At the park, I plonked myself down on one of the swings and let myself dangle.
I don’t know how long I just swung about, dwelling on things until I felt myself spiralling uncontrollably into the blackness deep inside.
I wanted to cry.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to do something.
Anything.
I needed a release of everything that was being held inside. It strained to get out and didn’t care who or what I took down with me in the process.
“Norah?”
I heard his voice and it was like I saw the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. I could see the surface again. I knew which way was up.
Wade was jogging across the grass, looking for me in the semi-darkness.
I practically leapt off the swing and surged towards him.
“Hey,” he said as he saw me.
I rushed straight into his waiting arms, burying my face in the warmth of his chest. He wrapped me up, tight and safe, and I felt my heartbeat begin to slow.
“What’s up?” he asked me gently, resting his cheek on my head. “What can I do?”
I took a deep breath, but I wasn’t going to be able to say anything without crying. Not yet. So, I just shook my head and leant against him a bit longer. Wade rubbed my back softly.
“Take all the time you need,” he said, his voice low and comforting.
We stood like that until my heartbeat returned to normal, until I felt like I could breathe again. Finally, I took a deep breath and it didn’t hurt quite so much anymore.
“My parents forgot my birthday,” I said.
“Ouch. That sucks.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t the forgetting. You know? Not really.”
“I think I know.”
“It was the fact that they seemed to think a party would fix things. Like maybe Koby and I wouldn’t notice their divorce if they threw me an eighteenth.”
I felt him nod. “I get that.”
“I just…”
He pulled back. “What do you need?”
“I need to not think about it. I need to not think about anything.”
He looked me over, like he was going to be able to see how I was just by looking alone. And maybe he could. He seemed to have this uncanny ability to tell exactly how I was, how badly it hurt, when it didn’t. It made me wish the same of him. I wished I could better read him so I could better help him. But he’d had years more than me to perfect hiding his real feelings. All I could do was guess.
He scrubbed a hand over his chin and looked around like he was debating how to get me what I needed. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. All right. Yep. Come on.”
Wade grabbed my hand and led me over to his car.
He pulled the passenger door open for me, giving me a kiss on the temple before bundling me in. His hand lingered in mine until I was in and buckled up. I looked at him.
“You good?” he asked.
“Are you kidnapping me?”
His smile was lop-sided. “This one of your kinks?”
I shoved him companionably. “You kink-shaming me, Phillips?”
His eyes and smile were so sweet, so kind, so sincere, with just a hint of cheeky mischief. It wrenched inside me, but not in a bad way. In all the best ways. In the sort of ways that made me forget not only my problems but what we were doing here. I wanted to live inside the moment forever, never having to face the rest of the world and have reality rain down around us.
“Hell, no.” He shook his head. “I wanna let you test them all.”
I liked the idea of that. “Is that your plan?”
There was a touch of sadness about him now and he shook his head again. His fingers trailed gently around my hairline as he looked me over, his expression soft. “No. Not tonight.”
There was a part of me that was disappointed. “Not tonight?”
He kissed my temple again and shook his head once more. “Nope.” Then closed the door and got in the driver’s side.
I looked at him as he started up the car, leaning my head against the rest. I didn’t feel the need to talk or ask questions. I trusted Wade. If he didn’t think he needed to give any explanations, they were either forthcoming or I didn’t need any.
Given his adamance that we weren’t going to be investigating any kinks, I was surprised when we pulled up outside his place.
I looked at him in question, but he just kicked his head and said, “Come on.”
I followed him inside and nearly balked when I saw his parents.
“Hey,” Wade said to them like he hadn’t just brought me home.
Michelle nodded to me with a warm smile. “Hey, Norah.”
“You remember my dad?” Wade asked me, pointing to him.
I gave him a nod and a small wave. “Hi, Dick.”
He gave me a wide grin. “Hi, Norah. Nice to see you.”
“You, too,” wasn’t quite a lie, but also not quite the truth.
“We’ll be in my room, yeah?” Wade said to them.
They both nodded.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Michelle said.
“Will do, thanks.” Wade took my hand and started leading me to his room.
Once out of ear shot, I huffed, “Dude, your parents are home!”
He shrugged. “Yeah. It’s a week night.”
When we got to his room, he motioned to the bed and closed the door. But he didn’t follow me to the bed, he went to the TV and picked up the remotes.
“So…little obvious, don’t you think?”
Wade looked at me with a similar look of bemused and exasperated adoration that I often saw on Lisa’s face. “I told them you needed some space from home,” he explained.
“Did you tell them why?”
He shrugged apologetically. “I don’t have a lot of secrets from them, Mum in particular. So, I…did mention it. But they won’t tell anyone.”
I would have been annoyed at him divulging my family secrets, but then I realised that the level of trust he and his parents shared was actually a beautiful thing. And, let’s be honest, it was currently benefitting me by letting him squirrel me away in his room with no questions (of me) asked.
“Stay here a second,” he said. “I’ll be back in a tick.”
I plonked down on his bed and waited. I took the time to look around his room properly, unhindered by him possibly catching me taking it all in. It hadn’t really changed in the last couple of years. He had a double bed now, but otherwise what looked like the same furniture, same slate grey and blue colour scheme, same movie and sport posters on the walls. He wasn’t any less messy, with a pile of clothes in the corner near his wardrobe door, and the surface of every piece of furniture covered in general life crap. There were trophies and medals concentrated on one wall, and a soccer ball on his desk chair.
When he came back a few minutes later, he carried a mug in each hand and had the corner of a packet of ANZAC biscuits in his mouth.
“I could have helped,” I told him as I took the biscuits from him.
“Just what Mum said. I’m good.”
He put the mugs down on one bedside table and sat on the bed. “Come on, then.” He kicked his head.
I shimmied up the bed and we leant against the headboard together. He passed me one mug, opened the biscuits and put them between us, put his arm around my shoulders so I could cuddle up to him, and grabbed the remotes.
“You ready?” he asked.
“For what?” I replied.
“For Wade Phillips’ patented mood fixing remedy.”
I snorted. “I thought that involved unhealthy coping mechanisms.”
I felt him vibrate with laughter. “This is the healthier version.”
“What does the healthier version involve?” I asked as he turned the TV on.
“Watch and you shall see.”
He turned on Resident Evil.
“Didn’t you watch this not that long ago?” I asked.
“Oh, babe,” he breathed amusedly as he kissed my head. “The beauty in a Resident Evil marathon is in the fact you’ve seen it before. You don’t have to concentrate too much because you know the story, but it distracts the mind so you don’t have to think.”
“But I haven’t seen it before.”
He gave me a gentle squeeze. “That’s okay. You’ll get the full effect next time.”
The movie got started and, as far as horror movies were supposed to go, opened pretty lightly.
“You seriously watch this every time you need a…healthy coping mechanism?”
“A coping mechanism, yeah. Healthy or unhealthy.” He paused. “Well, this, the Blades or the Underworlds.”
“I’m sensing a theme.”
He nodded. “So you should. When I started watching them, the little jolt of fear they gave me was just enough to let me feel something other than crushing despair.”
I remembered what he’d said about that not burn last year. “But that didn’t last?” I guessed.
I felt him shrug. “It doesn’t always work,” he admitted. “My job is to make sure I find what works for you.”
It might not have been what I’d originally thought I wanted to do to distract me from my problems, but I had to admit that it was exactly what I’d needed.
“Thank you, Wade,” I said as I snuggled into him further.
He rubbed my arm. “For what?”
“This.”
He kissed my hair. “Any time.”
We didn’t feel the need to talk, we just drank our hot chocolates and watched the movies together until sometime during the third one I must have fallen asleep. I woke up the next morning, feeling more refreshed than I had in a while.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next week while his parents were at work, we were hanging out on his couch, me leaning against him. The tellie played something neither of us were really paying attention to as Wade’s fingers played with mine and we both watched them.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, kissing the side of my head.
I snuggled against him. “I dunno. I’m not angry anymore.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Is it? Instead of angry, I feel crushing sadness. Is that better?”
I felt him smile. “Funnily enough, that is progress.”
I sighed. “Well, you’re the professional.”
“No. I see the professionals. Slight difference.”
I smiled despite my mood. “Close enough.”
He huffed a laugh. “Eh. Suppose so.” He rubbed my arm. “Just… Make sure you talk to me, yeah?”
“What do you mean?”
He rubbed my arm again. “If you ever feel… If it gets too much. I’m here. Day or night. You call me. Okay?”
I finally worked out what he meant and I nodded. “I will.” And I would. “Can you say the same?”
He kissed me again. “I hope I will.”
“You can’t promise?”
He sighed and held me tighter. “The problem with a parent who constantly breaks promises is it’s hard for me to make them. I’m painfully aware that he had issues – and I’ve got issues – and he couldn’t keep his promises, so maybe I can’t either. I don’t want to let you down. I’m terrified of letting you down.”
I twisted to look at him. “You won’t let me down. I’ll understand.”
His laugh was humourless as he reached for me again. “I like how we’re making contingencies for my future failings.”
“You don’t know you’ll fail.”
“You don’t know I won’t.”
I nodded. “That’s fair.”
He pressed a kiss to my lips. “I figure you kinda get it,” he said as he looked me over. “I wish you didn’t, but I feel like maybe you get it. Get me.”
I gave him a comforting smile. “I hope I do.”
“Can I do anything? How can I help?” he asked me.
I shrugged and it was my turn for a humourless laugh. “I don’t know. I’m grieving. What helps when you’re grieving?”
“Funerals are an important ritual of the grieving process,” Wade said.
I looked at him. “What?”
He nodded. “Funerals. We could have a funeral.”
“For what? My parents? That seems a bit morbid.”
He smiled softly. “No. I don’t know. Maybe. Whatever you want it to be for. Your parents. Their marriage. The life you know. Whatever feels…right?”
I breathed out heavily as I thought about that. It wasn’t the most ridiculous idea I’d ever heard.
“Probably one of the healthier coping mechanisms,” I said.
He grinned. “Well, that depends on your funerary rites, doesn’t it?”
“What kind of funeral are you thinking of?”
He shrugged. “No idea. But I’m sure there are some where you get totally plastered on some drug and party with the dead.”
I tried picturing that and I was intrigued. “Look, I’m not totally against it…”
He laughed. Full bark. Loud and happy. “I wasn’t actually suggesting it. But, if you’re into it…?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and I laughed.
“I thought we were trying for healthy coping mechanisms?” I reminded him.
He sighed dramatically. “No. You’re right,” he sighed, then broke out with a grin like we were sharing a joke. “All right. How do you wanna do this?”
I stopped to consider it. “Viking style.”
“Off to Valhalla it goes. What are we burning?”
“Have you got any sticks?”
He looked at me like he was going to burst into laughter at such a weird question, but the humour stayed contained in his eyes. “There may be some out the back. I’ll grab the matches, you see what you can find.”
I nodded and headed for his backyard. There were a few trees out there and some shrubs that provided some fallen sticks. By the time I’d collected a couple of handfuls, Wade had retrieved a box of matches. Then he found a silver metal bucket for me to pile the sticks in.
“You ready?” he asked.
I nodded.
He held the matchbox out to me. “You want to do the honours?”
I shook my head. “I suck at it. Can you do it?”
He gave me a smile. “I can.”
Wade lit a couple of matches and threw them in. We stood, solemnly, while we waited for the little pyre to light.
“Uh, Norah?” Wade whispered.
“Yeah?”
“I’m not sure it’s gonna catch…”
I sighed and peered into the bucket. “I think you’re right.”
“Want me to find something to get it going?”
I shook my head again. “Nah. Kind of fitting really.”
“Want to say a few words?”
“Not really.”
“Want me to?”
I took his hand. “That’s okay.”
We stood for a while longer, just looking at some sticks with a bit of smoke in a bucket, as though they held all the answers to the universe. I wasn’t sure what those answers might be, but the ceremonial feel to the whole thing did give me some sense of closure.
“I think I get it now,” I said softly as I leant against him.
He put his arm around me. “Get what.”
“It’s different, I know, but I see it.”
He gave a rough chuckle and kissed my hair. “Still gonna need more.”
I took a deep breath. “You and my parents.”
I felt his surprise in the way his body language changed. He tensed for a second, then pulled away to look at me, his eyebrows drawn.
“What do you mean?”
“That drowning you mentioned?”
“What about it?”
“It’s why you lash out, isn’t it?”
“One reason, yea
h.”
“It’s the same with them. Just different. They feel stuck. Caged. Drowning. They don’t mean to lash out, but they do. Only they do it by snapping and arguing and forgetting…things.” Important things. “Because they’re hurting.”
He wrapped both arms around me and held me tight against him. “Yeah, like you didn’t suddenly start talking back to the teachers.”
“You noticed that, huh?” I half-joked, putting my arms around his waist.
He rubbed my back. “I wasn’t just being a pain when I pointed it out. I was really worried about you. You’ve always been a spitfire. It’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you. But this was…something else.”
I shook my head against him. “Why did you care?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked with gentle reprimand.
I buried my face in his shoulder so I wouldn’t have to look at him. “I was such a dick to you.”
“I already told you I forgave you for that. Not that I really needed to. I didn’t even…not like you for it.”
“Should you have, though?”
“Hey,” he chastised and tipped my face to look at him.
I didn’t care there were tear streaks down it. I knew he didn’t care. I’d never felt so vulnerable and exposed, but so safe and cared for at the same time. I just didn’t feel like I deserved it just then.
“You don’t get to tell me who I forgive or who I like.”
“Why, though?”
He shrugged. “Why are you, of all people, questioning this? We were both dicks, for various reasons, and I thought we’d apologised and moved on.”
“Maybe I feel like I don’t deserve it.”
“If anyone gets to feel like they don’t deserve it, it’s me. Okay? I call dibs on monopolising self-pity. You don’t get any. You don’t need it. You’re awesome.”
He was smiling. It was making me smile. And, just like that, I felt a little less shitty again.
“You’re not too bad, yourself.”
“Is that a compliment, Norah?” he gasped dramatically.
I grinned. “I thought you missed the days when I gave you a compliment?”
“I thought you missed the days when I was a good guy.”
I placed my hand over his heart. “Just maybe, you’ve always been a good guy.”
the Art of Breaking Up Page 21