Nowshe was sitting on the bed, picking up each little bag and throwing it backonto the covers. Her sorrow had shifted into a sort of zombie-like numbness,and I sat down in front of her, handing her a mug.
“Here,drink this,” I instructed softly.
“Idon’t need caffeine, Devin,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse. Talking soundedpainful and exhausting. “I need something that’ll make me pass out and sleepfor a very long time.”
Ishook my head. “Well, you’ll have to talk to someone else about that,‘causeI’m not doing it. Come on, drink.”
Begrudgingly,she took the cup from me and put it to her lips. She drank a slow uneven sip. Swallowinghard and wincing at the bitter taste. Her eyes were set on the bags of coke andI sighed, following her gaze.
“Wehave to get rid of this shit, Kylie,” and I hated myself a little more. Forbeing the reasonable adult in a situation where all I wanted to do was cry andscream with her. For being unable to protect her, and for failing tremendouslyat the whole heroism thing.
Shenodded. “I know.” She sniffed. “That’s why I brought it here.”
Ilifted my head. “It’s not yours?”
“Goddammit,Devin, no!” she shouted, spitting the words at me, and for a moment, I thoughtshe might throw the coffee.
Butshe didn’t.
Instead,her eyes fell back to the bags, a scattered pile of snow and plastic, and herlips twitched. “My dad is,” she squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head, “w-wasan addict. I found this shit when I went home yesterday, but I, um … I guess, Iguess he had m-more …”
Ibrought a hand to my eyes and pinched the space between my eyebrows. “JesusChrist, Kylie. I’m such a fucking asshole.”
“No,you’re not,” she said. “Iam. I never told you. I … Ishould’vetold you, and, I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“Whydidn’t you?” I asked. Not wanting to make her feel worse but wantingdesperately to know why she had hidden such a crucial part of her life—herpain—from me.
Sheshrugged. “A few reasons.”
“Well,I’m listening,” I said, nudging the toast toward her, and I thought I saw herattempt to smile.
“Ididn’t know how you’d react,” she said quietly, picking at the bread’s crust.She sighed and shrugged. Her shoulders sagged with the movement, as though theywere too heavy to hold up. “I guess I just didn’t want you to feel sorry forme, or to look at me differently. I didn’t want you to judge my parents,because that’s what peoplealwaysdo. They judge my mom for staying withhim, they judge him for … for being the way he is—w-was.” She rolled hereyes up to the ceiling, dropping her lips open. The bottom one trembled alittle bit and I reached out to rest my hand on her knee. “And I didn’t want toruin what we have with it.”
Andselfishly, I asked, “What do we have?”
Shedropped her eyes to mine. “You’re the best thing in my life, Dev. God, you’realways there for me, and I have selfishly taken advantage of that by keepingyou in the dark, and I’m so, so fucking, sorry.”
Ishook my head, and with a bold lift of my hand, I rested my palm against hercheek. To my surprise, she leaned into my touch, and my heart felt just alittle lighter. “Don’t be sorry for that.I’mjust sorry that you’ve beendealing with it alone.”
Shenodded as her eyes fell shut, and she whispered, “Me too.”
?
Herfather had suffered a heart attack, and they weren’t sure if it was that, orthe overdose alone, that had ultimately ended his life at the age of fifty-two.
Brookeand Trent attended one of the two wakes, offering their condolences in the wayfriends would. Awkwardly. Unsure of what to say or what to do as theyoutstretched their arms to pull her into hugs. I was there at both wakes. I wasalso there at the church service, and at the cemetery, standing by her side,holding her hand when she wanted it. Holdingherwhen she needed it.
Itstruck me as odd that I had never once wondered, in our two years of knowingeach other, why I’d never met her parents. I knew she had them, but I neverstopped to wonder why I had never met them. I guess I had chalked it up to themliving too far to ever meet the guy she hung out with while she was in college.But, as I stood there at the side of Mr. James’ gravesite, it was suddenlyweird to me. Weird that I had never asked, weird that I’d never showed more ofan interest.
Iimmediately regretted so much over the past two years. I regretted not showingmore of an interest in the foundation of her life. I regretted not asking herout before it was too late and like too much time had passed.
Butwhat I regretted most was, I would never get the opportunity to tell this man,that I was hopelessly, beyond reason, in love with his daughter.
?
I neverknew I believed in fate until that day.
Kylieand I broke away from the funeral procession. We walked wordlessly through athicket behind the cemetery, aimlessly seeking refuge from the heavy atmosphereof tears and waterysorry’sandthankyou’s.
