The last time I was at a proper funeral was Jonah’s. Similar to that dreary day, I wore a black lace dress and stockings, even a bow. It was a chilly mid-October afternoon. People from the hospital circled the grave, either dropping in roses, her favorite, or tears, sometimes both.
My face was puffy, since I was allergic to roses, but I held together for Grey’s sake. But I couldn’t blame the allergy for the tears that flowed down my puffy face. Helen was a sweet enough woman who had passed away too early. Although she was a bit kooky and neurotic, she loved her son fiercely. So fiercely, she sent him letter after letter, even after he’d promptly shut her out.
Grey had said he was the reason for her death because found on her built-in desk in her room were a pile of letters. Even more flooded every single drawer. All written to Grey but sent back to her. Each with the intent of mending their relationship. He received every single one of them, but never opened any. Just shipped them right back, breaking her fragile heart one letter at a time.
Finally, the guilt and inability to fix things with her only son built up to insurmountable pressure, and she snapped. She decided she couldn’t handle it anymore and left one last letter behind: her suicide note.
I don’t know where it is, but I know Grey won’t open it. He won’t exactly throw it out, either. I remember the head administrator of the mental institution solemnly handing Grey the envelope, telling him how greatly his mother loved him. That only added salt to his wounds. I remember snapping at the man and pulling Grey off to the side to console a silent man with a raging storm on the inside.
Now, in present time, I sigh heavily as I sink onto the couch after swapping out my blouse and skirt for more comfortable clothes. I’ve been lonely ever since Grey distanced himself, but I don’t tell him that. I’m sure he knows it. It’s why he gives me kisses on the forehead every morning. He thinks I don’t know, but I do. I can feel his lips kissing me goodbye, awake or asleep. Doesn’t matter, I can feel him in every part of me, at all times.
I plan on reading a book and waiting for him to arrive home in the late hours. I barely get past reading a chapter in The Great Gatsby when the intercom rings defiantly. I pad over, trying to remember if I was expecting anyone.
“Hello?” I speak into the intercom.
“Hey…it’s Lily.”
I gasp, then blush, and say, “Hold on.” I press the button to allow her to travel up to our floor, then wonder why I have to be so weird sometimes. I only gasped like that because I haven’t heard from her since the incident at the club. I’ve been calling and texting her repeatedly. What made her come to me now?
She comes up a minute later. I was expecting bruises and cuts, after learning she’s been seeing her abusive ex-boyfriend, but I am gladly met with nothing but her naturally clean, pretty face.
I throw my arms around her, and she giggles. “I missed you, and I’ve been worried sick.”
She sighs into my neck and nods. “I know. I got every call and text.”
I pull back and shake her slightly. “Then why didn’t you answer me?”
She bites her lip and looks around. “Nice apartment.” She switches the topic, and I sigh but let her. She’s been through a lot. I should let her tell me more on her own terms. I’m lucky she even came to me in the first place. She walks around and sits on the couch facing the TV, sheepishly looking at me like she’s afraid I’ll waterboard her for answers.
“Thanks,” I say and glance at the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink? Water? Juice? Coffee?”
“Water is fine,” she says. She looks at her hands, avoiding my probing eyes.
“Okay.” I walk into the kitchen and get her a tall glass of water. I whip up some black coffee for myself and return to her. She’s rubbing her hands. “Cold outside?” I try to make conversation, giving her time to talk to me when she’s ready. Her skittishness reminds me of Max, when he was here. Was he abused by his father too? The thought makes my blood boil, but patience, Liv. Patience.
“Very. You stand out there for more than five minutes, and you’ll turn into a frozen statue.” She laughs, and I smile softly, watching her blow into her cupped palms. “Should have worn gloves.”
“Speaking of which, I should go shopping for more winter clothes. I don’t really have any.”
“Right…I should, too.” She nods and smiles at me. I smile back.
“So…how are you?” I get right to it. This small talk is killing me. I can’t do it. I need to know she isn’t still seeing her abusive, asshole boyfriend.
She sighs like she saw it coming, but how could she not when she came here willingly? “I’m…I’m fine.”
“You seem fine now, but are you really?” I speak softly, not wanting to make her mad. Not wanting her to change the subject or, worse, leave and pretend it never happened. That it’s not still happening. I want to help her, but I can’t if she distances herself from me.
“Yeah, I am.” She nods frantically as if to emphasize her lies, but then I lay a hand on her thigh and rub soothingly. Her lying façade crumbles, and her palms fly to cover her teary eyes. “No.” She shakes her head. “I am not fine.”
I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “Wanna tell me about it?” I ask while on the inside I am pleading, Please, tell me about it.
Her head goes crazy, bobbing up and down, her chin hitting my shoulder before she backs up. She wipes her wet nose using the back of her hand.
“Hold on,” I assure her. I get up and return with a wad of tissues. I hand them to her, and she gladly takes them and blows her snotty nose on one. I rub her knee all the while, making sure to prove that I’m not going anywhere, that I am here for her.
“I…I left him because he was an asshole,” she starts, hiccuping in between words. I gesture to her water, and she downs the entire thing. “I wanted to pursue my dream of becoming a psychologist. I—I thought I was free from him. He was always so abusive and so, so jealous. I couldn’t pass a guy in the street without him accusing me of cheating on him.”
Asshole.
“Asshole,” she seethes.
I nod. “Got that right.” I take large sips of my coffee.
She smiles, but only slightly. “Anyway, I was doing so—so well. Max was doing great in school, nearly forgetting his douche of a father, and I was doing fucking fantastic. Money was coming in…until one of my ex-best friends told him where I was. We had left him without telling him where we were headed. Liv, I was…I was so fucking scared he would kill us back then. He was getting worse and worse, and…I just couldn’t take it anymore.” She twists the tissue in her hand.
“He…he found us and inserted himself in our lives. Moved into our little shit apartment, made himself at home…and then it started again. All. Over. Again. Screaming at me for no reason, bugging my phone, rough-handling Max, h-hitting me.”
She chokes on her words, unable to speak. I watch grimly as she rubs her chest, her face turning red and tears coming down like an outright downpour.
“You need to get him out of your life,” I tell her, and her eyes widen comically large.
“I moved to another country. There is no getting rid of him,” she cries, and my heart absolutely breaks for her.
“You can have him arrested for domestic and child abuse.”
“There’s no evidence,” she says, horrified as she pats her cheeks, soft and uninjured. Meaning, for her to file anything against him…he’d have to hurt her or Max again. But there is no way in hell that’s happening. Neither of them is getting hurt ever again. Not on my watch.
“Then you’ll stay here,” I tell her firmly.
Her cheeks look like a puffer fish. “What? No, no! I don’t want to be of any inconvenience to you or Grey.”
“You won’t be,” I assure her honestly. Grey isn’t in the best mood, but he’s also pretty numb. I don’t think he’ll mind that much. Not if I explain to him the situation. Plus, he’s practically never here nowadays.
She rolls a lock
of her dark auburn hair, eyes glistening blue, deep in thought. I leave her to think it over. If she doesn’t accept, then I’ll buy her a hotel room for a couple of days while we get that asshole of an ex out of her apartment, like the cockroach he is. Either way, she is not staying at her place just to be used as a punching bag. I won’t allow it.
When I come back from putting away our cups, I find her standing in front of the couch.
“Have you decided?” I ask, coming to a stop in front of her.
She lifts her eyes to mine and slowly nods. “Yes.”
“Yes…you’re staying here?” I inquire, my voice rising several octaves.
She chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Yes, I am staying here. But only for a few days.”
“Yay!” I launch into her chest, wrapping my arms around her. She laughs, but I can hear the relief in her voice. I rub her back and smile. “You made the right decision…”
“Great, now that we have that settled—” After a long hug, she sits back with a pout. “Do you have anything else we can do beside knit blankets and drink tea?” she mocks my normal downtime hobbies.
I laugh, blushing. “There’s supposed to be a football game at the university I attend…?”
She hums and taps her chin contemplatively. “Stay here and knit mittens, or go watch young, hot college boys run around…hmmm.”
I roll my eyes at her teasing and stand before she can even decide what she wants us to do. “I’ll go change into something more suitable.”
“You made the right decision.” She winks at me.
Chapter Nine
I’ve never been to a football game before. My father, on the other hand, was always a huge fan of the NY Giants, but I never paid too much attention to the dynamics of the sport. I used to think it was kind of stupid. Boys running around, throwing a weirdly shaped ball, knocking their helmets together. I especially hated when they tackled the other team.
Ironically, Jonah loved it. He and my father were inseparable when it came to the ugly sport. They would go to every single Giants game, discussed plays—as well as a five-year-old could understand the logistics of the sport, at least—and overall ate, lived, and breathed the game. I couldn’t understand why. I guess it was just their thing. Like my father’s love for the sport passed down to his son through some sort of energy exchange when he first held him in his arms.
My father…
Jonah…
As we walk along the sidelines, glancing around mindlessly, I smile at the memory. Of Father trying to explain the game to me, only for me to end up in tears because he just couldn’t get me interested in it, growing frustrated himself. Of my sweet little brother, Jonah, laughing gleefully as my father chased after him as he ran to the “touchdown” in our backyard, weirdly shaped football wedged in his armpit. Of…them.
“Olivia?”
“Father.” I sound just as surprised as him. I look down at my hand holding my phone to my ear. I don’t know how or when, but I dialed his number while swimming in memories.
“I’m gonna go grab a seat for us,” Lily says, noticing I’m on the phone.
I nod, and she must see the turmoil I’m in, because she gives me a small smile and rubs my arm before scouring for open seats in the nearly full stands.
Silence lingers over the phone, neither one of us knowing what to say or how to say it. What do you say after you’ve been feuding with someone that practiced ballet when you felt you couldn’t do it and took you to get ice cream when she felt down in the dumps, and whispered, “I love you, ladybug,” every night, when you cried whenever his eyes caught yours?
“I’m sorry,” he says, the second I breathe. “It’s okay.”
Silence ensues again, but this time, it’s comfortable and knowing.
“Are you happy?” I have to ask. Otherwise, he’d have hurt my mother and driven a wedge between us for no reason. At least if he’s happy, then I can feel better and worse for blowing up on him when I first found out he’d been cheating on my mother. None of us were the same after Jonah’s death. My mother grew distant and became cold, my father stopped talking altogether, too sad to utter a word, and I fell into a deep depression, suffering from night terrors that haunted me.
It was like, as a result of his death, we were all broken. He was our glue, our little beam of sun, keeping everyone happy and together. And when he left…I just never thought we’d be happy again.
But here we are. Mother’s ice-cold exterior’s melted, Father’s found his words, and I’m with the love of my life. Happier than I’ve ever been or ever will be. Everything’s turning out right for us again, and I can’t help but wonder if it has anything to do with our little angel looking over us.
I crane my neck back and spot a little glowing star that seems to be winking at me, and I smile.
“Yes,” Father answers, a huff of laughter and relief and joy following shortly after. “I am.”
“Good.” I swipe away stray tears and sniffle. “That’s really good, Father.”
A whistle pierces through the air, and I look around at the players arranging on the massive football field.
“Where are you?” he asks.
“A football game.”
“Really?” He sounds shocked, and I blush.
“Yeah. I’m here with a friend.”
“Okay, well, I guess I’ll leave you to it…” he says, a pause lingering over the phone. “Have fun, ladybug. I love you.”
A sob threatens to break free, but I bite my tongue and blink away warm tears. “I will try not to cry when I hear plays being called,” I joke, and he laughs. I can perfectly picture his almond brown eyes squeezing shut. “And I love you too…”
The call ends, and so does our stupid little feud. I’m still not happy over the fact that he cheated on my mother, but he’s happy now, and that’s all that matters. It will take a while for me to get used to all of us being content at the same time, but for right now, I will hold on to our simultaneous contentment.
“What was that emo fest about?” Lily lightly teases me as I find her pretty high up in the stand. She holds out a bag of popcorn she flirted away from some boy. I take a few popcorn kernels and toss them into my mouth.
“My father and I just made up,” I tell her, watching the cheerleaders of our school jump around and shout, trying to rile us up. The stand is pretty peppy, but all I can wonder is: aren’t those girls cold? It’s freezing, and I’m wearing my thick university sweatshirt and a pea coat. All they’re wearing are short blue and white uniforms.
“Why were you fighting?” she asks curiously.
“I, uh, found out he’d been cheating on my mother for a decade,” I say quietly.
She shakes her head and angrily chews. “Men.” She shakes her head ominously. I know she’s referring to her asshole of an ex, but I just nod and eat some more popcorn.
“Men,” I repeat solemnly, hiding my little smile.
The game starts with a loud bang. Seriously. Our mascot, the Nittany Lion, bangs a long stick against a huge drum strapped to his side. The players take off, blue and white against red and yellow, another school I don’t know the name of. Numbers are called and “hikes” are yelled. Back and forth, players run around throwing the oddly shaped ball in the air, tackling and hitting each other’s helmets, making touchdowns, and other things I can’t even begin to comprehend.
Thirty minutes into the game, Lily sits down after my school makes a clean touchdown. “Number forty-four is so fucking hot.”
I peer over the hands drawn in the air and look at her. “How can you tell? He’s wearing a helmet.” They all are.
She steels her eyes on the player, I assume because I can’t see past all the excited fans standing up, and drawls, “I just have a feeling…”
“Right.” I pat her shoulder.
At that moment, player forty-four takes off his helmet and turns around. He’s headed for the bench on the sideline. He pushes his dark, curly hair back as he walks. Hmmm…He kind of
looks familiar.
Wait a second…
“Mateo?”
Since when was he on the football team? Maybe since he transferred here in September. I remember him telling me he would be transferring to this school a while back. I never thought he’d want to join the football team.
“Mateo? You know him?” Lily asks.
“He’s a friend of mine.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?” She gapes at me like I’ve gone off my meds.
“Because I didn’t even know he played football.” I laugh before taking a slow sip of my cold drink. As I hold the sweating cup, I curse myself for not wearing gloves. Lately, it’s gotten so cold that I think it’s going to snow before it should.
“Well, now that you know, why don’t you set me up with him?” She wiggles her eyebrows, and I can’t help but burst into laughter. Oh, the things she doesn’t know. “What? Why are you laughing at me?” She pinches my arm, and I groan in pain.
“Because…you’re not his type.” I decide to joke around with her for pinching me.
Her jaw drops, and she shakes her head incredulously. “What the hell’s his type? Ugly lame bitches?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Hot guys.”
“What?”
“Babe, he’s gay.”
Her eyes blow wide open, and she cups her cheeks. “Fuck, my gaydar is totally off.” Then she faces me and shrugs. “Doesn’t mean he can’t be bi.”
“Don’t reach too far, not when you have…Matthew.”
She blushes and splutters, “M-Matthew? What the hell are you talking about?”
“You don’t have to lie anymore. He told me,” I joke, taking a long sip of my drink.
“Fuck, he said he wouldn’t tell anyone we kissed…” she says, and I choke. “Oh, shit.”
I cough and spit out some of the soda on the cement beneath my feet, then look at her with huge eyes and a dropped jaw. “You two what?” I shout, but at that moment, a loud horn sounds, I think ending the game. I look at the board and see the large scores; our school won. I can’t even cheer because of how shocked I am. Matthew and Lily kissed…? Is it bad I’m already thinking of ship names? Maly? Litthew…? Maly, for sure. Maybe Mily…decisions, decisions…
Grey: Everlasting (Spectrum Series Book 6) Page 7