Alone.
*
A sick, uneasy feeling follows me the rest of the day.
I can抰 write a poem about it. I don抰 even try.
Instead, I put a blank page of paper in my poetry box. I close the lid . . . and then I open it right back up again. I take out the blank page and tear it to pieces. Because that抯 how the thought of losing Connor, after everything we抳e shared, makes me feel.
Shredded.
Late that night I lie in my bed in the dark and talk to myself. And I finally give voice to my fears, to taste the terrible words梩o hear them out loud.
揑 think I could be losing him.?
My throat narrows, making it hard to breathe.
揂nd the crazy thing is, if she抯 what he wants, if she抣l make them happy桰 would be okay with it. I love him that much. I want him to be happy, even if it抯 not with me.?A sob tears through me and I cover my face with my hand, turning on my side and tucking my knees against my chest. 揑t just hurts.?
Sometimes a good cry can make you feel purged. Refreshed. Stronger. But it doesn抰 work that way this time. When my eyes are swollen but dry, I feel even more fragile.
Like I could shatter at any moment. Like I抦 already breaking.
I climb out of bed and go to the kitchen to pour myself a drink. I don抰 believe in drinking away your problems, hiding your heartache behind booze . . . but a vodka tonic never hurt anyone.
Scratch that梐 double vodka tonic never hurt anyone.
I hold the cup under the ice maker in my refrigerator door, filling it up, watching the smooth oval-shaped pellets shine under the light.
When I was eight or nine, a woman down the street, Mrs. Dobfrey, used to keep an eye on me and my siblings after school while my mother was at work. She had a stainless-steel refrigerator梩he latest model梩hat made oval ice too. Darren and I used to call it 搕he good ice.?
I remember thinking that if one day I had a fridge that made the good ice like hers, I would have everything.
Life was a lot simpler then.
*
Connor
Two weeks after Aaron抯 accident, he抯 discharged from the ICU and admitted to the hospital floor. It抯 a big deal, a terrific milestone.
The next day, Garrett and Dean show up unannounced to his hospital room . . . and kick me out.
揝eriously, dude, go get a drink. Several,?Dean advises, grinning in that easy, laidback way he抯 always had.
Because his daughter is still young梬arm in her toddler bed at night and safe under his and Lainey抯 supervision during the day. He hasn抰 been subjected to the terror that comes with exposing your kid to the outside world. When they抮e little, you think the hardest part of parenting is the endless nights, teething and tantrums, always having them with you.
But it抯 not.
The hardest part is letting them go.
揂nd a shave,?Garrett adds.
I rub my hand over the thick, coarse hair that抯 sprung up across my jaw because I haven抰 taken the time to scrape it off lately.
I thought it was looking kind of badass.
My teenager disabuses me of that notion.
揧eah, you抮e starting to get that Tom Hanks in Castaway look after he was on the island for six months.?
Garrett holds out his fist to my son.
揂-plus movie reference.?
And for the first time in what seems like forever . . . I actually laugh. It sounds odd to my ears and unfamiliar in my throat, like the muscles are out of practice.
But it doesn抰 last long.
Panic slices through me when Garrett takes the chair on the left side of Aaron抯 bed, resting his feet on the corner of the mattress, and Dean parks himself in the right one梥o there抯 no seat left for me.
揑-I can抰 just leave,?I stutter.
I realize I sound like a shut-in梐n agoraphobic梑ut I don抰 care. Stacey抯 been here practically around the clock too, leaving only to spend time with Brayden and Spencer, so she can reconnect with them. But I haven抰 left at all.
Because Aaron抯 mostly out of the woods, sure, but shit could still happen梤eally bad shit. He could develop another fever梐n infection. He could try to get out of bed and crack his head open, or he could have an allergic reaction to one of his medications. He抯 not even on solid foods yet because he抯 scheduled for another surgery on his leg tomorrow afternoon.
Aaron looks me dead in the face, his voice kind but clear.
揇ad, I抦 okay. Really.?
Anxiety twists my stomach into a double knot.
揧eah,?Dean agrees. 揂nd, hello梙e抯 with two teachers who are also football coaches梖irst aid and CPR certified, thank you very much. Me and Garrett are practically first responders at this point.?
揂lso, I hate to point out the obvious . . .?Garrett gestures to the room around us. 揥e抮e literally in a hospital. Short of wrapping the kid in bubble wrap; it doesn抰 get any safer than this.?
They抮e right. Rationally, I know this. But the rational part of my brain has been out of commission lately桰抳e been operating on base instinct and adrenaline.
揥here are the other two rug rats??Dean asks. 揑抦 sure they抎 like to see you.?
揟hey抮e staying with Stacey tonight at her place in Hoboken.?
揋ood.?Aaron nods. 揟hen why don抰 you go see Violet??
Violet.
Christ, just thinking her name is like an oasis in a desert, a cool, beautiful glass of water on a scorching day. My chest loosens and my stomach unwinds, the knot replaced with simmering, exhilarating desire.
Because I抳e missed her so fucking much.
We抳e texted and talked in quick fragments. We抳e seen each other briefly, but really only in passing.
Not enough, not nearly enough.
My whole focus has been on Aaron梖irst on the paralyzing fear that he could crash at any moment, that we could still lose him梐nd then on his recovery, what he needed and making sure he got it.
But the thought of seeing Violet, talking to her, touching her, hearing her voice and her laugh . . . just being with her, fills every space inside me with a blessed, relieved joy that I almost forgot was possible.
揝eriously, Dad, go see your girlfriend,?my wise child tells me. 揧ou抳e probably been a crappy boyfriend lately; you might have to grovel.?
I chuckle. 揘ah, Vi抯 not like that.?
Which makes it even more important that I not be selfish, that I treat her right. Because she抯 understanding and phenomenal梐nd she lets the small stuff go so easily.
揥e抮e just going to hang here all night.?Garrett pulls a bag of popcorn out of the gym bag he carried in with him. 揂nd watch the Patriots get annihilated.?
Dean grabs the remote from the tray and turns on the television on the wall behind me. 揂nd mock Belichick抯 offense without Brady, because we抮e petty like that.?
Aaron reaches for some popcorn, but my brother slaps his hand away.
揙w!?My son retracts his hand, laughing. 揑抦 frigging injured.?
Garrett points at him. 揘o popcorn allowed for you. You . . . ?he reaches into the bag again條ike a gender-swapped Mary Poppins. ?. . . get to enjoy this whole case of popcorn flavored Jell-O that Aunt Callie picked up from Whole Foods just for you.?
Garrett looks at me. 揂nd I already checked with Aaron抯 nurse on the way in梙e抯 cleared to have it.?
Aaron rolls his eyes.
揋reat.?
揘o preservatives or artificial flavors,?Dean says. 揧ummy.?
揑 brought lemon flavored too, in case it tastes like ass,?Garrett tells Aaron.
Then they all laugh.
And that抯 the moment when it clicks梬hen I know and feel that Aaron抯 going to be okay without me. I nod, surrendering.
揂ll right, all right . . . I抣l head out.?