Fighting Pride

by Jennifer Miller

  “Why? Are you the only one who had a right to feel grief or sorrow in all of this? If so, fuck you, Tatum, fuck you. Because I felt so much, so fucking much and you have no right to suggest I didn’t.” I look down, taking a breath to try to calm myself, but it doesn’t work. Anger fills me so fast and so hard I’m dizzy with it. It’s like I’m a gas tank and each look of disbelief, each laugh or denial in her eyes gives my anger more and more fuel. When I look back at her, I find her mouth open ready to say god knows what. I point a finger at her and she shakes her head and laughs again to herself and it’s as if she lit a match. It sets me on fire. “I blamed myself,” I say softly at first, but then, I scream it. I scream it so loud and so long, that it feels ridiculously satisfying. “I BLAMED MYSELF!”

  The silence in the air feels shocking after such a loud outburst. It feels like I’ve always needed to scrape the words off of my heart and lay them bare - to say them aloud. “Do you get that? Did that even occur to you? God Tatum, for a long time, I hated myself for not being able to save her,” I confess, quieter now. “To not be able to save you such complete and utter pain. I thought that maybe if I had gotten you to the hospital faster it would have saved her. Maybe if I had insisted you quit going to school and quit working, she would have been okay. Maybe if I had demanded we go to the doctor when you complained about back pain earlier in the day, it would have made all the difference. So many ‘what if’s’, so many things I came up with that I should have done. Lists, Tatum, I made goddamn lists – on paper over and over - in my mind of all the ways I failed you both.”

  “You never said a word about it.”

  “Of course I didn’t. I couldn’t. I couldn’t voice any of it. I couldn’t say a thing. All I wanted was to hold you, cry with you, rant and rave at the world with you, and grieve together. Instead, I held it in. I kept it to myself because you-” I break off as a vision of her all those years ago flashes before my eyes, and I let myself remember.

  I remember the vivid contrast of her dark hair against white sheets as she lay in bed for god knows how many hours. I remember the film of grief over her eyes, the gauntness in her cheeks, and the lack of will in her movements. I remember how she would sit and stare for hours at nothing. I remember how she would cry constantly, and nothing I said or did could soothe her. I let myself remember how certain days I had to beg her to get out of bed and I would leave the apartment to go to work and sit in my car and cry. I remember feeling helpless, and feeling scared when she would stare at nothing for hours and would refuse to eat. I remember promising God anything if he would just help me find a way to help her.

  “You couldn’t take on my pain too,” I tell her honestly. “I couldn’t do that to you, so instead I hid it the best way I could. I lied about it, and I tried to take care of you, but I didn’t know what to do, or how to help you,” I confess. “But, nothing ever seemed to help. Half the time I don’t think you even knew I was there.”

  She walks up to me, and shakes her head. “So your solution was to get rid of me? The first solution that came along you jump on whole-heartedly and push me out?” Tears start to fall down her cheeks and she swipes at them in anger. “You wanted me gone,” she says and then out of nowhere she pushes me hard. “You left me! You abandoned me!” she screams. “I may have been the one to physically pack and leave, but as soon as that scholarship came in, you couldn’t wait to get me out of there. You left me emotionally, long before I moved away. It was like I was a broken piece of furniture that you decided you no longer wanted in your home. I was disposable.”

  “You’re wrong,” I state emphatically.

  “How can you fucking say that?” she screams and pushes me again.

  I stare at her for a minute and am consumed by her heaving breaths, red cheeks and watery eyes. Damn, she’s beautiful. She takes my breath away. Always has and always will. And in seeing her more clearly, I instantly remember where we are, and what day it is and my anger tapers off and vanishes. “This isn’t going to get us anywhere. We can’t change things, and yelling at each other here and now isn’t how I intended to spend my visit with Hope.”

  She stares at me with her arms crossed and says nothing. Moving past her, I finally set down the flowers I brought for my little girl at the base of her headstone. “Hi, sweet girl. I’m sorry it’s been a few weeks since I’ve been here to see you. Things have been a bit busy, and the days have been getting away from me too fast. But, you know that I think about you every day.” I touch the top of her stone and then bend down to pull a small weed from the corner placing it into my pocket to dispose of later. They do a great job keeping things looking nice here, but I take care of whatever they miss. “Happy Birthday, Hope. If you were here, I think your gift this year would have been a pink bike, or maybe blue, depending on your favorite color. I do know it would have had a huge basket on the front and I’m pretty sure a bell would be required. I bet you’d be a natural which means you’d be a speed demon and you’d need that bell to warn people out of your way.” I smile at the thought and then trace my fingers over her name. “I love you. I’ll be back soon.”

  Turning, keeping my head down, I decide it’s past time to leave. Stopping when I’m side by side with Tatum, I don’t look into her face, but tell her one last thing. “I know you don’t believe it, and that’s okay. But, I just want to say that I will never get over losing her, and I will never get over losing you.”

  With that, I begin walking to my car, picking up the pace the further I retreat from Hope’s grave, eager to leave and have some time to myself to contemplate the words spoken here today.

  “You were here a few weeks ago?” Her voice stops me and after a short pause, I turn around. Reluctantly meeting her eyes, I sigh, not wanting to argue any longer. She repeats herself, “Do you come here often?”

  “As often as I can, yes.”

  “For the last five years?”

  Nodding, I tell her honestly, “Every chance I get.”

  She looks away and I see tears fall down her cheeks again, “I don’t understand you, Cole. I don’t understand at all.”

  Walking to her, I hesitate, but then decide I have nothing to lose. I have to be careful, I can’t tell her everything, but I will say what I can without jeopardizing anything. Taking the tops of her arms into my hands, I give them a slight squeeze. I half expect her to pull away, but she lifts her chin and her eyes that were staring at my chin before meet my own. “I know that it doesn’t make sense to you. I get it. All I can say is that not everything is what it seems.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I can’t say more than that.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” she asks again, frustration evident in her tone.

  “You leaving…it broke me. It wasn’t easy, but to me, it was the only way to save you.”

  “Maybe I didn’t want to be saved.”

  “Yes you did.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “We both know that, Tatum, now more than ever. Life…it can be taken so quickly, without warning, and so easily. Being alive, even when it seems to be the hardest choice of the two, is a gift. Choosing anything else, it’s not an option, not when living for her,” I nod toward Hope’s grave, “and carrying her with us, is the only way that she can stay alive too.”

  Tears fall down her face non-stop now, but she nods and wipes them away. I find myself smiling at her and tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t let myself show you my pain at your leaving. I was afraid that if I did, you wouldn’t go. And you needed to go. Staying here, it wouldn’t have helped you get well.”

  “You don’t know that. We could have talked about it, found some other way.”

  I shake my head, knowing that there wasn’t another way. The school, her art, it was the only thing that would have brought her the healing she needed. And in order for it to happen for her, she had to leave. That was the deal, like it or not. My wants and desires didn’t matt
er, and besides, putting her needs first was easy. There was no other way. “There wasn’t,” I tell her.

  “I don’t understand,” she says in confusion.

  “I know. Just remember what I said, not everything is always the way it seems.”

  She sighs and I can see her irritation. I don’t blame her. “It was…well…I am happy that I got to see you again,” I tell her. “I think of you often and I’m glad that you are doing well.” My hands fall from her arms and my fingers twitch with the need and desire to put them back.

  “I’m glad I got to see you too.”

  Before I can think twice, I lean in and kiss her cheek. Moving back to look at her face, I brush my thumb over her cheek, then take a chance and lean in and place a kiss on her mouth. Her breath catches in surprise, but I linger there for a few seconds before pulling back and dropping my hands from her completely. With one last long look at her, I turn and walk away without another word knowing I need to be the one to do so this time around. I don’t think I can handle watching her leave one more time.

  I’m almost to the gate that leads to the parking lot when I hear her words ring out and they stop me in my tracks. “Cole! Wait! Please. Don’t leave me. I don’t… I don’t want you to go.”

  As soon as the words are out of my mouth I have a moment of wishing it were possible for me to snatch them out of the air and take them back. My mind is a carousel of thoughts; whirling so fast I can barely compute them all. One minute I’m angry at his lack of caring and the ease of which he was able to move on, and in the next I’m faced with a different reality. One in which he felt broken too, one where he suppressed his own emotions in order to take the best care of me. Where he tells me that things aren’t what they seem. What does that even mean? Can I really not see him again without getting to the bottom of that comment? Is simply knowing there is more to it than meets the eye good enough or me? Hell no.

  As if that’s not enough, to find out he visits Hope routinely makes my heart ache with longing. Longing to jump into his arms so I can thank him for taking care of our girl. It may be something that may not seem like a big deal to some, but to me, it’s everything. All these years I couldn’t let myself think about the fact that she was here – alone. But she hasn’t been. Not at all.

  His back is to me and I have no doubt a gamut of expressions cross my face before he turns around to face me. I’m unsure of what I want here – the words poured from my mouth before I could give them definition. What I do know is that I don’t want him to leave. The thought makes me feel like I can’t breathe. Maybe it’s because there’s unfinished business between us. Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen him in so long and even after all this time, some part of me connects the essence of coming home to be defined as simply being in his presence. Or it could be nothing more than the fact that letting go is hard. With him, I think it always will be. I should probably just let him leave. It will hurt…it will feel like breaking my arm in a way, but while the pain will linger for a while, it will eventually disappear. It will heal.

  He’s staring at me, not saying a word. I open my mouth to tell him I’m crazy, that I don’t know why I said that. To just forget it. By the look on his face I wonder if he even heard me correctly, but I’m sure as hell not going to say it again, even if he asks me to repeat myself. I find myself returning his stare, not moving, not speaking, just waiting to see what he does. When he begins walking toward me, I hold my breath. I’m afraid if I don’t, he’ll be able to tell how nervous I am.

  When we’re toe to toe, he asks, “How much longer will you be in Arizona?”

  Not what I was expecting. Letting my breath out slowly, I take a moment to answer. “A few more days.”

  He nods and his jaw clenches as he looks away. I take the opportunity to devour his face. I admire his strong stubbly jaw, his chiseled cheekbones, and strong neck. My eyes quickly move over his body, unable to keep myself from checking out the changes since I last saw him. He’s bigger now than before. His shoulders are broader; his muscles under his short sleeve shirt more defined. He’s added artwork to his arms. I can’t help but wonder if he’s added work anywhere else too. Where are they located? What do they mean to him? When and why did he get them? My fingers twitch at the thought of tracing the designs and asking him.

  He looks back at me and his eyes scan my face. “Would you…” His voice trails off and he appears to hesitate looking down at the ground before looking back at me. I wait a beat for him to finish his sentence, but he remains silent. “Would I what?” I prompt.

  He clears his throat, but he doesn’t make eye contact with me. The toe of his shoe kicks at the ground while he speaks to me, “Would you want to spend some time together over the next couple of days before you leave?”

  My stomach falls, but it isn’t from dread, it’s from excitement. It feels heavy yet light at the same time. I shouldn’t feel this way, it isn’t right, but once again, I’m answering before thinking, “Yes. Yes, I would like that. What do you have in mind?”

  He shrugs, “I have some commitments that I can’t get out of, but other than that maybe we can….I don’t know… go to the fair that’s in town? Get some meals together? See the guys? I’m sure they would love to see you, if you’re game.”

  The thought of seeing those crazy men brings a smile to my face. It’s been too long and while part of me is nervous to see them again, I know that it will be great too. “I would really like that. I’d like to spend some time with you. Like we used to.” I tell him honestly, but then realize how that may sound. We aren’t lovers anymore so I add nervously, “As friends.”

  He nods and smiles which makes my stomach start doing back flips. “Okay. I have to go to training now, but can I pick you up for dinner tonight?”

  “Sure. I’d like that.”

  “Okay. I’ll be at your hotel at six. Does that work for you?” I nod, and we both smile at each other awkwardly for a moment. “Are you leaving now? I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “Yes, that would be great.”

  With one final look back at Hope, I follow Cole to my car and with a promise to see him later, drive off.

  It was stupid to agree to this. I’m a nervous wreck and I’ve yanked every single item of clothing I brought with me out of my suitcase and discarded each one only to realize that left me with nothing. Going out naked is certainly not an option. I considered going shopping to buy something, but quickly nixed that idea feeling as if it seemed too date like. And this is not a date; this is two people with a history taking some time to catch up. That’s all.

  Yanking on jeans and a yellow dolman top with a cute design, I slip my feet into some flats and then tackle my hair. Just as I’m finishing up, my phone rings. For a moment, I wonder if Cole had a change of heart and is calling me to cancel. One look at my phone changes that and I guiltily contemplate not answering his call again, but with a sigh I decide to stop avoiding a conversation.

  “Hi, Blaine.”

  “Tatum, finally, hi. I’ve been trying to reach you. How are you?”

  “I’m doing good. How are you?” He’s tried calling several times today and I’ve ignored each one. I know he’s checking in to see how I’m handling today – he knows what day it is. And I appreciate it, but I just haven’t been able to talk to him about it. I’m not sure why.

  “I’m missing you, and thinking about you. I know it’s a tough day for you. So, how are you doing today - really?” There. There it is. The reason I haven’t wanted to speak to him. It isn’t the question, it’s one that anyone would or could ask me if they knew why today is a tough day. It’s his tone of voice. I’ve come to learn the difference between what I call his normal voice and his doctor voice. Right now, he’s using his doctor voice on me. I guess this is what happens when you date someone that used to be your therapist. Perhaps it’s something he simply can’t shut off, but I wish he would. There have been many times when I’ve wanted him to be my boyfriend, my lover, my confidant, my frie
nd, anything but my therapist. I want to be able to speak without feeling like everything I say is being evaluated.

  “Tatum? Are you there?”

  “Yes, sorry. My mind is wandering a bit, I apologize.”

  “It’s understandable. It must be difficult – different for you this year– being there. Anything you need to talk about?”

  I consider not telling him. Part of me doesn’t really think it’s his business and if I’m honest with myself that is definitely something I need to evaluate at another time. But, instead, I find myself blurting it out, maybe because it’s at the forefront of my mind, “I saw Cole today.”

  “I wondered if maybe that would happen while you were there. How did it go?”

  I’m not sure what I expected, or if I expected anything specific really. It’s not like Blaine was going to act jealous, or tell me to get away from Cole, or beg me to come home. That’s not like him, and I know that. Still, I find his response to be a let down. Again, something to think on I suppose. “It was…intense.”

  “And how would you define intense? What did it feel like? I recall that you two had a number of things that were left unstated. How do you feel having seen him?”

  “I feel fine. I feel…lighter in some ways, but heavier in others.”

  “That’s to be expected, Tatum. Would you like to elaborate?”

  “Thank you, Blaine, but no.” I mutter sarcastically.

  “What was that?”

  Lying, I say, “I said, I’m seeing him again.”

  “Well that’s really good. Quite healthy, actually, assuming that seeing him involves civil conversation and not screaming and yelling. Although, some of that would be good too if indeed that is what you need. Just get out all of your feelings.” He goes into complete therapist mode now. “In my opinion, I believe that seeing him will help you be able to fully let go in some ways and you’ll finally be able to allow yourself to completely move forward. This is a big step toward your healing and it’s not one that many people would be able to make. You should be proud of yourself for that. Give yourself a pat on the back.”