Meredith’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. Her eyes are empathetic and her tone is warm and understanding. “It’s very common for a person to feel as though they’ve gotten past the hardest stages of grieving only to find out that their legs are knocked out from under them a few weeks or months later. Was there something that started this cycle? A birthday? An anniversary?”
A first girlfriend.
Mark and Cathy exchange a knowing glance. Cathy nods, and Mark answers for both of them. “We went out with our friends and they were talking about their daughter starting college in the fall. As you know, our Mara would have been attending college this fall, too.”
“And how did that make you feel?” Meredith leans forward as she asks this.
I think it’s a cruel and unnecessary question. Of course they’re feeling sad and angry. Why does she want them to reiterate it? I glance at Janessa, wondering if she’s thinking the same thing, but she’s looking at them expectantly as well.
“At first I was happy for them. That they get to see their daughter go off to college. Then it made me upset, of course,” Cathy explains. “And then I was just angry. I was mad that they’d bring that up when they knew we lost Mara.” Tears stream down her cheeks, and Mark pulls her against him and whispers something, then kisses her temple.
“That’s perfectly understandable, Cathy. And I think you know what I’m going to say next.” Meredith pauses as her words settle in.
I don’t know what she’s going to say. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with the sadness in the room.
Cathy nods. Mark nods. Janessa and Michael nod, and I feel lost.
“You lost your daughter, and that’s a horrific loss for you and Mark.”
“Yes,” Cathy agrees, patting her tears with a tissue. “And if I could have been the one who was sick, I would have. I would have died twice over to save Mara.”
Mark pulls her closer, his own eyes tearing now.
“I know you would have. But the world is full of families who didn’t lose their children.” Meredith pauses again.
My stomach clenches. Just like after my parents died. I couldn’t understand how the whole world functioned normally around me when everything I knew had been turned upside down.
Cathy and Mark nod.
“Remember when we talked about finding ways to accept our losses so we can move forward? That’s not an easy thing to do. For some people it means avoiding certain friends from before they lost their loved ones. Others choose to talk to their friends and let them know the topics that are still too raw to deal with. Sometimes friends will shy away, and that’s another type of loss that isn’t easy to get past.” Meredith wrinkles her brow.
“Meredith, may I say something?” Janessa asks.
I’m surprised. She rarely contributes.
“Yes, please.” Meredith nods.
“When I lost my older sister, I was pretty young. For the longest time, I held on to the grief. I thought that if I didn’t, I would forget her, or let her down. And she had always been there for me, so even though she was gone, I didn’t want to let her down.”
I reach for Janessa’s hand and squeeze it. I knew she’d lost a family member, but I didn’t realize it was her older sister. How could I not have asked? I’ve been so closed off, worrying about my own grief, my own sexuality, that I never opened my eyes long enough to offer support to her. I’ve been a terrible friend.
Janessa covers my hand with hers and manages to smile at me before turning back to Mark and Cathy and continuing her story. “One day my mom told me that I was focusing on losing her and forgetting all the good times we had. She said that I was putting an unfair burden on my sister. At first I didn’t understand that. I was a teenager when she committed suicide, and I didn’t feel like I was putting a burden on her.”
My stomach careens south. Suicide? Oh, Janessa. I’m so sorry.
“It took a while for me to understand what she meant. I was so focused on not forgetting her that she became a legacy of pain instead of being remembered as the supportive, fun, loving big sister that she was.” Janessa takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “It’s been years since she died, and the loss is still there. Sort of like a scar. Every once in a while I get a wave of sadness, but I’ve learned to move past it by drawing on the good memories. I can’t exactly keep myself from being friends with anyone who might mention their sister.” She pauses for a moment.
“I realized that by trying to hold on to that pain, I was trying to please my sister. My mom was right.” Janessa shakes her head. “It sounds strange, but I thought that if I kept that pain, I’d make up for the reasons she killed herself. It wasn’t until recently that I realized I could learn from her death and help other people in her situation not feel so alone.”
“That’s a big discovery, and it’s also a common coping mechanism. Using your grief to help others can be cathartic,” Meredith says.
“Like you do.” The words come without thought. Meredith lost her husband ten years ago, and I know she’s been running these meetings for the past few years.
“Yes, like I do.” Meredith smiles at me.
“My thoughts are no longer centered on how unfair it is that I lost my sister.” Janessa pulls her shoulders back and releases my hand. “I realized how hurtful those thoughts were. Now when I’m confronted with similar situations, I draw upon the good memories, and it’s like…Yeah, I had a sister. She was funny and protective, and sometimes she was a big pain in the butt. And she loved green ice cream. Any flavor as long as it was green.” Janessa smiles. “It feels good to remember the good times.”
The rest of the hour we talk about bargaining and letting go, moving past the guilt of wanting to live our lives to please the people we’ve lost. Or at least that’s what I hear, because it’s what I realize I’m doing with my parents.
After the meeting, Janessa and I walk toward the boardwalk. The glow of lights on the boardwalk is pretty in the distance, like halos from stars that are too close to earth. Janessa hasn’t said a word since we left the YMCA. Her eyes are trained on the ground and her hands hang loosely by her sides. I have never seen her this disengaged, and I know she must be thinking about her sister.
“That was an intense meeting,” I say quietly, letting her know I’m here if she wants to talk. There’s so much I want to say, but I’m feeling her out, seeing if she’s okay with talking after revealing so much.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry about your sister.”
She loops her arm into mine. “Do you mind if I do this? I’m not hitting on you, and I respect your relationship with Ash. I just need a little support.”
“No. It’s fine.” And it is. I’ve been right where she is. I have Ashley, Wyatt, Cassidy, Tristan, Jesse, and even Brandon, to support me. I wonder who Janessa has besides her brother. “Do you mind if I ask why your sister committed suicide?”
She shakes her head. “She was attending a really conservative college up north. She was also a lesbian, but she never came out, and one day her roommate found her in bed with a girl who happened to be the girlfriend of one of the football players.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. She couldn’t take the bullying. She left me a voicemail before she did it, but I was thirteen. I had no idea what it meant. Talk about carrying guilt.” Janessa looks away. Her voice gets thin. “She said, no matter what, live the life I’m meant to live. She said…” Her breath hitches and she stops walking.
“I’m sorry, Janessa.” I pull her into my arms, trying to comfort her and keep my own tears at bay.
“She said that she loved me and to always remember that. She said…” She draws in a fast breath. “She said I was someone special and that…” Another hitched breath. “That I should tell my parents she loved them.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Her name was Jacqueline. Jackie.”
My heart cracks open and tears spill down my cheeks.
She draws back a
nd holds my shoulders. Remarkably, she’s smiling despite her tears. She reaches up and wipes my tears.
Wipes my tears. She lost her sister and she’s wiping my tears.
“It’s okay, really.” She sniffles and wipes her own tears. “Come on. Let’s go meet your girlfriend before she worries that we got lost.”
I’m floored that she can move past this so quickly, while I’m still scrambling to pick up the pieces of my heart for her loss.
Thinking about Ashley makes my stomach clench for an entirely different reason.
“Um…About Ash. She’s a little uncomfortable about all of this, but I really enjoy our friendship, and I—”
“Don’t worry,” she interrupts. “I get it. It would be weird if she wasn’t jealous, but I’ll explain to her about my sister. She’ll understand.”
“Your sister? What does your sister have to do with this?”
“She’s the reason I reached out to you. You were struggling so much, and it was obvious that you’re carrying a ton of guilt about your parents, and you were hiding your feelings for Ashley.”
“Wait. Did you think I was suicidal?” I stop walking again.
“No. Not at all. I just…I liked you from the moment we met a few weeks ago. As a friend, so don’t get weirded out. You remind me of my sister, and when I saw how conflicted you were, I wanted you to feel safe and…”
“Confident. I remember.” As her words sink in, I gather courage to ask what I’ve been trying not to think about. “Have you offered that for many others?”
She shakes her head. “No. Just you. When I said I wanted to help people in her situation, I didn’t mean by offering my body to them. I meant by talking, letting them know they’re not alone.”
“Oh…”
“I know you wonder why I offered myself to you, and it just felt right, Delilah. It’s not like I go around sleeping with people I hardly know. I’m not a one-night-stand kind of person. You were so…tortured. Floundering. I felt close to you and wanted to help.”
I assume that her feeling the desire to help me was very much like my acceptance of her offer. It felt right and doesn’t need to be dissected.
“Thank you, Janessa. You really did help me more than you can ever know.”
“I think I know,” she says softly.
We walk in silence for the remainder of the way. The din of tourists grows louder as we turn down a residential side street and cut through an alley to the boardwalk. We weave through the throng of tourists heading toward Brooke’s Bytes. The smell of French fries grows thicker as we pass Fried Critters, a walk-up fast-food restaurant.
“Mm, that makes me hungry,” I say to break the silence.
“Really? I figured you for an ice cream girl.” Janessa’s tone is lighter, and I notice she’s standing taller and her face isn’t as pinched as it was when we left counseling.
“Oh, I’m definitely an ice cream girl, a pizza girl, a French fry girl.” I laugh. “I’m not a picky eater at all. My mom used to tell me that I’d weigh six hundred pounds when I grew up with the way I ate.”
Janessa’s eyes shift to me, watching, assessing.
“It doesn’t feel weird to talk about my mom,” I say so quietly I wonder if she can hear it. “It feels good to remember.”
She touches my shoulder. “Good, Delilah. That’s good.”
We pass the arcade, greeted with the pings and dings of the games, and I spot Ashley leaning on the railing in front of Brooke’s Bytes. My heartbeat speeds up, and I feel myself smiling. She must sense my eyes on her, because she turns and searches for a second before finding me. Her lips curve up, and she takes a step in our direction. Her eyes shift to Janessa, and her smile falters, but she forces it to return. Well, mostly, anyway.
She’s trying.
~Ashley~
I CONSIDER MYSELF a pretty good judge of character, despite the way I misjudged Sandy. There are certain things we have to forgive ourselves for. Otherwise we’d never learn and grow or move forward on any level. I forgive myself for Sandy because, let’s face it, if a person wants to deceive someone badly enough, they will make it happen. Sandy was well versed in the act of deceiving, and I was well practiced in the ability to trust. I’d never been with anyone I didn’t trust. Sandy broke that in me, and until Delilah, I feared my ability to trust was broken for good. But I never felt like I couldn’t trust Delilah. Even after I found out about her night with Janessa, I still trusted her. She’s never tried to hide anything from me. Well, except I can tell she’s keeping some things about her parents close to her chest, but that’s a whole different ball game. Those aren’t lies. Those are pieces of herself that she’s just not ready to share yet.
“Hi.” Delilah comes close but doesn’t reach for my hand, which is hurtful, especially since she’s with Janessa, but I get it, so I don’t say anything.
“Hi. Sorry if we made you wait,” she says. “Ash, you remember Janessa.”
“Yeah, hi.” God, she’s pretty. I glance at Delilah, whose eyes are on me.
On me.
Thank you.
I’m an idiot for worrying.
Janessa leans in and hugs me, and I manage to make it completely awkward, with one hand dangling by my side and the other kind of patting her on the back.
“Hi, Ashley. I’m so glad you’re here. Delilah talks about you nonstop.”
I have no idea if she’s telling me the truth or trying to make me feel better because she can tell that I’m battling feeling like a third wheel around them, but her comment makes me feel better.
We go into Brooke’s Bytes, and Brooke whips by us carrying a tray of food.
“Hey, girls! Take a seat. I’ll be right there.” Brooke’s dark hair is tied back in a low ponytail. She’s wearing a bright blue apron with BROOKE’S BYTES across the chest.
We sit at a table by the wall and Delilah still doesn’t take my hand, but her knee presses against mine. It might seem silly, but that’s enough for now. It’s something. And I know for her, it’s a lot.
After we’re settled in, Brooke comes to take our orders.
“Girls’ night out after counseling. I like it.” Brooke smiles, nods. She pats Delilah’s shoulder. “What can I get you?”
“Coke for me, thanks,” Janessa says.
“I’ll have a Sprite.”
Delilah looks at me, then up at Brooke. “I’ll have a Sprite too, thanks, Brooke.”
“You’ve got it. Hey, that was a great party for Brandon the other night, wasn’t it?” Brooke’s eyes run between me and Delilah, and I wonder if she heard us arguing.
“Yeah, it was,” Delilah answers. “Thanks for putting it together.”
Brooke waves her off. “Pfft. What good is a party-planning business if I can’t plan a party for friends? I’ll grab your drinks and be right back.”
Brooke serves our drinks and glances over a few times while we make small talk about my learning to surf. When we first arrived I was sure that I’d want to make up an excuse and leave early because I couldn’t imagine being near Janessa and Delilah together. I thought I’d sense their attraction to each other—or at least Janessa’s attraction toward Delilah. I anticipated a really uncomfortable evening. But as our discussion moves to Delilah’s boots, what it’s like to work at the surf shop, and Janessa’s daughter, Jackie, I feel much more at ease. Janessa isn’t eyeing Delilah or vying for her attention. In fact, she doesn’t look uncomfortable at all, until she begins telling me about her sister.
And I see her through new eyes.
Her eyes glass over as she tells me about her sister’s suicide and how she still attends the grief-counseling meetings from time to time when things get hard.
“Sometimes being with Jackie is hard, because she reminds me so much of my sister. The way one of her eyes is a little squintier when she smiles and the way she moves her mouth like she’s chewing when she’s deep in thought. When I start to miss her too much, I go back to counseling so I don’t get depressed and m
ake things hard for my daughter.”
Janessa tucks her hair behind her ear and drops her eyes.
How can I not soften toward her? She takes a deep breath and explains why she reached out to Delilah, and maybe it shouldn’t, but it makes me feel better. I still don’t know how she could be close to Delilah like she was and not look at her like she’s hungry to do it again. But then again, I don’t understand how anyone can know Delilah and not fall hopelessly in love with her. She’s sweet and smart, caring, and so hot I can’t keep my hands off her. But I guess if love wasn’t about a unique connection between two people that goes above and beyond sexual attraction, then we’d all be fighting over each other.
“So, that’s my big dark secret.” Janessa sits back, and when Delilah reaches over and squeezes her hand, I know it’s out of friendship and nothing more, because after she releases her hand, she reaches beneath the table and takes mine.
And holds on tight.
The bell above the door chimes, and we turn to see a tall, muscular guy with a little dark-haired boy propped on one thick forearm and a little girl on the other. His eyes meet Janessa’s and he flashes a warm smile.
“Mommy!” The little girl’s eyes widen. Her arms shoot straight out toward Janessa, and the man crouches and lets the excited little girl down.
Janessa slides off her chair and scoops her into her arms. “How’s my princess?” She kisses her cheek.
Delilah’s told me about Jackie, and in Janessa’s arms, it’s easy to see the resemblance between mother and daughter.
“We had ice cream.” Jackie rubs her stomach and licks her lips.
Janessa looks at the handsome guy. “Uncle Dean’s the best uncle ever, huh?”
Jackie nods, then waves to me and Delilah. “Is those your friends?”
“Yes. These are my friends Delilah and Ashley.”
Jackie leans forward and touches our heads with her little hands. “You have pretty yellow hair.”
Discovering Delilah Page 13