Beautiful Together

by Andrea Wolfe

"It went... well?" I asked.

  "Yeah," she said. "As well as it could have. They relived the past together. He wants to help with the funeral."

  We both continued picking at our food while guzzling coffee.

  "I brought something for you, Naomi," Donna said suddenly. "Mason would have wanted you to have it."

  She pulled out a small jewelry box and slid it across the table to me. "Donna, you didn't have to."

  "Just open it," she said, a warm smile on her face.

  Inside the jewelry box was a gorgeous silver necklace, lightly worn like an antique, with a light green gemstone pendant. I had to cover my mouth. "Oh my God. Donna, whoa. It's... beautiful." I draped it over my hand, shocked at how incredible it was.

  "It's been passed down since Mason's great-grandma. I didn't have any daughters, so I was going to give it to him so he could give it to someone he really loved." She smiled. "So I think that means it's for you."

  I started to cry. "Donna, no. I don't deserve this."

  "You deserve it more than anyone," she said firmly.

  "No," I protested, shaking my head. "I wasn't even there last night. I'm so sorry," I said, hot shame tainting my words. "I should have been there, but I just couldn't hold myself together anymore."

  Donna smiled at me. "I totally understand. Naomi, I do. I'm not going to tell anyone you weren't there. You did all you could. It wasn't selfish." She took a long sip of her coffee. "He wasn't even awake at the end. You saw him the last time he really knew what was going on. He's not suffering anymore, and that's what's important."

  I felt myself crumbling again. I put the necklace back into the little box and closed it. "Yeah," I said. "He was in so much pain. I hated seeing him like that."

  "Me too," she said. She took a drink from her coffee. "You're definitely keeping the necklace, okay? It's what I want, and it's what he would have wanted, too."

  "Yeah," I said reluctantly. What good did it do to fight her wishes? I still didn't feel like it should be mine, but then again, who else was there?

  "I want you to give a speech at the funeral, Naomi," she asked earnestly. "Do you think you can do that? You probably knew him better than anyone. Just say a few words?"

  I felt my breath escaping like I had been punched in the gut. "Yeah," I squeaked out, unsure of what the request truly meant. It seemed like something I could do. "I'll do my best."

  "We're doing the showings over the weekend. And then the funeral is on Monday. They're cancelling school, actually."

  "Wow." I laughed through fresh tears. "He was so important that they cancelled school for him. He would have loved that."

  "I know," Donna said. "You're so right."

  18

  "We'd like you to come to the showing and the funeral with us." It was my dad, doing his typical diplomatic song and dance. "We should act like a family, whether we really are one or not."

  The week was over, and now I was faced with a weekend of desolation and inescapable death. I would see my former boyfriend cleaned up for the showing, his body skinny, pale, and covered in make up so that people could comfortably pay their final respects.

  They wouldn't see him how he really was.

  Initially, that familiar spark of defiance overtook me. "Dad, you're just trying to make sure that nobody finds out that I'm not living with you anymore. That things fell apart. That wouldn't look good for you at work, would it?"

  My saliva literally tasted bitter after I stopped talking.

  He fell silent. "Naomi, please consider this. I made mistakes, and I'm sorry. And I'm sorry about what happened to Mason. I guess it's just our way of trying to be supportive. I don't know what else to do."

  His mention of the keyword Mason disarmed me pretty quickly. And his refusal to get fired up definitely brought me down a couple of notches. "Okay, but that's it, though," I said. "That's all I'm doing. I'm not moving back in."

  "Yeah, yeah, that's fine," he said. "It would... mean a lot to us."

  "And what about mom?"

  "What about her?"

  "Did she apologize? Does she regret what she said to me? Does she even care?" I was saying the words through clenched teeth. "I'm not... over it."

  It was almost as if I could hear him shrugging. "She's stubborn, as you know, and she believes she's doing the right thing in the eyes of the Lord. We just... don't talk about it. But I promise you, nothing like that will ever happen again. You have my word—I'll... stick up for you."

  Again, I was crying. But I didn't want him to know. The separation from my family had been crucial in shaping my identity since leaving the house. But I wasn't sure if the war was ending or if this was just a ceasefire.

  "Yeah, I guess I'll do it," I said. "But only that."

  "Will you come by before the showing on Sunday and have dinner with us?"

  I stopped to think. He was obviously trying to maximize his gains.

  "I guess," I said, acquiescing. It's not like they were going to hold me hostage. A family meal was a family meal—and I wasn't stable enough to start a ruckus about it. I wasn't strong enough.

  "It would mean a lot to us, hon."

  The conversation fizzled out quickly after that. His goals achieved, my dad backed off.

  ***

  I decided not to go to a showing until the one on Sunday with my parents, hoping to spare myself any additional grief. Saturday was spent hiding in my room, trying obsessively to write the speech. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make anything as effective or poignant as I wanted.

  I had so much to say about Mason, but I knew a lot of it didn't belong in the speech. I figured this was a common problem for people in my position. I just kept writing and writing, fruitlessly filling page after page with no luck.

  I tried writing on plain white printer paper. I tried different colored pens. I tried typing on my laptop. I just couldn't get the words to come out right.

  No matter how much effort I put in, I couldn't make it work. The knowledge that I'd have to spend time with my family the next day probably factored heavily into my creative struggles. I dreaded it, even though I was the one who agreed to it.

  By the end of the night, I still had nothing.

  Sunday, I woke early, ready to give it another shot. It was a beautiful, warm spring morning. At the very least, I felt good.

  But still, I didn't get anywhere. I was too easily distracted, my mind going off on crazy tangents. I was running out of time. I gave up and got ready, putting on a dressy black blouse and slacks.

  Arielle dropped me off at my parents house. I brought my notebook and pen along, just in case I found myself with some extra inspiration.

  "Good luck," she said. "I'll be waiting for you. Just stay calm around your mom."

  "I will," I said. "I'll see you later."

  I watched her back out of the driveway and disappear. That moment meant it was real. My lifeline to that other world had vanished. For now, I was on my own.

  And I had one hell of a headache.

  I sulked up to the porch and knocked on the screen door. "Hey?"

  My dad immediately dropped his newspaper and jumped up from his chair. "Hi, Naomi!" he said politely. "Thanks for coming."

  "Yeah, it's nothing," I said.

  My mom peeked in from the kitchen. "Hi, Naomi," she said almost robotically. "Dinner won't be ready for a little bit."

  "Okay, thanks." I stopped in the bathroom and downed three aspirin before sitting down with my dad in the living room.

  We talked for about ten minutes until I got a text. It was Jesse:

  Jesse: Can I bring you a copy of the program for tomorrow to look at? They need to get them printed ASAP.

  Oh yeah, Donna had said he was helping with the funeral.

  I felt like I had seen a ghost. Every hair stood up on my neck. I was nervous about seeing him under these circumstances. My head throbbed even harder.

  But I needed to do this. It wasn't the time to be bitter about the past. I told him where I
was. He said he'd be by in ten minutes.

  "Dad, I'm going to sit outside for a little while," I said. "I'm trying to write a speech for the funeral and I think a change of scenery might help."

  "Of course," he said, still overly polite. "Do what you need to do."

  "Just let me know when dinner is ready, okay?"

  "Yeah, sure," he said, lifting his paper until it once again obscured his face.

  I grabbed my notebook, downed three more aspirin, and then went outside. The sun was gorgeous, and there was a faint, warm breeze. I initially propped myself up on the deck furniture, but after finding it uncomfortable, I settled on the stairs. My pen still wouldn't move.

  I couldn't stop thinking about everything.

  Nervousness pulsed through my veins. I hadn't anticipated running into Jesse, especially not in private. I wondered why he hadn't just offered to give me the program at the showing.

  I also didn't really care. Maybe he wanted something else, maybe he didn't.

  And then he pulled up in his red truck and it all came crashing down.

  We feuded, we shouted, we snarled. We burned each other with our bottled up emotions like they were torches. We fought like dogs trained to kill.

  It all felt like a mistake, a stupid mistake. And then he left.

  Why had he come here at all?

  As I charged into the house sobbing, my dad called to me. "Naomi? What happened?"

  He had definitely overheard some of the interaction, but I didn't know how much. Sometimes he had very selective hearing when he was reading something that interested him.

  "Just a fight," I muttered. "Just a stupid fight with Jesse Evans."

  I rushed up the stairs instinctively, like I still lived in that house, like the old routines that governed my life were still intact. I ran into my room and slammed the door, hit by waves of nausea and shock as I remembered where I was.

  And then I fell into my old chair and started writing.

  19

  There I was at the funeral home lectern, in front of the biggest crowd I had ever addressed. I think our entire graduating class was in attendance. Mr. Brown sat near the front along with Donna and Dennis. A lot of the community was there.

  Miraculously, I wasn't nervous. I noticed Jesse in the crowd too, but I didn't care. I was wearing the necklace Donna gave me, and it felt cool against my skin.

  I just had a message to deliver, that was all. It wasn't about me. It was about the words I had hastily scribbled down and barely edited.

  I started:

  "It's not easy being young, and I don't think anyone in this room would disagree with me. We do everything we can to plan for the future, to live up to the standards and expectations set by our parents. Rarely do we ever succeed, but we try so hard sometimes it hurts.

  "Of everyone I've ever known, Mason Ross was the most likely to exceed any expectation any parent could have ever set. He was a shining star in life; now he shines in death. It's clear that he impacted every person here, and that fact deserves mention and praise. It's a feeling that won't fade anytime soon.

  "I don't know much about life or death. I'm only eighteen. I only have questions, not answers. I don't know where Mason is now. I don't know where he'll be a week from now. Or in years. I think I have an idea, but I'm not sure. Nobody knows for sure.

  "Maybe it's controversial to say that. I don't think it is. I'm okay with it, actually, at least right now. We spend our whole lives searching for specific answers to things, for clues or experiences that prove and validate what we want to believe. We're human after all, and that's what we do. And sometimes we just don't have the answers.

  "The last eight months were horrible for all of us closest to Mason. And don't think I'm downplaying his struggles, because I'm not. We saw everything from a difficult perspective, one that included plenty of good and bad and worse.

  "We watched him wither away from the chemo, then rise up to fight his battle again and again. There were incredible moments, moments in which we were certain he'd finally beat the leukemia. I wonder what he thought during the times when we were so relieved.

  "But then, as the same dark chain of events repeated endlessly, we learned the truth—he only got better so he could fight more, a tragedy in its own right. And then he lost.

  "Maybe he went to a better place. Maybe he didn't. All I know is his suffering ended. It stopped. It ceased. That's the greatest blessing to come from this. He's no longer in terrible pain. He's not held prisoner in that dull hospital room anymore, surrounded by a beautiful world he could never explore.

  "The only place we know Mason still lives is in our hearts and minds. And so, it's up to us to keep him alive. It's up to us to remember the good things he did, the incredible things he accomplished in such a short amount of time on Earth. The way he made us feel, his smile, his athletic abilities, his academic talents. His laugh, his..."

  I trailed off, choked up. Although I was occasionally looking into the audience, I wasn't seeing them at all. I was just cold and automatic. There was a cup of water for me on the lectern, and so I took a long drink and then continued:

  "I loved him—I did. Maybe it was just stupid teenage love. Maybe I'm not actually old enough to understand love. I know it's not like the love between mother and son or brother and brother, but it was my love. It was our love. A piece of me died with him; it withered away. It had to leave with him. It hurt worse than anything I've ever felt in my life, and I'll never forget that feeling.

  "Maybe I made mistakes. Everyone does sometimes. But all we can do now is change course and move forward, individually, and collectively. Mason doesn't have that option anymore. But that's not true for us. We are in control of our lives, but only if we choose to be.

  "So if you take one thing from this rambling speech, take the idea that life is fragile and sacred, even though we so easily forget that sometimes. Mason was strong and healthy, yet this happened to him. The cancer was stronger than he was. And sometimes that's how life goes. So be thankful for every day you get and make the most of it.

  "It's an incredible blessing to have lived at all in the beauty of this world, in the company of such wonderful people. If you keep that in mind, which I know Mason did, death doesn't have to be a horrible thing. It doesn't have to be the worst thing ever—but only if you choose to truly live in the present."

  I stood there for a moment, frozen. My eyes had reached the end of the page, and tears quickly settled there, blotching some of the ink. The speech was done, but my body wasn't sure how to respond.

  "I probably should have cut some of that out, but I didn't. I'm sorry," I mumbled.

  I grabbed the paper and crept back to my seat next to Donna. The room was painfully silent. Mournfully silent. I sat down and hugged her as the pastor began his closing words.

  Cemented to Donna's shoulder, sobbing, my mind went crazy. Grief made making sense almost impossible.

  Could I actually follow my own advice?

  That's what I wanted to know.

  That's what I needed to know.

  Part 2

  The Present

  20

  Four years later...

  My mouth was dry.

  It felt like my tongue had been replaced by a dirty square of sandpaper. I swallowed hard, instantly regretting the decision. The pain was sharp, and it felt like I was getting sick again.

  But it was probably just the dehydration.

  I grabbed my pint glass of water from the coffee table. Although it was nearly empty, there was enough for one good-sized gulp. I sat up as the water trickled down through my body, savoring the feeling. It was so good and refreshing, but it was clear that I needed more.

  I'd have to... refill the glass.

  It was still early, but the city was already wide-awake.

  The familiar scent of cigarettes was in the air. I had fallen asleep on the couch last night after getting high. Arielle and I went out for a couple of drinks and then came back here to smoke. Wel
l, she smoked and went to her bed with some guy; I just smoked.

  The drinking had made the weed that much more potent, and so it knocked me out quickly. I don't remember much after setting down the bong, and it was still exactly where I left it.

  Reluctantly, I entered the kitchen and refilled the pint glass. The counters were littered with pizza boxes and snack food wrappers. I stared at the mess while the glass grew heavier in my hand. I really need to clean soon, I thought.

  Honestly, I had that same thought almost every morning, but I never did anything about it. None of us did. We were far more likely to run down the street for a slice of pizza than we were to cook.

  Icy water suddenly spilled over my hand, harshly returning me to reality. Goose bumps broke out across my arm. The glass was overflowing, so I cranked off the faucet and pulled away.

  I took a long, contemplative drink as I stared out the window. New York City was always noisy and active. The fall had arrived quickly, and winter would be here soon. I didn't mind the cold if I was prepared for it, and as usual, I was.

  The sun was still low in the sky, painting everything with a rich golden haze.

  What the hell am I doing with myself? I thought.

  The question usually arose when I wasn't preoccupied with something else. First thing in the morning or the last thing before I fell asleep. If I was awake and busy, it never seemed to catch me.

  I broke away from my stupefaction and went back to the couch. Although my bed would have been more comfortable, the couch already had a me-shaped divot in the middle and so I returned there instead.

  As usual, I felt transient.

  What was I doing here?

  I stared up at the gray plaster ceiling, losing myself in the random shapes and patterns. My vision followed the water stains down the wall and settled near the modest flat screen television in the corner.

  It wasn't super fancy, but we used it a lot.

  Despite Arielle's full access to her dad's money, she never really asked for much beyond our rent—and that was okay with me.