ON FEBRUARY 14, Josh started drinking wine at noon. Funny that a year ago, he had been a teetotaler. Well. Widowers deserved to drink, especially on a crap day like today. It was dark and sleeting out, the perfect atmosphere for misery. Nothing like New England’s shitty winter weather to underscore the mood. He went into his bedroom and brought the dogwood tree out to the living room and sat it next to the couch.

“Let’s watch our wedding video,” he practically snarled. Great. So he resented the tree now. And why shouldn’t he? It was feeding off his dead wife.

He pulled up the video on the TV. It had been their tradition to watch it on their anniversary. Three whole times. Thanks for killing her, God. If you exist, you’re an asshole. Go ahead, strike me down. I’m ready.

There was Darius, beaming like a proud papa as he walked Lauren down the aisle. Her mother sobbing, Jen beaming, his own mom teary eyed and smiling. Ben looking so dapper as best man.

And Lauren, so full of life and light that she truly did glow. No tears for her that day—she’d been all smiles. The most beautiful expression on her face, solemn yet joyful, as she looked in his eyes and said the words. “I, Lauren Rose Carlisle, take you, Joshua Stellan Park, to be my husband.”

His own voice had been steady and sure that day, and he remembered knowing with every molecule in his body that this was right. They belonged together.

Their first dance hadn’t been slow and romantic. It had been “For Once in My Life” by Stevie Wonder. Happy, bouncy, a song that brought a smile to everyone, and their guests had clapped along as Josh and Lauren spun and laughed and goofed around on the dance floor. No practiced routine for them, no sir. Just pure, unadulterated joy.

And now he was alone, day-drinking and crying. He pulled Pebbles onto his lap and let his tears seep into her soft fur while she licked his head. Just last year, Lauren had left a path of lit candles to their bedroom. It turned out to be the last time they’d made love.

A year. A fucking year without her. He wasn’t proud of himself for surviving it. He would’ve cheerfully died if it were up to him. He should’ve been hit by a bus, and the laughs they’d have in the Great Beyond if that happened . . .

He would never love anyone the way he’d loved her.

It took him some time to notice the red envelope that had been slipped under his door.

Lauren’s handwriting. Happy Anniversary.

A yellow sticky note was attached to the envelope, in different handwriting. There’s one more left after this one. Take care today. —Sarah

His hands shook as he opened it. It was one of those overly expensive cards made with tiny swirls of paper, practically a sculpture. Two hearts intertwined, all the colors of the rainbow where the hearts intersected.

Inside there was only one line, in her fat, pretty handwriting.

I will love you forever.

“I love you, too,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

He was so, so grateful she’d thought ahead, thought of him without her.

But he missed her. He missed her so much that his knees gave out, and he slid to the floor and let his head fall back against the door.

Then Pebbles was there, wagging, licking him, whining, nudging him hard with her herder’s nose. “Okay, okay,” he said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “Message received.” He was treated to a full face-lick from the dog. “You’re a good girl,” he said, hugging her. “Such a good puppy.”

He went back to the couch, looked at his watch: 1:16 p.m. Just ten hours and forty-four minutes until this endless day was over.

* * *

ON FEBRUARY 22, Joshua held a jesa ceremony to honor his wife on the anniversary of her death.

He’d been talking more frequently to Ben since he’d met his biological father. This day needed to be marked, and Ben came through, as ever, with the idea for a jesa, a Korean tradition to honor the dead. It was usually reserved for ancestors, Ben had said, but who cared? He had described the ceremony in great detail, and to Josh, it sounded perfect.

He’d gone to the Kims’ the day before, and his mom took a rare day off to help cook. There were Korean foods and some of Lauren’s non-Korean favorites, all in some kind of order to pay homage to her life.

Now all that food sat in five rows on Josh’s coffee table—the dessert row, which contained chestnuts, pears, apples and persimmons, as well as clementines, which had been Lauren’s favorite fruit, and yakgwa, the honey cookies she had loved. Donna had brought chocolate chip cookies, Lauren’s childhood favorite, and Josh added them as well. The next row held pickled herring (another Lauren favorite), kimchi, shrimp and stuffed clams. Then came the soups—fish, vegetable, chicken noodle. The next row of food contained the sticky chicken she loved, and jeon, the vegetable-imbued pancakes. The final row, farthest from where Josh would sit, contained a bowl mounded with rice and another type of soup—beef turnip, Korea’s traditional soup for the dead, and a bowl of sand.

Ben had brought over a small rice-paper screen, which was set up at the other side of the coffee table, the idea being that Lauren’s spirit would come and sit on the other side of it. On the table was a picture of her taken on their wedding day, her eyes shining, her skin perfect, her lips curved in a smile full of love. Next to the table was the dogwood tree, a full foot taller than it had been last year.

Josh knew he would do this jesa only this once. That after today, the first year would be over, and all those firsts would be done. But he needed to mark this day somehow, and the whole year that had passed. He’d invited everyone close to her—Jen and her family, Donna and her boyfriend Bill, Sarah, Radley, Asmaa, and Lauren’s boss, Bruce. Sumi and his mom, and Ben, of course.

When everyone had arrived and stood in the living room, he opened the living room window to let in her spirit. A few seconds later, he closed it. Hope you made it inside, babe, he thought, swallowing the lump in his throat.