouth hanging open a bit. “How long have you been waiting to bust out that lecture?”
    “Probably a good year.” She sighed and pulled me against her.
    “So long? Your restraint is remarkable.”
    “You weren’t ready.”
    “And now I am?”
    “Yeah.”
    “How do you know?”
    “Because about two seconds ago you were shivering remembering the touch of a man’s hand. I think that means you’re ready to move on.”
    The old “eyes in the back of the head” trick. I wondered if that rear vision was something that you developed when you started gestating. “I’m not very good at taking risks,” I said.
    Mom shouted with laughter. “Honey, the biggest risk is loving someone. You of all people know that.”
    After that bomb, Mom kissed me and then left for her office.
    My childhood home felt empty with Bitsy off with friends and Mom at the office. I left my dad a Skype video message and then headed down to my condo. For the rest of the morning, I sat on my tiny metal balcony with my knitting. Mom’s admin assistant was having a baby and I was working on the newborn set for her. Will and I had been assiduous about the use of protection but there were several times after he died that I’d wished we weren’t so careful and that I was sitting here knitting booties for
our
child.
    But thoughts beginning with
I wish
and
what if
were a bad trip down the rabbit hole. That was the one negative about knitting. The mind tended to wander, and if I wasn’t careful, I would start getting maudlin. Instead, I purposely focused on the streets, the river beyond, and the pure pleasure of having the warm sun on my face. The rays of sunlight reminded me of the smattering of gold flecks that had twinkled at me out of Gray’s eyes.
    I allowed myself the guilty pleasure of visualizing all of Gray—his wide shoulders, his firm touch, his soft lips. Rubbing my elbow, I imagined that I could still feel the imprint of his fingers on my skin. It’d been so long since I’d enjoyed the touch of a male other than a swift hug from a family member. Gray had smelled good too—some blend of earthy masculine fragrance overlaid by faint notes of spice and the ocean. I rubbed the tip of my tongue across my lips, remembering how his mouth felt hard and soft at the same time. How his tongue felt huge inside my mouth and how much I ached between my legs.
    Was I really a risk taker?
Dress comfortably—shorts, T-shirt, boots.
Was I really seriously contemplating going hiking with a