A Picnic

Trent lets the red gingham blanket billow out in front of him. The breeze flicks the edges of the blanket this way and that until finally allowing it to settle over the grass. Trent and Jenn both drop down. With her knees bent to the side, Jenn smooths her long brown dress over her knees, and Trent, with his legs straight out in front of him.  

The sun peaks shyly through the oaks' branches. Trent unpacks the picnic basket, placing peanut butter jelly, Reese's cups, and a cold Dr. Pepper in front of her. “I hope these are still your favorite.” In front of him, he had a large assortment of goodies: a sushi roll, barbeque chips, and mango gummy bears. "Hope you're hungry!”

“Starved, thanks!” Jenn chirps. Her cheeks hurt as she beams at him. “It's been a while. Catch me up on everything!” His light blue eyes sparkle in the late autumn sun. 

“God, where to begin.” He leans back on his forearms, watching the clouds sail through the sky. “The kids are so big now. Ben just had his first varsity game. Julia’s landed her first leading role in a musical!” He scratches the back of his neck. “I feel like my life revolves around the kids now; you probably think I’m totally boring.” 

Jenn laughed, shaking her head. “Not at all! You should be proud. You’ve raised such great human beings.” Jenn wished she had kids of her own, but that wasn’t in the cards for her.

“Remember when we met, freshman year of college? If those versions of us could see us now. At least these days I’m not covered in baby spit-up or being hit by stray pee from Ben.” Trent trails off with a small smile as he picks at his fingernails. “God, it feels like a whole other lifetime. You captain of the dance team, me captain of the football team.”

Jenn let out a snort. “How cliche of us.” 

“And well… we both partied a little too much.” 

“A little?” Jenn laughs. Those years were some of the best of her life. “I can’t complain about the partying. If you’d been a shut-in, we never would have met.” She did not regret anything from that era of her life.

“God, what party was it that we met at? I still remember the moment I first saw you…that red dress….” He bites his lip, drops his head back, and is transported back all those years ago. “I have no idea how you were wearing that dress in the middle of winter. You weren’t built for the East Coast. California always suited you better. I miss living here. I need to bring the kids out here.”

 A few couples stroll by them, paying them no mind. Jenn watches their interlinked hands, the almost blinding light of joy that emanates from them. 

“Sorry I haven’t checked in much lately. Between the kids and Monica, I don’t have much time for myself these days. Glad work brought me out here.” Trent snorts, rolling his eyes. “But of course, you know I’m not here on vacation. I still don’t take vacations; at least that much hasn’t changed.” He wears a soft, sad smile as he watches two squirrels chase each other around a thick oak trunk. “You know…” he trails off, dragging his finger over the rim of his soda. He doesn’t continue, lost in thought. 

Jenn watches him. He has floppy blond hair, soft blue eyes, and long fingers with calloused tips from nights spent practicing the guitar. His eyes crinkle at the side, wrinkled from years of laughing with abandon. This was the Trent she knew, getting lost in thought, locking his thoughts away. 

“I’m happy here; you don’t have to worry about me, okay?” Jenn watches Trent rip at the grass at his sides. 

For a long time, there was silence. Birds sang in the distance, building nests and feeding their babies. 

“It’s just not fair.” Trent breaks the silence; he looks down at the grass on the blanket, plucking each speck off and redepositing it on the ground. His wedding ring glints in the sun as it begins to peek its head beneath the arm of the tree. “I miss you so much.” He holds his head in his palms, shoulders shuddering as he takes a long breath. “It's not fucking fair.” His voice comes out small. 

On his knees, he moves forward, right past her, and places his palms on the cold stone of the headstone. He caresses its slopes, like the slopes of her arms on a chilly night. 

“I’m sorry,” Jenn whispered. 

She enjoyed watching him; he’d always been so handsome, and the beautiful summer day complimented his tanned skin and light eyes. So much more than the pale flickering light of the hospital room where they had squeezed together in the tight twin bed with machines beeping around them and nurses coming in every four hours to draw her blood. 

Jenn was happy for Trent. He had a beautiful new wife and the kids he had always dreamed of having. She reaches out her hand, wishing she could comfort him. Tousel his hair, rub his back, kiss him on the forehead. His love brushed over her like the summer breeze, gentle and soothing. 

The hardest part of dying was knowing the grief she inflicted on those she left behind. Jenn wasn’t bound to her grave site. She liked to check in on those she left back on earth, and though they came to visit often, the grief was heavier here. She wanted to watch her nieces and nephews in school plays and sports games. To sit at the empty chair, they leave for her around the Christmas table. The weight of their sorrow was a burden she carried, even in death.

Jenn liked Trent’s new wife, Monica. For a long time after Jenn left, Trent did not date anyone. He moped around their old haunts, filling his days with work and video games. He’d often zone out, but he always remembered to turn the TV off before staring off into space. 

“The pixels will die.” He’d chastise me when I left the TV on when I wasn’t using it. 

Around his neck, her old wedding ring hung from a silver chain. Many potential suitors were put off by this when he began to dip his toe back into the dating pool. When Monica did not mind, it was a breath of fresh air. Monica had also lost her first husband in her early twenties.

“Is it wrong to hit on someone in a support group for those who’ve lost a spouse?” Monica had asked him while stirring sugar into her coffee. Trent smiled softly, glancing at her as he grabbed a donut. 

“Jenn probably would have turned that into a plot for a romance novel.” 

“Imagine that.” The two of them went to a diner afterward, laughing and crying and finding solace in one another’s company. 

Two years later, they tied the knot, each with an empty chair on their respective sides of the aisle. Their love, a testament to the human spirit's resilience, shone brightly in the face of loss. 

“I’m sorry it's been so long since I’ve been here. I’ll try to visit more. Maybe bring the kids.” His voice, a delicate balance of regret and longing, echoed in the quiet cemetery. 

“That’d be nice.” His back was turned to her now. He stood still for a couple of moments, twisting his ring around his finger, jaw clenched as he stared down at the grass. Jenn wished that he could hear her. 

“We didn’t have enough time. It’s not fair.” She watches him amble toward his truck, hands in his pockets, head bent. 

The road blurs as tears fill his eyes. Jenn sits in the passenger seat behind him. She’ll always be with him; his heart is her home. 

In each story told to annoyed teenagers, time spent reminiscing in old memories to nieces too young to remember their aunt, or old flames daydreaming about their past flame, she lived.