The Best of Me

by Karlee Michelle

  “Love you, Dad,” I say as my head squishes against his chest.

  He lets out a deep sigh. “I love you too, kiddo. More than you’ll ever know.” With a kiss to my head, he and Drew head into the kitchen and help themselves to drinks just like they’ve done hundreds of times when they would come over.

  I laugh and turn towards my mom, who’s wearing a sad smile as she opens her arms out wide. “Hi, baby girl. C’mere.” I rush into her arms, the same coconut scent of her blonde hair comforting me like it always has. Drew is a replica of my mom but has my dad’s spirit. But I got my momma’s traits.

  Let the record show that I did so good today—so damn good. But that one sentence coming from her mouth opens the dam and I sob into her chest. She gently rocks side to side, running her fingers through my hair as my shaking body clings to hers.

  “I miss him so much it’s like I can’t breathe. I can’t get a good breath without him here. I’m suffocating and the one person that can give me life has lost his, Mom. He’s dead, and I’m so freaking angry.”

  “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.” I feel the gulp she takes, trying to be strong for me. “Look at me, Emery. You are allowed to grieve and be angry and question why. You’re allowed to mourn your husband. But don’t push us away. We’re here to help you adapt to this new path you’ve been thrown onto. And I know—it’s unfair. I agree. I miss him too. But we will get through this. Together. You hear me?”

  Sniffling, I wipe my eyes and take a breath. “Yeah, I hear you.”

  “Kay. Let’s go get some carbs on your bones. Fuel baby, fuel.”

  The four of us are sitting at the table and piling up our plates when Drew speaks up. “Remember the time I had to call you to pick me up from a party ‘cause I was drunk and my friends ditched me, but you fell asleep and Derek threw you into the car to come get me?”

  A loud laugh escapes my mouth. “Yes. I woke up alone in the car at a frat party. I was so confused.” My mom and dad's eyes are wide as saucers, making Drew and me laugh.

  “Sorry, y’all are about to hear a lot of situations about me you didn’t know about until now,” Drew says with a sassy look on her face. Dad rubs his hands down his face, muttering a curse word. But all three of us catch his hidden smile.

  “Oh, or the time he had a complete panic attack when we practically got into a fist fight when we stole each other’s clothes?” I add.

  Drew laughs uncontrollably. “Oh my gosh, yes! The moment he walked in and tried to break us up. We already forgave each other and just amped up the drama to give him a hard time.”

  “I’ll never forget, for as long as I live, our first date. Derek woke me up at four in the morning so we could go somewhere secret. He had this huge surprise—said he found this place one evening and just had to take me there. We drove two hours to watch the sunrise over a lake, but the sun was behind us and blocked by a huge complex under construction. He went at sunset previously and forgot the sun rises on the other side. So, we watched the sunrise over the excavators and cranes. I swear I laughed the entire two hours home. We had so much fun that day.”

  The smile fades on my face at one of my favorite memories, and we spend the rest of the evening telling stories, laughing, crying, and reminiscing about my guy. This is exactly what I needed.

  I needed my family.

  cingulomania—the strong desire

  to hold a person in your arms

  Emery

  September

  Open your eyes, Emery Jean.

  “No, because when I do, it’s going to hurt.” It’s going to hurt seeing Derek’s side of the bed empty when he should be lying there. He should be sleeping next to me while I make anniversary waffles and surprise him in bed. But he’s not here, and I have to spend my first wedding anniversary grieving and mourning my husband. So, no, I don’t want to open my eyes, Derek.

  Celebrate me, baby. Celebrate us.

  “There is no us because there is no you. It’s just me.” Just me talking to my dead husband on our first wedding anniversary, because that’s completely normal. I’ve managed to keep myself utterly busy, saturated with work or my family or Derek’s mom, anything I can to keep my mind from wandering to him because mornings and nights are torture enough. I climb into an empty bed, and with every move under the covers, the cold sheets remind me that my partner isn’t here.

  When I wake up to his side of the bed still made, it’s not because he already left for work, he’s just gone. Finally opening my eyes, I look at my phone, my lids barely staying open. I’m so tired because the whole night was riddled with nightmares, replaying the day I lost him—it’s mentally and physically exhausting. My arms set into motion, and I flip the covers off me and hop in the shower. I’m going to hide away today, but I’ll at least be clean while I mope.

  An hour later, I’m sitting on my couch, the sound of Netflix in the background while I scroll through my phone and eat a bagel with extra cream cheese as I try to think of the best way to spend today. An hour passes before I finally throw my phone down, blowing a fallen strand of hair out of my face. I’ve ignored every call I’ve received today, not in the mood for talking. I’m not in the mood for anything. Then it hits me—the lake.

  I change into something a little comfier, slide on my sandals, and walk out my sliding glass door to head to the place that sold Derek and me on this house in the middle of the country. The closest neighbor we have is close to a mile away. We loved the solitude, feeling the sun on our faces in the open fields and the freedom to do whatever we want out here. I wasn’t certain on our home until we looked around and found a small lake out back. It’s about a ten-minute walk through a thin smattering of trees, but it’s the most peaceful, serene scenery you’ll find.

  The crunch of twigs under my feet and the warm South Carolina breeze against my back brings a sense of familiarity. Derek and I would come out here every weekend, and without him, our favorite place escaped my mind.

  The trees break, and my feet stomp down the small hill into the rocky sand that outlines the water. I’ve no idea if it’s man-made or not, but this became my favorite place the moment we found it. Slipping off my flip-flops, I wiggle my toes into the sand before walking down the old, rickety dock, plopping down on my butt at the end to dip my feet in the cold water. The water is rarely warm, even in the thick of summer.

  Remember when I threw you in?

  The smile hits me immediately. “I’m still mad about that.”

  So am I. I had to buy you a new phone.

  “Shouldn’t have thrown me in then, huh?”

  God, I wish I could hold you right now.

  My chin quivers as I purse my lips to hold back the tears, but it doesn’t matter. The first sob leaves me as I bury my face into my hands. “Why? Why? Why did you have to leave me?” The physical pain in my chest throbs deep and low as my fingers shake. A slow rage fills my body, and I stand to my feet and pace the dock. The tips of my chewed fingernails dig into my palms over and over again before I stop and look at the sky.

  “Why did you take my husband?!” I scream at God, demanding an answer before I fall to my knees, the old wooden dock swaying from the impact as splintered wood tries to pierce my skin. “Oh, God, why? I can’t do this. Please bring him back. Please, please. I can’t do this without him.” My incoherent words drip devastation between each vowel—heartache between each consonant as I lay on my side on the dock, curled into a ball. My tears soak through the dry wood.

  “I miss you so much.”

  I miss you too, Emery Jean.

  “Wake me up from this nightmare, Derek. I can’t live through it anymore.” The fragile words fall from my lips and tumble onto the rippled water, soaking up tears.

  I’m sorry, baby.

  I remain on the dock, watching the water ripple from my cries for close to two hours, unmoving and lifeless before I take a deep breath and sit up, wiping my eyes.

  Atta girl. You can do this, Emery Jean.

  “I don’t w
ant to, Derek. I want things to go back to normal. I want to listen to you laugh and feel your touch. I don’t want to go through this,” I snap back, and when I do, I realize how ridiculous I sound arguing with a person who isn’t here.

  After a deep breath, I wipe my eyes and shake off the meltdown I had before standing up. Just as I’m about to step off the dock and onto the sand, I pause.

  I drop my shoes, throw off my shirt and shorts, and sprint to the end of the dock to launch myself into the freezing water. The cold temperature shocks my hot skin, and I try to stay under for as long as possible. It’s blissful torture, and the temptation of not coming up for air races through my mind, but the burning in my lungs makes me kick off the bottom of the lake and lunge to the top.

  I gasp for air when I break the surface. “Holy crap! Holy crap!”

  Can you hear my laugh? Because I am dying right now.

  “Not funny.” I glare in no particular direction as I spit out water and start swimming back to shore.

  Okay, okay. Too soon.

  Kicking my feet faster than I ever have, I make it to the sand and throw my baggy white tee and shorts on over my bra and underwear before sliding my feet into my sandals to start the trek back home. As I’m walking back, I realize I haven’t checked the mail in a week or two, so I go out and grab the entire stack. There’s so much to sort through, but the last envelope in the pile is blank. Only a P.O. Box for a return address.

  You know those moments where your life is about to change? You can feel the energy around you settle to a calm bliss, waiting for you to take the next step that’s going to lead you on a new path—this is one of those moments. I should return it to the sender just in case it’s not for me but call me curious. I rip the envelope open, and there’s a white piece of paper inside with faded blue lines, folded just like a letter. A nostalgic feeling of passing notes in school hits me, making me smile. Eligible chicken scratch covers the paper, and it feels like I’m snooping in someone’s diary, but I read anyway.

  It was a hard day. The needle sat in my hand for forty-five minutes. I don’t even need a tourniquet like I did when I first started shooting up. It’s funny how addiction changes you. In the beginning, you’re still shameful. You hide it—pretend to be normal. You go about family events and out with your friends, but the craving is constantly there. At every turn, I’m always looking to see where I could get more. Could I sneak off and do a hit without anyone realizing? But little by little, a new demon takes over your life. He’s the master, and he decides what you do, where you go, what you say. He takes over the lies you tell and the money you steal. It’s a fine line we walk, tiptoeing and pushing the boundaries as far as we can until one day—one hit—you barrel over the edge. I can’t go over the edge again. But the view looks so good, all I want to do is taste each sunrise and touch each sunset. I want to dive off and feel the ambience of the free fall shoot adrenaline through my blood. But the moment I take that step, the moment that needle pierces my skin?

  I’m a dead man.

  My eyes widen. “Whoa.” I read it again. Then again. “This is insane. Who is this? Did he mean to send this to me?” I’m waiting for Derek’s silent rebuttal, but I get nothing. “Oh, come on, now you want to be quiet?”

  I’m officially losing my mind. What the hell do I do with this? It feels too insensitive to throw away, but weird as hell to keep. Setting the letter on the counter, I start dinner. After taking constant glances at it the entire evening, I know what I’m going to do.

  I’m going to write back.

  solivagnant—wandering alone

  Emery

  The smooth wood of the pencil rolls between my fingers, hesitant to touch the paper. Every time the led makes contact, my hand recoils. What am I doing? What would I say? I have no advice to give this guy anyways. But maybe he just needs to vent. A friend to let it out.

  Honestly, I could use that, too.

  My chest rises as a calmness surrounds me, then I’m off.

  It was a hard day. It’s my first wedding anniversary, but my husband is dead. I dreaded waking up today, wishing the world would swallow me whole and take me to wherever he is. I hope he’s happy. At peace. Rested. I hope he can’t see my sadness, because the overwhelming and constant pain inside my body is unbearable, and I would do anything to get it to stop. I’m only twenty-eight years old. I should be planning our next vacation or arguing with him over where to get food. But instead, I paid off the balance of his casket, wishing this were all a dream. I walked to the lake by our house today and cried. Hell, I screamed at God for taking him away. I don’t want this to be something I have to get through, and if I’m being honest, I stared at that water for a long time. The urge to jump in and not come up for air raced through my mind, but I could never inflict this pain on my family. But fuck, I would do almost anything to have him back, to feel his arms around me. But there isn’t anything I can do. Not one thing, and I’ve never been more lost in my life.

  My eyes roam the letter, and my face scrunches in embarrassment. My mind battles back and forth—should I rip this thing up or send it? It felt kind of good to write it out—if anything, it was therapeutic. I wonder if that’s why he wrote to me? To get it out. Hell, maybe he just picked a random address. Screw it. Dashing to the kitchen, I rummage through the drawers but can’t find an envelope or a stamp, and my heart drops. I know exactly where they are, but I haven’t stepped foot inside Derek’s office yet. The thought of it makes my stomach twist and pull in all directions. It’s still smattered with notes and bids and contracts from all of his successful company’s real estate deals. As much as I want to feel close to him, walking in there—into his space—will catapult me back to the last time I went in there.

  “Hey, babe! Dinners ready!” I holler from the kitchen as I pull my homemade bread from the oven.

  “Huh?” He yells back at me, and my eyes roll by habit. Sliding the oven mitts off my hands, I walk around the kitchen counter, through the living room, and into his office.

  “Dinner is ready.” I smile at him and lean against the doorframe. Derek reclines back in his office chair and grins at me before patting his leg. Chuckling, I walk to him to sit in his lap. He pulls my legs over the side of his chair, and my arms wrap around his neck.

  “So, I’ve been thinking.” His deep voice trickles down my scalp, and goosebumps raise down my back as his fingers lightly travel up and down my spine.

  “Uh-oh.” I laugh as he pokes me in the side.

  “I want babies,” he admits, and my head flies up, eyes wide. A part of me is racing with excitement, and the other part feels like a bowling ball just fell in my stomach.

  “What? When? I thought you wanted to wait longer.”

  “I thought I did too. But I don’t know. I’ve been watching you lately. I mean, I always watch you—but I’ve paid closer attention. The gentle touch of your hands as you fold laundry or the smile on your face when you see a dog. The movement of your body as you cook dinner or the way your eyes light up around family. God, the thought of being lucky enough to have you be the mother of my children? I don’t want to wait—I can’t.”

  My phone rings, snapping me out of the memory. It was only days before he died, but it’s one of the most bittersweet memories I have to hold on to. That moment—and that night—was one of the most beautiful nights we had as a married couple, filled with a new excitement to try and bring a baby into this world. But I never got pregnant. I don’t have a piece of him and me to hold on to, and that fact makes my throat tighten and my stomach turn.

  I hold the phone to my ear. “Hello?” It’s only a small whisper, and I didn’t even look at who called.

  “Hey, Em. You okay?” my sisters worried voice sounds in my ear.

  “Hey, Drew. Yeah, yeah. I’m okay,” I clear my throat, “What’s up?”

  “Nothing, and that’s my problem. I’m hella bored.”

  The sound of Drew chomping chips assaults my ear. “Stop chewing into the phone
, you heathen. And it’s a Saturday afternoon, you aren’t bored. What’s really up?” She has so many friends, her comment seems unrealistic.

  “Okay, okay. I just wanted to check in on you. I tried earlier, but it kept going straight to voicemail. I was a little worried.”

  I sigh. “I’m okay. I’m the older sister, you don’t have to check on me. But thank you.”

  “It doesn’t matter who's older, Emery Jean. You are going through one of the most excruciating things someone could ever go through. I love you, and it tears me apart to see you hurt.”

  The loud rush of tears running to my eyes is overwhelming, and I shut them to try and keep them from coming. “I know. Thank you. I went to the lake today. I just needed a little bit of time, but I’m okay.” I sniffle and take a deep breath before continuing, “Want to come have dinner and watch movies with me?”

  She chuckles, “Hell yes. Good thing you asked because I’m already here.” I hear the click of the phone and then a knock on the door. Laughter bubbles from my chest as I open the door and wrap my arms around her as Drew hugs me too, squeezing me back.

  “You’re the best,” I whisper near her ear, not letting go of her yet.

  “I learned it from the best,” she whispers back, making me smile.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “Duh. I’m kind of excited. We haven’t had a night like this in ages.”

  “I know, it’s been what? Since we lived at mom and dads two years ago?”

  “Yeah, right after we’d pummel each other over clothes, then we’d sneak snacks, watch Dirty Dancing, and read smutty books.” Her eyebrows wiggle, and I laugh as we walk back into my kitchen. She sets a big bag on the counter, taking out a bunch of sushi and my mouth waters.