Iwas never going to be the kid, spending every single summer in Disney World. Iwas never going to feel okay admitting my family’s shortcomings. I was alwaysgoing to stiffen at the sight of drug use in TV shows or movies, and I wasalways going to wish that things had been different.
ButI never thought living without my father at such a young age would also be one ofthe things I’d have to accept.
MaybeI should have been more aware, morerealistic. Maybe my mom should havebeen more vocal about the dangers of drugs when I was a kid, beyond how italtered his mind and body. Maybe she should have warned me. Maybe I shouldn’thave been so naïve when learning about the shit in school, when I sat there,reeling in my seat and thinking, “That won’t happen to my dad.”
God,how wrong I was.
Theyear after graduation had been the toughest of my life, when I moved out of thedorms and back home.
Mymom had turned the house into a time capsule. Keeping his jackets on the hookbeside the front door, his boots where he last left them. That damn book he’dbeen in the middle of reading, next to the couch—The Shining. Thebookmark was where he had left it, as though waiting for him to come back andfinish the tale of Jack Torrance and his hotel.
Ithad stayed there, precariously teetering on the end table, until I picked it upand threw it across the room during one of our fights. The bookmark hadfluttered away, and Mom spent half an hour frantically searching for the breakin the pages, trying to put it back where it belonged.
Eventually,she gave up, crumpling into a blubbering heap on the floor and cursing my namewhile I retreated to my room.
Wewere fighting a lot. We were carrying that heavy fucking grief with useverywhere we went, but we did absolutely nothing to help each other heal. Asthe maternal counterpart to my parental duo, she was a reminder of what I hadlost. While I was the reminder of what was missing, having the same eyes andnose as her late husband. She’d take one look at me, I’d take one look at her,and we clashed in violent sorrow.
Whatwas worse, was that being at home meant I was further from Devin, who now livedan hour away, still in that apartment with his cousin Trent. A whole fuckinghour.It was harder to just jump in the car and see him, now it was a bigger timecommitment. He tried to reserve weekends for me, but there were always thosejobs his dad wanted him to work overtime on. The distance made me fit less intohis life, and I hated that most of all. Because, as was expected, I struggledto ground myself after losing my father. I stumbled, trying to find my footing,and fell into a black hole, unable to claw my way out, unless Devin wasknocking on the door and dragging me out by my ankles.
Andwhen he did, he always brought daisies.
“Comeon, KJ,” he said on that horrible Saturday in early June. He’d let himself in,thanks to that key my mom had given him months ago, and he pulled the coversoff me, dragging them to the floor. “Time to get up.”
“Devin!”I screeched, curling my bare legs into my chest. “What the hell! I’m in myunderwear!”
“Youact like I care.”
“Well,you should!”
“Well,I don’t, and you need to get in the shower,” he declared, opening my dresserdrawers and putting together something resembling an outfit. “We’re looking atthat old bar, remember?”
Iturned my head to look at my nightstand and the vase of daisies sitting on it.My mouth curled into something I hoped resembled a smile, and I reached out torun my fingers over the petals, with one thought circling my brain:Idon’t deserve this. I don’t deserve him.
Ipulled myself to a seated position and Devin threw the clothes at me, alongwith a towel. “You’re bathing yourself,” he said. “I have to draw a linesomewhere.”
Ilaughed at that, scooting myself to the edge of the bed with the clothesbundled in my arms. I looked up into his warm, brown eyes and I urged myself tosmile again, but it wouldn’t come.
“It’sbeen a year, Dev,” I said, forcing the words out with a painful drag of breath.“I don’t even know how …” I dropped my gaze to the carpet in my room and thedust bunnies burrowed into the corners. I took in the tissues and food wrappersthat marked the path from my bed to the door.
Whenhad I become such a careless slob?
“Iknow, KJ,” he said.
“Idon’t know if I can do this today,” I admitted, thinking about the appointmentI had made with the real estate agent to look at a run-down bar in RiverCanyon, CT.
Shakinghis head, Devin sat beside me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pullingme into his side. My head found its comfortable spot on his shoulder and Isighed.
“Rememberyou picked today for a reason,” he said, giving me a squeeze. Thosealmost-forgotten wishes of my heart bubbled briefly to the surface. “I knowit’s hard, but I really think you need to do this. For your dad.”
“Iknow. I just thought it would be easier,” I confessed, although I don’t knowwhy I thought that at all. I don’t know why I thought I could make thisappointment after seeing the listing two weeks before. Sure, I’d fallen in lovewith the old brick walls and rustic beams framing the place, but what had Ibeen thinking, calling the realtor up and asking to come down with my carpenterfriend?
Ithought I was ready. Dammit, Ifeltready, at the time, but now? Withthe anniversary of my father’s death hanging over me like a black cloud? Ididn’t think I could be ready for another thing in my entire life, much lessthe consideration of moving on.
“Itwas never going to be easy, Kylie,” Devin said gently, lightly stroking hisfingers down my arm. “But you need to do something to crawl out of this holeyou’re in, and it might as well be this. He wanted this for you.”
Soundlessly,I nodded, knowing he was right, and I pulled myself off the bed to walk out thedoor, leaving him in that cavern of sorrow. In the hall, I noticed that thedoor to my mother’s bedroom was closed. I thought about knocking, but I knewwhat would happen. We would argue, we would fight. She’d slam the door, and I’dleave the house. Our dynamic was a stifling reminder of everything gone and wedid nothing to pull each other out of the suffocation of our continuous stateof mourning.
So,I walked past her door and to the bathroom. And with every step I took, I waspainfully aware of the stabbing in my heart.
