If

by Nina G. Jones

  “Let me take care of it,” Bird said.

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “Please, let me thank you,” our way of convincing the other to accept help when we were too weak to admit we needed it. “Allow me to take care of you. It’ll distract me anyway.”

  I relented and she came back with a first aid kit.

  “Bird, I’m keeping my promise. I’ve been getting help. You were right. There’s more going on. And I’m going to try as hard as I can to get better.”

  She smiled softly at me. She knew what I wanted, but this was not the time to ask for second chances. I would rather earn her back anyway. I wanted her to really trust that I wouldn’t leave her again.

  “That’s all I ever wanted for you.”

  Once the new bandage was on, she kissed my hand. “All better?” she asked.

  I couldn’t help myself. I pulled her towards me and kissed her. It was gentle, sweet. Things weren’t going further tonight.

  She pressed her forehead to mine and the tears returned. I understood that type of grief, how it would seem still and then it would burst out of you before you even had a chance to stop it.

  “I just want to disappear,” she cried.

  “I’m not going to let you, Bird. I’m never going to let you out of my sight again.”

  BIRD

  I WISH I could say I remembered much about Jordan’s wake or funeral, but it was all a haze. What I do remember is Ash was always there. Like air, he was always present, necessary, but never intrusive. His presence gave me the strength to get through those difficult days. But it was the days after the funeral, when I had to try and learn how to start a life without my best friend that would be the hardest.

  It was so sudden. We didn’t have time to prepare or say goodbye. Jordan’s death hadn’t even really sunk in until after we buried him. And when it did hit, I felt like every moment of every day, I was trying to move forward in quicksand. And the harder I tried the more I sank.

  Ash was there. He held me on the bathroom floor as I cried. He listened to me when I needed to talk and other times he sat with me in complete silence. He was my strength when I thought I couldn’t possibly muster up my own.

  I met Ash’s mother at his father’s funeral. I learned that’s where he got his sage eyes. The situation in which we met was not ideal, but she was gracious considering the circumstances. She also insisted Ash bring his “friend” over for dinner someday like any curious mother would.

  When we got back to my place after his father’s funeral, Ash was quiet. But the quiet was not peaceful. I could sense things stirring inside of him. Things he was afraid to let me see.

  He wanted to be strong for me, but I needed to let him be weak. I needed to be the one to carry us.

  He walked into the kitchen to get some water and I followed him. His back was turned to me as he poured the glass. I came up to him from behind and whispered, “It’s okay to be sad, Ash. You don’t have to hold it in for me.”

  He stopped pouring the glass and carefully placed the pitcher onto the counter. Then he turned, looking me in the eyes, they were right at the brim, but he was fighting with every last sliver of fortitude.

  I looked into his green eyes, framed by pale pink, stressed from holding in grief and I caressed the side of his face. “Tell me what you’re feeling Ash. Let me help you. Let me thank you.”

  I wrapped my arms around him and I felt two great two great heaves as he pushed out the tears. He wrapped his arms around me like I was the only thing keeping him afloat.

  Asher didn’t bury his feelings under cryptic language so he could later punish himself. He told me all his regrets, his fears. He told me everything, his nightmares where his sister’s death morphed into me drowning just like her. He told me about how scared he was to snap again. How he was afraid that one day the meds might stop working or take away his synesthesia. How terrified he was of being sent to a hospital and all the details of his first breakdown.

  That’s when I realized Ash had grown.

  I finally had all of Ash. Not just pieces of him. All of him.

  BIRD

  Two weeks after Jordan’s death, I went to visit Trevor. He was originally from San Francisco, which meant he had family to help, but Anna was now my responsibility, too. Trevor and Anna were my family.

  While I was gone, Ash went to his mother’s for a family get-together. When he told me about the plans, it brought the first glimmer of joy to my heart since Jordan’s death.

  I pulled up to their townhouse. My heart hurt knowing I wouldn’t hear Jordan’s booming laugh through its halls and that I wouldn’t be greeted at the door with one of his bear hugs that included an extra spin for me. I had taken my time with Jordan for granted. It’s so easy to do that when you think you have all the time in the world with someone.

  I rang the doorbell and I heard a commotion behind the door, including a dog’s barking and Anna calling out. “It’s Buwdie!”

  “Hey, beautiful,” Trevor said as he swung the door open. He had a smile on his face, but I could see the bags under his eyes from crying and lack of sleep.

  “Hey, beautiful,” I said back. It was a joke with us, since Trevor was so damned gorgeous.

  We hugged, but unlike our usual greetings, this hug lingered. And then it morphed into a tight embrace as we both wept. Trevor was surrounded by family throughout the funeral and it was the first time he and I were alone. Jordan was almost always with us, and so that made his absence more prevalent.

  We cried for a few minutes and then I noticed little Anna looking up at us, confused. That poor little girl had gone through so much.

  I wiped my tears and knelt down. “Hey, my little buttercup,” I said kissing her forehead. She stared at my hair like she was hypnotized and curled it around her fingers. She had always been fascinated by my hair. I gave her an Eskimo kiss. Anna softly cupped my face. My face was just auntie Birdie, the face the kissed her, laughed with her, danced with her. She didn’t see my scars.

  We moved to their backyard, watching Anna play in her miniature swing set.

  “That little girl is what’s keeping me going right now,” he said.

  I rubbed Trevor’s shoulder. I didn’t feel right telling him the loss I felt. Whatever I felt, his pain had to be tenfold.

  “How are you doing, Bird?”

  “I’m okay.” It took everything I had to choke down the knot that rose all the way up from my stomach.

  “I know he would want us to be happy. And I will be one day, but right now I miss him so much.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  “You were the sister he never had. He loved you so much, Bird.”

  The words pushed the knot up so that I couldn’t contain the tears any longer. I felt like I had to confess to Trevor. I had to tell him it was me who put him in an early grave.

  “Trevor, I wasn’t nice to him the last time I saw him. God, if I could get that moment back. I would have never let him leave.”

  “Don’t do that. Brothers and sisters fight. People who care about each other fight. Shit happens. Jordan got caught in a shit storm. We can’t live our lives with what ifs. There’s too fucking many of them. You know he wasn’t supposed to come down until the next week, but because of a work thing I made him go earlier so he could watch Anna. I could sit here all day asking myself why I did that.”

  “You can’t do that to yourself.”

  “Exactly, and neither can you.”

  I spent the rest of the day watching Netflix with Trevor, teaching Anna some dance steps, and doing my best to learn how to live again. Trevor and I agreed to make this happen often. The next day, I headed back home.

  BIRD

  When I got back home from San Francisco, I found Ash in the kitchen frantically toiling over several pots and pans.

  It was the first time I had felt normal in a while.

  “Hello,” I called out over the sounds of the record player and sizzling. He jumped and spun around. He was w
earing my ruffled apron and I burst out into laughter.

  “That’s great. Just laugh at a man who’s secure enough in his manhood to wear a floral ruffled apron.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s hilarious. Though there is something oddly sexy about it . . .”

  Maturity looked good on Ash. Of course he was only twenty-six, but wow did twenty-six look good on him. Twenty-one looked good too, but twenty-six was like Ash with sprinkles on top.

  “Can I help? I don’t recall you being much of a cook . . .”

  “That’s why they invented the internet.”

  “Oh, this is going to be baaaaad. How was your mom’s?”

  “It was good. It’s still hard. Everyone is trying to be positive and commemorate my father with fun stories, but I missed out on so much. I can’t help but feel like such an asshole.”

  I felt for him. I wanted to turn back the clock and give him those years. But what was important was he was letting those thoughts out right away instead of letting them rot him from the inside out.

  “I understand. You’re not though. You are one of the most caring people I know.”

  He gave me a half-smile. “Everyone is trying so hard to make me feel welcome because they are so afraid I’ll leave again.”

  “I know all about that too,” I said.

  Ash didn’t reply to that one. I wasn’t trying to throw a jab at him, it was just honesty. Ash had been perfect, but I still had that flicker of doubt that he was capable of disappearing again. I just couldn’t shake that fear.

  We sat down to a scrumptious dinner of overcooked pasta and rubbery chick parm. Ironically, it was the most I had eaten in weeks.

  I stepped away to the bathroom and when I came out, the record player was on again, playing a song that brought me back to my time with Ash in my small studio. It was the song we first kissed to.

  “May I have this dance?” he asked with his arm extended.

  I smiled and shook my head as I walked over and gave him my hand. This time it wasn’t two tentative kids working their way up to a kiss. I fit comfortably against him as he rested a hand on my hip and held the other one up and out and we swayed softly, side to side.

  I rested my head on his shoulder and took in his scent, the faint lingering of his bergamot and orange body wash. He leaned his cheek against mine, so the scruff of his beard gently scratched my cheek.

  We hadn’t done anything other than kiss a few times; there was just too much death surrounding us. I was just trying to survive. But finally I felt desire swell inside of me. I rubbed my free hand up Ash’s chest, his neck and then through his hair, tugging on it as I looked up for my lips to meet his.

  He grabbed me and I wrapped my legs around him as he carried me to my oversized windowsill. It was one of my favorite spots in the condo. Just to the side of us was downtown LA, the place that for all its good and bad, brought us together.

  “I want you inside of me,” I begged. “That’s all I want to feel.”

  He pulled himself out of his jeans. “I could live inside of you,” he said as he pressed his warm body against mine.

  BIRD

  I COOKED FOR Ash the next morning, making the works: pancakes, eggs, bacon.

  “Holy hell,” he said walking out to the feast in his naked splendor.

  “You do realize people in the building across the street can see you,” I said, throwing my apron at him.

  “Well, if you insist,” Ash replied, putting it on. He went into the fridge to grab something, showing me his exposed butt, which I promptly slapped.

  I was falling in love again. Not again. I never really stopped loving Ash. But this love was deeper, there were roots that were sunken deep into the earth. We had a better understanding of ourselves as people, allowing ourselves to be complete for each other.

  “Bird, I have to go back to New York,” Ash said solemnly during breakfast.

  My heart skipped. I was skittish. I exposed my soul to Ash all over again and he was going back to his old life. He never said we were a thing. We never committed to each other.

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Bird. I have to go back, for work. I have some projects I need to finish. I never intended on being in LA for so long.”

  “Of course. I understand.”

  “But, I don’t want this to end.”

  “Me neither,” I said.

  I was afraid I was jumping back in too fast. He still twitched and spoke in his sleep. He had just started seeing a therapist again. We lived on opposite ends of the country.

  “So how do we do this?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know where I’ll be in a few months.” I said. This time I wasn’t willing to give anything up for anyone.

  “I can take my work anywhere.”

  “Ash, you still need to finish up other things in New York. You’ve only scratched the surface.”

  “You’re right,” he said, standing up to take his plate to the sink. “But I’m coming back for you Bird. And if you’ll have me, I’d make a life with you on the fucking moon if I had to. I want to spend the rest of my life making up for those five years I missed. I want to watch you dance all over the world. I want to have children with you. We don’t have to choose between our careers and each other. We can have it all.”

  “I know Ash. And I love you so much, but—“

  “But I left you and I broke your heart. I know, I know,” he said, regretfully.

  I wanted to leap in his arms, I wanted to tell him that I wanted all those things, but I was afraid. We had had moments together before, moments so perfect I thought they would never end, and then they did.

  “I’m sorry, Ash. I pulled you into my life and I didn’t think about the obligations you had. I might have set expectations I don’t know if I am ready to jump into.”

  “Bird, I understand. But I’m only going back to become a better man for you. I’m not letting you go. You take your time. I’ll be waiting for you. If I have to wait forever, I’ll do it.”

  BIRD

  Ash left the next day.

  I was being smart about us. It always seemed like our relationship bore out of extreme circumstances. Losing my best friend accelerated things again, it made me too open to his love. I couldn’t let him back in so easily, not with the way he had left me the first time.

  I boxed up the special project to take to the frame shop. It made me wonder about what else I had of Ash’s. I went back down to the storage area and brought up the other boxes labeled “Ash.”

  In one of them was all of the art supplies I had gotten him. In another, there were all the crazy sketches he had left on the floor during his episode. And another was filled with many of the paintings he created during our dance and paint sessions. A few other boxes were other pieces from his roof project. Then there was one lonely piece. It seemed forgotten and neglected, rolled up by a thin rubber band and tucked away in a corner of one of the boxes. I pulled off the rubber band and unraveled it.

  Our tree. The one we never got to finish. I stared at it for a while as I sat on the floor of the storage unit.

  This tree had waited years to be finished. If there was anything I had learned from Jordan’s passing it is that you don’t let people walk away. You deal with things head first. And you finish the damned tree.

  Ash was going to be working through painful issues. And I wasn’t going to keep waiting. I wasn’t going to let him walk away. I was going to hold his hand just like I intended years ago before our relationship ended abruptly. Because I loved Ash. And you don’t let the people you love walk away. You don’t waste another minute, because minutes are precious and they could be snatched away before you ever had a chance to say or do the things you always wanted to do.

  I loved him, and I wasn’t going to love in fear. I would love Ash fearlessly.

  I sent Ash off to heal himself, just after he spent weeks by my side, giving all of himself, despite his own loss, so that I could begin to heal. But that’s not ho
w I roll. That’s not Birdie Campbell. I go all in. I love hard. I was letting fear and pain dictate how I love. Well, no more.

  I rolled the tree back up and prepared myself to go back to the business of loving. Hard.

  ASH

  I had my first day of Eye Movement Therapy. It was supposed to help reprogram my brain to deal with the PTSD. It sucked to be forced to remember and utter all the things that put me in this state, but I had to work through them. I had to get unstuck from those moments.

  Though I hit the ground running on the therapy as soon as I returned, I missed Bird like hell. Nothing felt right without her.

  I wanted to be with Bird, but I couldn’t push her. Pushing her would be selfish. I understood how hard it was to love someone like me. I understood she had to decide on her own that she trusted me again.

  That evening, I buried myself in painting. I had a new set of pieces I had been toying around with. Normally, the art would flow, but I was stuck. All I could think about was Bird. How complete things felt with her. All of my energy was used resisting the urge to call her and beg her to come out. I had to respect her choices, even if I didn’t like them, but it was draining.

  Then my doorbell rang.

  “What the . . . ?” I mouthed to myself as I peeped through the peephole.

  There was no one there.

  I opened the door and peeked my head out.

  I saw the azure and teal waves as a voice declared, “There’s something you have to finish, WATT.”

  Her footsteps were measured as they neared the nook where my door was. I couldn’t believe my ears or my eyes. She held up a painting, the paper curled along the edges as though it had been rolled up a long time. I recognized the choppy strokes of greens, oranges, pinks, and yellows.

  “I’ve been waiting a long time to finish that one.”

  “We need to pick up where we finished with my lessons. I still don’t know how to paint one effin’ tree.”

  “You were my favorite—and only—student.”

  She dropped the painting to the side as I wrapped my arms around her waist and kissed her soft lips. Lavender filled my nose. She was the sweetest, and brightest, and most aromatic thing.