by Sierra Hill
But now it’s been over two weeks, and I’ve heard nothing more from Miles.
Nothing.
As if he’s dropped off the face of the planet or has forgotten me as easily as he did in the past when I was just the invisible girl to him. So insignificant that he didn’t even remember who I was when we ran into each other again less than two months ago.
At least during my broken-hearted grief, Lucy has kept me busy at the shop while she remains at home helping Antonio recover from his surgery. And my fall semester classes have started, leaving me trying to balance everything and keep my head above water.
It’s overwhelming, but I have to keep busy. By keeping my mind off Miles, I avoid wallowing in my despair. Most of the time, anyway.
My phone pings with a message. I reach for where it’s sitting on my coffee table. Picking it up and flipping it over, I notice it’s a message from Ben.
Ben: Want to go to lunch today? My treat.
Me: Who put you up to this?
Ben: What? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Just get your ass ready and meet me in an hour.
I scowl at the phone when he tells me where to meet him, knowing exactly who put the bug in Ben’s ear. It was Christiana.
While Ben doesn’t know anything about Miles and me, he is keenly aware that I’m down in the dumps, as evidenced by my sour mood when he helped me move. I’m pretty sure he was exchanging looks with the girls over my unusually quiet and sullen demeanor last weekend.
I shove the blanket from my legs and look down at my appearance. A brief sniff under my arms suggests I should definitely shower and don some new clothes before heading out. It takes all my energy to roll off the couch and push myself to get ready, but after I do, I feel some semblance of normalcy once again. I just wish the shower and change of clothes could as easily wipe away the pain still radiating like an open wound in my heart as it did the grime from my body.
Soon I’m heading out the door and making my way to the subway station. I’m meeting Ben at the greasy spoon he suggested for breakfast this morning. In most parts of the country, this time of day would be considered lunch, but on a Sunday, we New Yorkers tastefully call it brunch.
I see Ben from a distance, typing on his phone, his uncombed hair, wrinkled tie-dye shirt and army-beige shorts and sandals make him appear to look more like a fraternity boy after a late-night rather than a head marketing honcho for a Wall Street company.
“Hey, Sut,” he says, pulling me in for a hug, his arms folding tightly around me and comforting me without realizing it. “Thanks for meeting me. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Of course. About what?”
He looks away sheepishly as he hooks a thumb in the direction of the restaurant.
It’s a glorious September day, the sun sprinkling its rays through the foliage of the park, the smell of street vendor food wafting around us, and just the barest hint of a cold breeze ushering through the late summer humidity.
We put our name on the wait list and stand outside where a small brunch crowd congregates, each waiting to hear their name called by the hostess.
“What’d you want to talk to me about?” I ask, pulling my hair over my shoulder into a ponytail.
“I wanted to ask your permission to, uh. . .” He hesitates as I lean in, tilting my head to the side, trying to figure out what he’s getting at. “Well, I’ve gone out a few times now with Taylor.”
“Taylor? My friend, the dancer, Taylor? That one?”
I’m stunned. While I was a complete zombie the day they helped me move, I vaguely remember them chatting and laughing together. Maybe even flirting. Memories of that day are hazey, but I can totally see them together.
Ben has always been a bit quiet and not a guy who would come on to a girl or be cocksure of himself with hubris. Not like Miles.
Ben nods, a smile now growing on his cute freckled face that makes him look like a comic strip kid. “Yeah. We kind of hit it off, and I really like her. But because you two are friends, I didn’t want to make things uncomfortable for you.”
I shake my head, affectionately grabbing for his hand and threading my fingers through his. “Ben, I think your thoughtfulness is sweetly adorable and speaks volumes of your character. But you do not have to worry about me or what I think. It’s your life, and you should date, hook up with, hang out with, or fall in love with whoever makes you happy. This life we live is too short not to love and be loved by someone you care about.”
That thought feels like I’ve just split wood with an ax, my chest being the wood.
Ben nudges me in the shoulder and throws his arm around me, squeezing in a brotherly gesture.
“Taylor wanted to tell you, but I asked her to let me do it. She didn’t want you to be upset when you found out. Thanks for being okay with it.”
I wave a hand in the air. “Please. I just want you both happy.”
Our name is called, and we follow the waitress into the crowded diner, sliding into a table that’s so cozy I’m bumping arms with the person next to me.
After ordering, we catch up on everything else when Ben brings up pet sitting at the Morgan’s.
“Hey, Graham has been raving about you and the job you did while they were on vacation. I think you could get a ton of referrals if you want them. It might be a great side-gig for you. In fact, that reminds me, a few weeks ago or more, Miles came into my office to ask about you. I figured it was about the work you were doing, but then you guys had that altercation at the volunteer event, and honestly, I should’ve followed up. What the hell was it about?”
The mention of Miles’s name causes my internal frequencies to jolt like a live wire, as if I’m being zapped at a million different puncture points. Hard, fast and stinging pain everywhere all at once.
I decide to come clean with Ben, having nothing more to lose.
“I guess I should tell you something too. You see, Miles and I knew each other from Mystic. His little sister was my childhood best friend. We ended up having a pretty big misunderstanding, but it got resolved, and then we actually started seeing each other.”
Ben’s head rears back as if dodging a ball that’s flying at his face.
“No way! Wow, that’s. . . you and Miles?” He gives me a skeptical look like I’m crazy. “I have to admit, you’re definitely not a couple I’d imagine together.”
I shrug a shoulder. “Well, you don’t have to anymore because we’re over. Things took a turn, and we fizzled out. Actually, burned is more like it. I realized there are things that have to change, and unless that happens, we’re taking a break.”
Really what I mean is that he has to decide to change.
But he hasn’t. And he’s walked away, not even willing to try.
Ben looks at me with pensive ale brown eyes. “Hmm. I’m sorry to hear that. I suppose you heard about his grandmother, then, right?”
I drop the fork that was in my hand and stare wide-eyed at Ben.
“No, what happened?”
He swallows and chews on his lip before answering. “Miles. . . he, uh, he’s been out of the office rather unexpectedly. I guess his grandmother suffered a major stroke and is in intensive care. That’s all I’ve heard. I’m sorry you didn’t know.”
The rancho huevos that I ordered and took a few bites of now sit like a rock in my stomach, threatening to return from where it came.
There are many unflattering things I’ve called Miles over the past weeks, but never would I say he was an unloving grandson. That woman is his world and the only remaining family he has left on this Earth.
If something happened to Iris and she passed on, I don’t know how Miles would be able to deal with that. I fear that he would fracture under the burden of any more loss.
“Ben, I’ve got to go.”
41
Miles
If I had a choice between getting a root canal on an infected tooth without Novocain versus making the decision to end the life support that kept Granny alive, I
would have chosen the dental procedure. It was one of the toughest choices I ever had to make, even with the letter stating no heroic measures already in Granny’s paperwork on file. So when she had the stroke that left her in a coma, there was nothing to do except wait it out.
Graham came to visit one of the days before Granny died, and I spilled out my tale of woe. I shared with him my loss and feelings of failure over my sister’s death. His sage advice, and subsequently the suggestion that I see a therapist, has started me down the right path.
“Bro, you’ve been through some pretty fucking tough times. Things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy,” Graham had said, slapping me on the back of the shoulder. “I’m telling you, you’ve got to learn to let that shit go, otherwise it will eat you alive until you’re just a corpse inside. Don’t hold onto that baggage. Move on and forgive yourself. Otherwise, you’ll be a fucking bastard and pain in my ass forever.”
His counsel, along with the discussions with my grief therapist have helped me to see there’s light at the end of the tunnel. And now after my Granny’s death, I need to say goodbye to all the women that I’ve loved in my life and let the past go with them. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I can make amends with Sutton. The only non-familial woman I’ve loved.
Pulling into the parking lot at Mystic Lawns Cemetery, I get out of the car and head toward our family’s burial plots. Row upon row of headstones and placards greet me, some left unattended for years, and others cared for in a familiar and cherished manner.
Today is the anniversary of Melodie’s death. A date, along with her birthday, that has haunted me for years, marking a day of self-loathing and guilt over the part I played in Mel’s demise, overdose, and death.
My feet falter as I reach the row where my mother, Mel, and Granny’s newly earthed gravesite reside. There’s a fresh bouquet of flowers propped up against her headstone.
And there, sitting back on her heels, holding flowers and a photo in her hand, is Sutton.
Looking elegant, breathtakingly beautiful, and absolutely heartbroken.
“Button,” I murmur, taking a few steps inside the green walkway toward her.
Her brilliant emerald eyes sparkle up at in the sunlight, her hand shielding her from the bright rays, as she turns her head to peer up at me in surprise.
She sucks in a gasp, and her mouth drops open as I bend down and plant a knee at her side.
“Miles, I’m so sorry about Granny. Had I known what happened, I would’ve been there for you. I swear. You shouldn’t have gone through this alone.”
Without hesitation, Sutton moves onto her knees and throws her arms around my neck, pressing her warm face into the crook. I take advantage of the moment and slip my arms around her waist, gathering her close as we exchange silent condolences to one another, honoring the woman who meant something to us both.
When I finally pull back, I notice a strand of hair that’s escaped her ponytail, and I brush it off her face, tucking it behind her ear. My palm cups her cheek, retaining my physical contact with her, not wanting to let her go.
“What are you doing here?”
She sighs, sitting back again on her heels, flattening her palms on her thighs.
“Ben told me about your grandmother. And today is. . .”
“Mel’s anniversary.”
She nods, head hung low. “Yeah. I wanted to pay my respects and tell her that I still love her, and I’m sorry things turned out the way they did.”
Inhaling deeply, I let it out in a big gush of air. “It’s my fault she’s dead, Sutton. All my fault.”
Sutton gives me a defiant shake of her head. “You are not responsible, Miles. How could you be? We’ve talked about this before.”
“Listen, Button. Will you go get coffee with me? I’d like to talk.”
“You’re seeing a grief counselor? Oh, Miles. I’m so glad to hear that.”
I sit across the small outdoor cafe table from Sutton, sharing coffee and reminiscing when I tell her that due to her insistence, as well as Graham’s, I’ve finally begun talking to a therapist and working through my loss.
I chuckle and deadpan, “You’d think I’d just said I won the lottery.”
She peers through her lashes, blushing sweetly. “Talking about loss is difficult, but it gets easier, especially with a trained psychologist. And I’m happy that you found someone you can open up to and get things off your chest.”
I extend a hand across the table and take hers, which she willingly gives.
“I was stubborn and didn’t heed your advice right away. It wasn’t until I was in the hospital room with Granny that it hit me. I physically had to let her go, and emotionally I had to sever the ties with Melodie, as well.”
“Miles, will you share with me why you feel so responsible for Mel’s death? I mean, you weren’t even there when it happened.”
Flipping her palm up, I trace the grooved lines of Sutton’s hand, slowly navigating the lifeline around the curve of her thumb.
“Exactly. I wasn’t there for her. I’d turned a blind eye to what was happening back home with Mel. I was in college, having a good old time, and ignored all the warning signs that were right there under my nose. Mel started skipping school. Her grades began to drop. She was getting detention and acting out. And then she quit the swim team, her favorite sport in the world. She had new friends and bad influences, leaving her good friends behind.”
I cup both my hands around hers now, and she adds the other to the mix. If someone looked, they’d think we were in prayer together. And maybe we are in some way. Purging ourselves of our sins and asking for forgiveness.
“I hadn’t come home that summer like I’d done before because I stayed in the city with some friends. I regret that decision the most, looking back now. Perhaps if I’d been home, she wouldn’t have started using. By the beginning of the school year, as you know, she’d all but dropped out. Mel called me the night she died.”
I can’t look Sutton in the eyes. It’s too painful, and I don’t want to see pity or contempt for my actions.
“I think she knew she was in trouble. She apparently went out that night to a party with an unfamiliar group of acquaintances. By then, I know she was drinking regularly, smoking weed, and taking pills. But that night, she tried heroin. Regardless of whether it was the first time or the hundredth time, it was the last. She got a dose of fentanyl-laced heroin—a lethal combination.”
Button is openly crying now, dabbing her eyes with a napkin, her bottom lip trembling.
“Mel called me at some point that night. I’m not sure if it was before she got high or after. I didn’t answer. I was busy. Too busy to make time for my only sister. I saw the missed called later that night around midnight and figured it was too late to call her back. Too late is right.”
I take a breath and drop my head into my hand, keeping one attached to Sutton.
“I’ll never have that chance to do it over again. It plays on repeat in my head all the fucking time, Button. I think you said it best. There are things we shoulda, coulda, woulda done to change the outcome of our life, but thinking about it in regret doesn’t do shit.”
“Miles, can I confess something to you?”
I lift my gaze to Sutton’s face, whose smile is a pool of kindness. “Of course.”
Her blush covers her soft features, a pink swath warming her cheeks.
“I never told Melodie that I had a crush on you because I thought she’d be mad at me. Or worse, tell you. But I believe she always knew. And I think that we’re here together through fate and Mel. She’s brought us together for a reason. Why else would we have reunited in this strange coincidental way after all this time?”
I nod in agreement. I don’t think it’s such a stretch to believe that, either.
Sutton continues, “I think Melodie is up there”—she points to the clear blue sky above us — “right this minute hatching some kind of plan, just like she always did when we were kids, to get us together. Is that
weird to believe that?”
I smile fondly at Sutton because I feel the same way.
Lifting my coffee cup in a toast, prompting Sutton to do the same, I say, “Here’s to fire alarms, fate, and family.” We clink cups, and she grins from ear-to-ear.
“And here’s to you, Button,” I continue. “You are an unforgettable presence in my life. When I remembered the good memories of my childhood, of summertime and family, I saw you, Sutton. You were always present. And while those memories may have been buried for a while, I never really ever forgot you or what you brought into my life. You’re part of me, then and now. And I love you.”
Epilogue
Three-months later—Sutton
“Welcome! So glad you both could join us tonight.”
Soraya stands at the entrance of their apartment door, arms open wide as she greets me and Miles, who’s holding a bottle of wine in his hand, looking a bit uncomfortable by the very colorful greeting.
Until Graham steps out from behind the door and claps him on the back.
“Hey, man. Good to see your sorry ass. How ya been? It’s been so long,” Graham deadpans, looking to his watch facetiously with a laugh. “A whole three hours?”
They laugh and head into the living room while I follow Soraya into their large kitchen, which I put to good use while I stayed here in July. It’s a Friday night in early December, and Graham and Soraya invited us over for an evening of food and games, which Miles scoffed at when he heard the part about playing games.
One of the things I’ve recently learned is that Miles has the attention span of a Labrador puppy when it comes to any sort of game. Unless it’s watching the stock market rise and fall, he’s not interested in fun and games.
Over the past three months, I’ve come to see how antsy Miles can be, never sitting for more than thirty minutes at a time and to him, playing cards or games, or heaven forbid, solving a puzzle, puts a strain of unease on him the likes I’ve never seen. I told him that he’s a bit ADHD, and he scoffed at my applied psychology mumbo-jumbo.