I suck in my breath whilst Ben’s escapes in guttural grunts.
I’m sore, again.
I use the toilet, again.
I sit on the bathroom floor, feeling nauseous but enjoying the cold tiles on my skin. Ben must hear me because he knocks and walks in to find me naked with my knees under my chin and my eyes wet, rocking gently with an empty head on tight shoulders, a weightless stomach, and a pressure building in my chest.
On the floor of my bathroom in a rented flat is where I tell Ben that my father is gone and he won’t ever come back, and he says the expected: the exclamation to a God he probably doesn’t believe in （I still haven’t found out） and a subtle shift of accountability—he really wishes I’d told him earlier （maybe I should have）。 Still, I suppose the news was surprising to him, too. But he’s sorry. He’s so, so sorry, Maddie.
* * *
Ben is very sweet, kind, and delicate when he needs to be and they’re qualities I should be grateful for. He holds me on the bathroom floor for what feels like hours as I explain that although Dad was ill, it was unexpected. Ben kisses my forehead and says, “It will always be unexpected.” He wraps me in his shirt and stays with me until I’m ready to peel myself off the floor and get into bed. I lay awake on his chest as he sleeps.
The next morning, he orders breakfast to the house—croissants, Danish pastries, fresh fruit, and tea. He adds a sandwich and a slice of cake for me to have at lunch. We sit quietly at the table and eat. Everything tastes like cardboard in my mouth. I chew and force myself to swallow.
I tell him I don’t want to go home yet, and he says he can understand why. I eat and eat until my stomach is full and I fantasize about excusing myself from the table, placing my head over the toilet bowl and sticking two fingers into my mouth.
“Do you want to come and stay with me?”
I shake my head. “That’s okay. Nia’s coming to stay whilst Jo and Cam are away and I’ll be between here and home for … the admin.”
* * *
Ben leaves in the afternoon because he has to go to work. I ignore the relief I feel at being alone in the house.
“I need to email Kris,” I say to the empty kitchen. “They’ll wonder where I am.”
I spend a few more hours sitting at the table staring at an almost transparent croissant flake clinging to the cloth’s edge.
From: [email protected]
Subject: My absence
Hello Kris,
Unfortunately my father passed away yesterday. I’m not sure what the work protocol is; I’m not even sure what to write right now.
My father has been ill with Parkinson’s and a range of related health issues for years, but the news still came as a shock. I won’t be in the office this week, maybe not for the first half of the following week. I’m sorry, I honestly don’t know. I just wanted to make you aware.
Best,
Maddie
I press Send and close my laptop. A text from Cam comes in.
Cam
Hi Maddie. We arrived last night but Jo and I just want to check you’re okay As okay as you can be ofc
You don’t need to message back
Just thinking of you x
I wrap myself in a blanket and sit on the sofa, staring out into the garden.
“What an ordinary day. The least you could do is rain.” I search for a cloud in the sky but don’t find a single white wisp. “How thoughtless.”
I finally call Nia to tell her and ask if she can stay over. I expect her to say she’ll do her best to get here tomorrow since she hasn’t seen her family for almost a year, but instead she tells me she’s going to grab some food for me and get the next bus down.
“You’re really coming?”
“Are you joking? Of course I am.”
I scrunch up my face when the bridge of my nose starts to sting. “Thank you.”
“Don’t be silly. You know I’d do anything for you.”
She says the last bit not in order to sound supportive or like a good friend should, but as if it’s obvious. It’s like how I end most of my conversations with “love you”—she says it not because it’s a reflex, but because it’s true.
* * *
When Nia walks through the door, I feel a lightness enter with her; she manages to push the darkness an inch away with every step forward she takes. I think about how lucky I am that she returned to London this week.
“You look nice,” I tell her. She’s redone her locs at the front and has on a shade of red lipstick that warms her brown skin.
“Really?” She shrugs. “I was just at my grandma’s. It’s good to see you, Maddie. I’m really sorry about your dad.”
It takes Nia an entire minute to say those four short sentences, but that’s the way she speaks, slowly and carefully, incapable of rushing sentences, of getting thoughts out before she loses them. It’s my favorite thing about her.
She gives me a long hug and she smells light and fresh and of secondary school. We leave it there. She doesn’t ask why or how; she unpacks the food she bought, container after container, and puts them in my fridge. Then we watch films for the rest of the day.
* * *
When Nia’s in the shower, I kneel by my bed and face the window so that God can see me. I recite my usual nightly prayer where I ask God to take care of my mum, brother, and …
“This is the part where I would say Dad,” I tell Him, “but what do I say now? Please rest his soul? Do I still pray for him or is he taken care of? How long have I been praying this prayer? Over ten years—the same words. You could probably do without the repeat.”
I climb into bed and, after Nia gets in too, I switch off the light.
I haven’t cried today and I remain awake for hours, wondering if this foreshadows oncoming sociopathic tendencies.
Chapter Nineteen
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: My absence
Oh my goodness, Maddie, how awful. I am so sorry. Please put your out-of-office on and don’t worry about work. I lost a parent only last year, so make sure to let me know how you’re doing and if there’s anything you want us to help with.
To be clear, we don’t expect you to be at work at all this week （or next—just keep in touch）。
Sending love to you and your family.
Kris x
On Tuesday morning, after Nia’s helped cancel my Florence flights, I ask her, “Is it weird that I haven’t cried since Sunday?”
“Not really. Everyone’s different.”
We’re on the sofa together, watching the sun edge higher into the sky. It’s going to be another beautiful day.
“I know but it feels weird. I just … can’t seem to cry anymore.”
“Are you sad?”
“Constantly.”
There must be something I miss in my own voice because Nia turns to me and says, “Don’t feel like you have to hold it in. You do that a lot.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend to feel the opposite of what you’re really feeling so others won’t feel the same. You can cry in front of me.”
“I don’t like to cry in front of people.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” She sits back and says, “Tell me about your dad.”