What's Left of Us
Page 44
“This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen.”
I look at her, confused.
My face falls. My sadness from moments ago is replaced with hurt. “What are you talking about?”
I don’t move any closer, giving her the space she needs.
“This!” she screams, holding her arms out. “It’s like everything came crashing down. My fear. She’s gone and I have this stupid heart condition and … and that could be me one day! You knew that was a fear of mine and yet …”
“Yet what?” My voice sounds as angry as I feel.
“You still pressed the idea of having a family.”
“Wait just one minute.” I step around the foot of the bed and over to her.
“Why did I let you talk me into this?” Her voice sounds broken. I can hear the pain behind her words, but I ask anyway.
“Into what?”
“This life. You knew I was afraid. You knew it scared me. I wasn’t the marrying type, but you still asked!”
“Hold on!” I step closer to her and she backs away into the corner of the wall.
“No. This is exactly what I was afraid of.”
I’m so confused. Hurt even. I don’t understand why she’s doing this.
“Amy! She’s gone, and look who is left behind to feel the pain. Ethan and Brandon. Her family, friends … me! You don’t know what it’s like to watch your nightmare come to life! I told you my biggest fear was leaving my loved ones behind. What happened with Amy, Brandon, and Ethan? That could be us, Parker. I don’t want that.”
“I don’t know!?” I yell and she flinches. We’ve never fought in all our years together. Had disagreements? Of course. But we’ve never raised our voices to one another.
In a flash I’m standing nose to nose with her. “I’ve watched you die in my dreams and I just watched that nightmare be played out in front of me. You wanted this just as much as I did. Don’t you for one second point that finger at me. Fuck, Aundrea. I’m so incredibly and deeply sorry about Amy, and my heart aches for her and her family, but don’t put this all on me. I get that you’re hurt and want to yell at someone, but don’t blame me for the life we both want.”
She slides to the floor, crying. She pulls at her hair then covers her face. “Fuck cancer. I hate what it’s done to me. I hate what it’s done to my friend, and I hate what it’s taken away from her.”
I pull her into my lap. She grabs onto my shirt, clawing at my chest to bring us even closer. She cries hard into my chest, her tears wetting my shirt.
Watching her go through this is unbearable. I know she doesn’t mean what she said. I know she’s hurting and needs to let out her frustration, so I give her what she needs.
I comfort her.
“I’ll never hear her voice again. I’ll never hear her laugh, or see her smile.”
“I know, babe. I know. It’s going to be okay. I got you.”
“Make it stop, Parker. Please make it stop. I don’t want to feel it anymore, please.”
My shoulders shake as I begin to cry with her. “I want to, babe. Lord knows I want to.”
“I saw what my life would be like if my cancer came back, or if I had a heart attack.”
I hold onto her shoulders and look her in the eyes. “No. You did not get a glimpse into your future. You want a glimpse? We’ll drive to St. Paul right now and you can stare long and hard at the woman who is growing our baby. That is your future, Aundrea. Not this. You are going to grow old with me and we’re going to watch our children grow up together.
“I don’t understand why people are taken away from us before they’re ready. But when the path of your life changes, you have to let it. You have to embrace it, Aundrea. I’m not saying it’s easy, but I promise you, everything works out in the end.”
“Sometimes the strong ones need to lean on someone, too. You can’t always be the one to make everything perfect, Dre,” Aundrea whispers to herself as if she’s repeating something someone else told her. I give her time to reassure herself that it’s okay to lean on someone.
Me, I hope.
We sit together and let the tears fall.
We cry for Amy. For the life she’ll never have.
We cry for Brandon. For the wife he’ll never get to hold again.
We cry for Ethan. For growing up without his mother.
I cry for the woman in my arms and all the pain she’s had to endure.
I cry for the woman I thought I lost.
I don’t move.
I can’t.
I’ve been putting off this day, refusing to let reality sink in. Parker’s been coming in and out of our bedroom for the last hour trying to get me out of bed. The funeral is in an hour, but I can’t bring myself to get up. I’ve watched people die around me. It’s hard not to when you get treatment in a room full of people. Some come out on top while others … aren’t so lucky. But I’ve never lost someone so unexpectedly. Let alone someone so close to me.
There’s a light knock on the door.
“Aundrea?” Jean’s voice is quiet. “You ready?”
I turn so I’m facing her and open one eye. She’s wearing a knee-length black dress. Very simple and classic. Very Jean.
“Is anyone ever ready to bury their friend?”
Closing my eye, I let the darkness in, but it can’t quite drown out the sound of footsteps. When the bed dips, I turn onto my back and stare at the ceiling. I try to count the swirls in the texture of our white ceiling, but soon lose count. Jean doesn’t say a word.
I look at her, confused.
My face falls. My sadness from moments ago is replaced with hurt. “What are you talking about?”
I don’t move any closer, giving her the space she needs.
“This!” she screams, holding her arms out. “It’s like everything came crashing down. My fear. She’s gone and I have this stupid heart condition and … and that could be me one day! You knew that was a fear of mine and yet …”
“Yet what?” My voice sounds as angry as I feel.
“You still pressed the idea of having a family.”
“Wait just one minute.” I step around the foot of the bed and over to her.
“Why did I let you talk me into this?” Her voice sounds broken. I can hear the pain behind her words, but I ask anyway.
“Into what?”
“This life. You knew I was afraid. You knew it scared me. I wasn’t the marrying type, but you still asked!”
“Hold on!” I step closer to her and she backs away into the corner of the wall.
“No. This is exactly what I was afraid of.”
I’m so confused. Hurt even. I don’t understand why she’s doing this.
“Amy! She’s gone, and look who is left behind to feel the pain. Ethan and Brandon. Her family, friends … me! You don’t know what it’s like to watch your nightmare come to life! I told you my biggest fear was leaving my loved ones behind. What happened with Amy, Brandon, and Ethan? That could be us, Parker. I don’t want that.”
“I don’t know!?” I yell and she flinches. We’ve never fought in all our years together. Had disagreements? Of course. But we’ve never raised our voices to one another.
In a flash I’m standing nose to nose with her. “I’ve watched you die in my dreams and I just watched that nightmare be played out in front of me. You wanted this just as much as I did. Don’t you for one second point that finger at me. Fuck, Aundrea. I’m so incredibly and deeply sorry about Amy, and my heart aches for her and her family, but don’t put this all on me. I get that you’re hurt and want to yell at someone, but don’t blame me for the life we both want.”
She slides to the floor, crying. She pulls at her hair then covers her face. “Fuck cancer. I hate what it’s done to me. I hate what it’s done to my friend, and I hate what it’s taken away from her.”
I pull her into my lap. She grabs onto my shirt, clawing at my chest to bring us even closer. She cries hard into my chest, her tears wetting my shirt.
Watching her go through this is unbearable. I know she doesn’t mean what she said. I know she’s hurting and needs to let out her frustration, so I give her what she needs.
I comfort her.
“I’ll never hear her voice again. I’ll never hear her laugh, or see her smile.”
“I know, babe. I know. It’s going to be okay. I got you.”
“Make it stop, Parker. Please make it stop. I don’t want to feel it anymore, please.”
My shoulders shake as I begin to cry with her. “I want to, babe. Lord knows I want to.”
“I saw what my life would be like if my cancer came back, or if I had a heart attack.”
I hold onto her shoulders and look her in the eyes. “No. You did not get a glimpse into your future. You want a glimpse? We’ll drive to St. Paul right now and you can stare long and hard at the woman who is growing our baby. That is your future, Aundrea. Not this. You are going to grow old with me and we’re going to watch our children grow up together.
“I don’t understand why people are taken away from us before they’re ready. But when the path of your life changes, you have to let it. You have to embrace it, Aundrea. I’m not saying it’s easy, but I promise you, everything works out in the end.”
“Sometimes the strong ones need to lean on someone, too. You can’t always be the one to make everything perfect, Dre,” Aundrea whispers to herself as if she’s repeating something someone else told her. I give her time to reassure herself that it’s okay to lean on someone.
Me, I hope.
We sit together and let the tears fall.
We cry for Amy. For the life she’ll never have.
We cry for Brandon. For the wife he’ll never get to hold again.
We cry for Ethan. For growing up without his mother.
I cry for the woman in my arms and all the pain she’s had to endure.
I cry for the woman I thought I lost.
I don’t move.
I can’t.
I’ve been putting off this day, refusing to let reality sink in. Parker’s been coming in and out of our bedroom for the last hour trying to get me out of bed. The funeral is in an hour, but I can’t bring myself to get up. I’ve watched people die around me. It’s hard not to when you get treatment in a room full of people. Some come out on top while others … aren’t so lucky. But I’ve never lost someone so unexpectedly. Let alone someone so close to me.
There’s a light knock on the door.
“Aundrea?” Jean’s voice is quiet. “You ready?”
I turn so I’m facing her and open one eye. She’s wearing a knee-length black dress. Very simple and classic. Very Jean.
“Is anyone ever ready to bury their friend?”
Closing my eye, I let the darkness in, but it can’t quite drown out the sound of footsteps. When the bed dips, I turn onto my back and stare at the ceiling. I try to count the swirls in the texture of our white ceiling, but soon lose count. Jean doesn’t say a word.
