14 days
“….Closing on it tomorrow,” Tess is saying. “I was thinking I’d move in with you.”
I blink. “Oh.” I’m physically present, but mentally absent. “Wait, what?”
She touches my cheek. “I’m closing on the house tomorrow. I’ve sold it fully furnished. I’ve packed up my clothes and the shit I care about, hired a company to clean it out to create a blank slate for the new owners.”
I have a real, original thought for the first time in two weeks. “You sold your house?”
“Yeah.” She’s very patient with me.
Another thought occurs. “Wait. Your divorce. I promised I’d be there.”
She gives me a small, sad smile. “It was the day before…um…”
“Say it.”
“The hearing was the day before Adrian…ahhh…passed away.” Her voice breaks on that phrase. “I went in three-day-old yoga pants, no underwear, no bra, a stained T-shirt, and my fuzzy pink slippers. I told the judge I didn’t give a single shit about anything at all, I just wanted to be done, divorced.”
“Was he there?” It’s like my brain is being operated by something other than me, functioning for me.
Tess has been there for me through this, and I have to give back to her. I have to be her friend too. But where this thoughtfulness is coming from, I don’t know. I’m still numb.
She nods. “Yeah, he was. He looked like he was trying to look guilty, or chagrined, or something, but couldn’t quite manage it.” She shrugs. “It’s weird how little of a fuck I give about him. Like, I’m not even sad. I’m barely even angry anymore. I’m not, like, happy, or relieved. I didn’t want to be a divorcee. But now it’s over and I’m just…ready to move on. I just simply do not have a single feeling to spare for Clint McAlister.”
“How is Yvette?”
She sighs. “Not exactly sure, quite honestly. She asked why we were getting divorced, so I told her the whole actual truth. She’s eighteen, so I guess I didn’t see the point in dissembling, you know? I think she’s hurt that it’s happening, but when I sat down with her via Zoom the other day and told her I was taking my maiden name back she was, like, fiercely in favor. She asked if she could hyphenate her name, so she’d be Yvette McAlister-Tailor. I told her to wait and think on it awhile. I just wanted to be assured that she didn’t mind me doing it. She said she understood, and she’s in support of me going back to being Tess Tailor.”
“I’m sorry I missed it, Tess.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t be. It was supremely lame and anticlimactic. The judge started in on this whole spiel, and I politely interrupted and said could we dispense with the bullshit and just get to the part where we sign the papers? And she asked Clint if he felt the same way, which he did, and then we both signed and that was that. She pronounced our union divorced. Boom. I got the house, my car, and I chose to take the cash-out option he offered which is actually pretty sizeable. Maybe he was hiding things so I got a shit deal, I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m selling the house for nearly a million and netting over half a million, plus another hundred grand in investment cash-out, so I’m fine. I’ll have enough to find a killer place downtown and that’s all I really care about.”
“Tess, I’m sorry I’ve been a shitty friend to you lately,” I say.
“Oh, what a pile of moose poop,” she says. “This is what we do, boo.” She hugs me. “I’m here for you, which brings me back to my original question. Can I move in with you for a while? I’m not quite ready to start looking for a new place yet.”
I sigh. “Is that the real reason, Tess?”
“Fine. I’m worried about you. You need me. I need to be here with you until I’m sure you’re okay.”
“I’ll never be okay again, Tess.”
“Yes, you will. It’ll take time, but you will.”
I shake my head. “I don’t see how.” I look down and find her hand. Hold it. “You come live with me as long as you want, and when you’re ready to move out, do it. I don’t want you to worry about me. You need to live your life too, Tess. I don’t want you babysitting me indefinitely.”
“It’s not babysitting. It’s being there for my best friend when she needs me, just the same way you’d do the same for me.” She smiles brightly. “And now we’re roommates again.”
“Thank you, Tess.” My throat feels tight. “You’ve done so much for me, I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
She hisses, hands raised palms out. “Stop, stop. Don’t make me cry. Right now, let’s get practical. We’re going to need supplies: several boxes of tissues, lots of ice cream, and lots of wine.”
“Not wine,” I say. “Anything but wine, and especially not red wine.”
I don’t have to explain to Tess, of all people, that red wine was Adrian’s and my thing.
“Know what you do want to drink, then?”
What was it we used to drink in college?
“Remember the parties we used to throw back in college?” I ask. “We’d buy six bottles of the cheapest vodka we could find, a bunch of two-liter bottles of soda water, and a bag of limes. And we’d mix it all together in a punch bowl.”
She snickers. “Hell yeah, I remember. Un-punch, everyone called it.”
“I’m going to need that, I think.”
She frowns at me. “Nadia, love. I’ll enable you only up to a certain point. But eventually, you have to grieve. I know maybe you’re not there yet. And I grant that you have the right to deal with this however you need. And if that means going on a bender, I’ll be there with you every step of the way. But you have to deal with it, at some point.”
“I don’t know how. It’s like the ability to feel it, to let grieving take over is…stuck. I can’t. I just can’t. Like when you’re hammered and need to throw up but can’t.”
“Okay, let’s get wasted then, huh?”
I manage to give Tess a small smile. I need to feel something besides this emptiness, this drowning nothingness.
Something. Anything.
18 days
I’ve spent the past three and a half days drunk. It was glorious at first. We’d watch stupid movies and stand-up specials and laugh our asses off, and I know I was faking laughing harder than was necessary.
I’m drunk right now.
But it’s not so glorious.
I’m splayed sideways across my bed, and I can’t get up. The room is spinning. I’m delirious. I wonder if I’ve slept more than two or three hours at a time since…That Day.
I’ve eaten little besides Skinny Pop and cheese sticks and Costco peanuts. Tess tried making Mac ‘n Cheese at some point, but we were both so wasted we let the pot of water burn dry, spilled noodles everywhere, and decided it was best to stick to easy stuff so we didn’t set the house on fire. We only had the one between us, after all.
She’d gone out, the day we agreed to go on a bender, and came back with a whole case of Grey Goose, several 24-packs of various flavored sparkling water, and several bags of limes. And one large punch bowl. We mixed enough for roughly sixty people, and we’ve been working our way through it.
All day.
Well into the night.
Tess passes out first, because she’s just going along with me, and because I think she’s actually feeling more emotions regarding her divorce than she’s willing to admit.
But me?
Oh, me. I’m a colossal fucking disaster.
I still can’t cry.
I can’t even think his name, never mind say it.
I’m a sieve for vodka soda. I pour it into me, and it burns through me, and nothing is left but ice-cold misery.
When will I break?
When will the waves come?
I’m afraid of it, at this point. Terrified.
It’s going to hurt so fucking bad, when it hits.
21 days
“Tess, I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“Sober up, and then g
o find some Ativan.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to freak out. It’s coming. I can feel it. And when it does, I’m scared it’s going to be really, really bad.”
“What does Ativan do?”
“It’ll knock me out. You just stab it into my arm or shoulder. It’s for seizure patients, to stop seizures. It’s also used when someone has an hysterical episode and is at risk of self-harm.”
“Nadia…”
My eyes blur and sting. I blink them away. Not yet, dammit.
“Tess, please. You have to.”
“You’re scaring me, Nads.”
“That’s because I’m scared.”
“That bad?”
“It’s going to be bad. Really, really bad. It’s coming and it’s going to be the worst thing you’ve ever seen.”
“Okay. I have a friend, or more of an acquaintance really. He can get me some, I think.”
“Do what you need to do. Just get some.”
“All right. I will.”
“But first, I need more vodka.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
“What fingers?”
“Very funny. How many?”
“Tess, listen to me. Listen.”
“No, stop, just stop. Here, take mine. There you go.”
I take a sip. “This is water, goddammit.”
“I stopped drinking two days ago.”
“This isn’t going to be a wine-and-ice-cream kind of crying, Tess. It’s going to be me in the tub screaming at the top of my lungs. Or something. I don’t know.”
“You’re being very analytical about this.”
“I think I’m having an out-of-body experience. I’m not me right now. Nadia Bell is out to lunch. Somewhere out in space. I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know what life is anymore.”
“You know a lawyer came by yesterday morning?”
“A lawyer? What? When?”
“There was a scheduled reading of the will, and I guess you missed it.”
“The will?”
“Adr—”
“Don’t say his fucking name!” It was an explosion, like she’d stepped on a landmine. “Do fucking not say his name.”
She pales. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Jesus.”
I swallow hard. “No, I—I’m sorry. See? That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Here. Drink this.”
“Vodka. Thank fuck.”
“I told him you’d call him, or I would, when you were ready.”
“Okay.” Burning, burning, burning behind my eyes, in my brain, in my chest, where my heart used to be. “I’m sorry, Tess.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I am, though.”
“Okay, here, how about this. I forgive you, in advance, for anything and everything you may say or do.”
“More,” I say, shaking my glass at her.
“Fine, you lush. But this is the last of the un-punch.”
“Good. I think I’m about pickled, by now.”
“Can you even stand up?”
“I dunno. Standing is dumb. Who needs to stand up anymore? I’m not a stand-up kinda gal.”
“Ohhhhh-kay. That answers that.”
“Can I just pee in the un-punch bowl?”
“The physics of that are problematic.”
“Shit.”
“Nads?”
“Yeah?”
“You really need a shower.”
“Just put me in the tub and leave me.”
“That’s not fucking funny, Nadia.”
“It wasn’t a joke.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“It’d be best.”
“No, it wouldn’t.”
“He’d be angry.”
“Huh? Who would be angry?”
“He. He would be. Because I promised him I’d live. I promised him…that I wouldn’t just stay alive, but live. But I don’t want to, Tess.”
“Don’t want to what?”
“Live.” A bloody silence. “Not without…him.”
Fuck. Here it comes.
day unknown
People talk jokingly about having a breakdown, but unless they’ve really experienced it, they don’t know.
Imagine, or remember if you’re that unfortunate, crying so hard every bone rattles inside your skin. Crying so hard you wonder if you’ve gone literally blind, because the salt of the river of tears has seared away your eyes. Crying so hard your chest feels like it’s clamped in a white-hot vise.
Then multiply that by a thousand.
Crying so hard you can’t physically function. You can’t breathe. And when you do breathe, it’s a hoarse scream.
Screaming until your throat bleeds.
And it doesn’t end.
You’ve been expecting this for weeks.
Pent it up inside a vault of vodka and silence and denial.
Now, the interest is due on that grief.
It’s come collecting, and it has no mercy.
This kind of sorrow is utterly savage.
It’s the army that razes the city to the ground, raping and killing everyone within, but doesn’t stop there. It burns the wreckage, and then salts the earth where the city once stood.
I’ve burned through the alcohol—my misery is entirely sober, now.
When I start clawing at my face and chest and arms until I bleed, just to feel anything besides this ravaging misery is when Tess sticks me with a needle.
* * *
After that, the ferocity is spent. Now, I’m just merely paralyzed by grief. Literally. I cannot even get out of bed. I tried, but my legs wouldn’t support me, and I fell to the floor and hit my head so hard I saw stars.
I lie in bed for an endless amount of time, crying, sobbing. The sound of it must be awful.
* * *
I run out of tears, at some point. That’s when I finally sleep, my first nonchemical-assisted sleep in almost a month.
When I wake up, an unknown amount of time later, I discover a renewed reservoir of tears.
day unknown
“Nadia?” Tess, hesitant, quiet. “Are you awake?”
“Yes.” My voice is hoarse; I sound like a twenty-year pack-a-day smoker.
“Can I come sit with you?”
“Please.”
Her weight dips the bed beside me. “I wish I knew what to ask besides if you’re okay. I know that’s not even a real question.”
“I don’t know.” It’s the only words that come to mind.
“The lawyer called. The executor of…of the estate.”
“Estate.” I repeat it, but it still has no meaning.
She’s tiptoeing, for good reason.
“Say his name, Tess. I can’t.”
“Adrian.”
“Adrian,” I repeat, in a ragged whisper. “Adrian.” Silence. “Adrian Robert Bell.”
More tears, but quieter, now.
“I miss him so much,” I hiss.
“I know you do, I’m so sorry.”
“What does the lawyer want?”
“I don’t know. He says he’s not allowed to share details with anyone but you. He says he only needs a few minutes. He can come here, or we can meet him at his office.”
“Why.”
“Adrian left a will. And he, the lawyer, has to read it to you, or however that works.”
“Oh.” I sniffle. “How long has it been?”
“Since…when?”
“Since Adrian…” I have to force myself to say it. So it will be real. “Since Adrian—died.” The word is hissed, whispered, broken.
“It will be one month ago this Friday. That’s in two days.”
“Tell him we’ll meet him at his office Friday afternoon.”
“Okay.”
“Tess?”
“Yup.”
“Did I…did I hurt you?” I have fuzzy memories of a struggle when I was mad with grief. It was fury, too. The real deal. Complete los
s of all control and coherency.
“It’s fine.”
“Tess.”
She sighs. “Yeah, you did. You were kicking and screaming and clawing at yourself.” Her voice is shaky. “You were in the tub because it was the only place I could get you that you wouldn’t…hurt yourself on something. I was worried I’d have to, like, call for professional help. You were pretty out of your head. You left me with some bruises, but I’m fine.”
I look at her, really look. She’s my height, tall, but way curvier. Her mom was black, her dad white, so she’s got skin somewhere in between, with curly black hair and hazel eyes. She’s paler than usual, with bags under her eyes. She’s lost weight, and not in a good way. She didn’t need to.
She has the remains of a healing black eye, the awful purples and greens and yellows.
“Holy shit, Tess. I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, you warned me.”
“Doesn’t make it okay.”
She lies on the bed behind me and spoons me. “It’s fine, boo. I love you. I’m here. I forgave you beforehand, remember?”
“I miss him so fucking much.”
“I can’t even begin to understand.”
“I wonder what…what Adrian left in his will?” I say. “He handled all our finances, but as far as I’m aware, it’s not like we had a lot of stuff or investments for him to leave.”
“I guess we’ll find out Friday.”
“I guess so.”
“I’m going to need a shower.”
“Bitch, you’re gonna need like four showers.”
“I don’t smell that bad.”
“Oh yeah? Sniff your pit.”
I do so. “Holy hell.” I cough at my own stench. “You might be right.”
“Why are you still here with me, Tess?”
“Because you’re my best friend. And you’d do the same for me. We made a pact, remember? When we were in that Gaia, Mother Earth phase? We did this whole thing involving period blood and herbs and that godawful wine we made ourselves?”
I can’t help but laugh. “God, I remember. That was so nuts.”
The Cabin Page 9