Delicate

by K. L. Cottrell

  All I can do is nod.

  That’s fine with her for now. She tucks me under one arm so she can turn and shut the door with the other hand. Then she starts walking us out of the front hall.

  “You wanna get right to it or wait until I’ve made us some coffee?” she asks.

  It takes me several seconds to be able to decide, but I like the coffee idea. As I try to relax my tightened lungs, I nod again and point toward the kitchen to let her know.

  I also try not to get swept back up in the memories made in there.

  She says, “Gotcha, babes,” and it helps keep me in the present.

  After her arm releases me, she starts pulling off her jacket.

  “You go on and get cozy in the living room. I’ll be with you in a flash.”

  She has no idea how much I appreciate that suggestion, because she doesn’t know the kitchen was where it happened. She doesn’t know I can’t be in there right now, even just with her.

  I feel chilled despite that the electricity came back on some time ago and restored the heat in here, and despite that I also changed into warm pajamas before she arrived. Wrapping up in a throw blanket sounds good—but I end up doing it on the loveseat, not on the couch or on the floor. There’s too much Beckett in those places.

  I can’t keep from thinking about him, though.

  He’s an unavoidable mess in my mind, in my chest, on my skin, on the very air.

  I let that be that while Ceceli’s quiet coffee noises drift to me.

  And I try to wrap my mind around what else I have to tell her.

  It’s hard. It’s hard to look at.

  It’s one of the hardest truths I’ve ever come face-to-face with.

  Yet when I think of all that has been said and done, not just over the last day and a half, but over days I can’t count that were full of many different words and actions and emotions…it’s there.

  Our accident with the deer seems to be what sparked us really noticing it—seems to be what drew it out into the open after it had been hiding, building out of sight.

  It seems so plain now. So enormous. Like I’d have to be brain-dead in order for it not to reach me.

  Brain-dead.

  Dead.

  That flat word echoes in my head and makes me think about the bad dream I had night before last.

  It should’ve given me a clue, I know now. Especially since it didn’t truly leave me alone all day, even when my mood was as bright as the sun.

  In real life, Cliff hadn’t died in my arms. But in my nightmare, Beckett had.

  Another horrific car wreck. Another beautiful man covered in sticky blood. Another set of sweet eyes that would never look at me again. Another intimate embrace I had to go the rest of eternity not getting lost in.

  Another broken heart from which I could envision no recovery.

  The agony was familiar to me in the worst way…but at the same time, it was specific to Beckett. To who he was to me. To how it made me feel when he laughed, when he touched me, when he gave me strength, when he lost breath because of me, when he trusted me with his own vulnerability.

  I can’t put into words what it was like to wake up and find him alive and well, his heart beating near my ear and that warm embrace all around me.

  I was awash with every emotion I didn’t get to feel about Cliff’s survival because Cliff hadn’t survived.

  They cascade all over me again now and make an earthquake out of me.

  It’s hard to know how many minutes pass before Ceceli is back with me. The only sureties are that my coffee is too hot to hold in my trembling hands and that I’m going to crumble if I don’t get these words out of me. The force of them is going to destroy me from the inside.

  As if she senses how I feel, she sets our mugs on the end table by the loveseat, then settles herself next to me. “Okay, now. Tell me what happened.”

  My gaze seems to want to settle on the knees of her jeans, so I let them.

  While I try to find my voice, I lick my lips, but my tongue feels dry. My whole mouth does.

  After a moment, her gentle voice goes even gentler. “You and Beckett kissed?”

  A renewed jump of my pulse.

  A flash of him being on my lips on purpose, not by accident—him standing so close to me that he shared breaths with me with intention, not by mistake.

  A fresh ache behind my eyes.

  I nod.

  She doesn’t say anything else.

  Fleetingly, I don’t think I can say anything either after all.

  But it’s true: keeping this to myself any longer is too much.

  Tears waver at the edges of my vision. I drag my eyes from her jeans to the armrest of the loveseat, then to the nearest wall, and finally to her face.

  “I….” My voice doesn’t even reach a whisper. Swallowing does nothing to help me. “I….”

  She tilts her head, her expression filling with what looks like sympathy.

  And understanding.

  “Do you…” she pauses, “…feel something for him?”

  Am I that obvious?

  My chin trembles. I clap a hand over my mouth.

  She states it in a whisper now: “You feel something for him.”

  I bow my head and burst into tears. My other hand flies up to clamp over the other one, but there’s no holding in these sobs. I’m at their mercy once again.

  They shake me so hard I feel like I’m going to break.

  Because I don’t just feel something for him—I feel a lot for him.

  I feel way, way more for him than I’m supposed to.

  “Tell me about it,” Ceceli urges me, but not in a gossipy way. She wraps her arm around me and scoots in close so she can be in this with me like the spirit sister she is to me.

  She’s my sister in spirit.

  Beckett and Cliff were brothers in spirit.

  Cliff and I were in love with each other, and then he died, and then last night I kissed his best friend because I….

  After several jagged breaths that don’t help the ache in my chest whatsoever, I move my hands enough to whimper, “What’s wr-wrong with me-e?”

  I don’t have the voice to beg her to set me straight, but God, do I want to beg for that. So badly. I want her to talk some sense into me, to tell me to get back on track because Beckett isn’t for me.

  No, I need her to tell me how to get back on track. I’ve gotten in over my head with him somehow, let our strong relationship turn into something that makes my insides feel weak, and I don’t know how to fix it.

  I need Ceceli to tell me to get over these things I feel. Kindly or harshly, I don’t care either way—don’t care if she strokes at my hair while she does it or if she takes a blunt tone with me. I just need her to set me straight.

  A frail, “Please h-help me,” is all I can manage. I sniffle thickly and wipe at my dripping eyes and cheeks.

  She sighs and squeezes me.

  Please help me.

  “Tell me about it,” she repeats softly. “Take your time, catch your breath, but…tell me what it is you’re feeling. Let’s get the truth out of you, hmm? Free you up some.”

  I nod a little.

  “Yeah?”

  A little more.

  Yeah, I can be honest. I can lay it out there. Then she’ll see what I’ve gotten myself into and know what to say.

  Like she suggested, I take my time getting myself into better shape. I don’t end up being composed, but at least my sobs relinquish their grip on me enough for me to talk.

  My head clears enough for me to think back.

  “I haven’t…uh….” Sniffling, I grip my knees. “Haven’t always felt it. Of c—of course I haven’t.”

  In my peripheral vision, I see her nod. “Of course.”

  “But I—I can’t tell you when it started, other than it was…after….” I sniffle again. “And I didn’t even know that. Didn’t know it had happened. Not until the middle of the night last night. But looking back, it didn’t happ
en just this week, or even just since he broke up with Jenna. He was so big to me even before then, and so special, and he mattered to me like no one else did. And I knew I mattered to him like that too—Theo and I both.”

  She nods again. “Mmm.”

  “Then he was broken up with Jenna, so we were able to spend better time together and with Theo, and it’s like he and I were back to having a—a perfect thing. A perfect friendship. But at the same time…it wasn’t the same as before. We weren’t ‘back to’ anything, exactly, because something was different. Something about the way….”

  But I sit here for five, ten, fifteen seconds and don’t come up with a way to describe it properly.

  All I end up with is, “The way I felt about being alive.”

  Ceceli takes in a slow breath.

  I shake my head, glance in her direction. “Not that I’d been wanting to die or—or anything. Just that everything started feeling…more. Little things were more gentle a-and big things were more important and—”

  And when he spoke to me, I cared about every single word like the secret to happiness was hidden there.

  And when I made him smile, it made my heart sing.

  And when my daughter turned to him for a fresh draw from his never-ending supply of comfort, the world became a slightly more beautiful place.

  And when he touched me….

  I tune in to the sound of my shallow gasping.

  “It’s all right, Noelle,” Ceceli tells me calmly. Her arm squeezes me for a longer few seconds than earlier. “Try to relax.”

  “I can’t,” I huff out before sucking in another breath. My hands are shaking around my knees, my entire body aching from tension. “I can’t, ‘cause it’s not—” without warning, tearfulness overwhelms me again, “—it’s not right for me to feel like this about him.”

  “Let’s try to slow down your—”

  “I’m terrible.” My throat throbs hard. “Cliff…. I loved him, and he loved me, and Theodora—and now here I am, loving every f-fucking second I get with his—”

  Please help me.

  Please help me.

  “Please help me,” I beg her again. “How do I come back from this?”

  A second later, I fully dissolve into these tears.

  Ceceli lets me do it. She rubs at my arm and sits quietly with me.

  I can tell she’s thinking, and I can’t wait to hear what she has to say. Patient or exasperated, no, I don’t care which. All that matters is her telling me some way to move past this.

  After a minute, she gets up and fetches me some tissues. Then she starts drinking her coffee. Blowing my nose and growing increasingly eager to hear her thoughts helps with my own desire for caffeine, so I carefully bring my mug to myself. The emanating heat feels soothing on my face, which I’m sure is puffy by now.

  Another minute, maybe. Then she lightly clears her throat.

  I set my coffee back down. She does the same.

  She turns to me.

  She breathes deeply and takes my hands.

  I’m ready.

  “You wanna know what I think about all this.” Once again, she isn’t asking, she’s stating.

  I don’t have it in me to feel embarrassed about looking at her straight.

  “Yes,” I say croakily. “I can handle it. Whatever you wanna say. You can’t hurt me anymore than I’ve….”

  She gives me a halfhearted smile, then barely laughs behind it.

  I hope she believes me. Hope she doesn’t think she has to dance around my feelings just because I’m a pile of crap right now.

  “I don’t know if you can handle it,” she disagrees, indeed. “Not right now. But I’m gonna say it to you anyway, Noelle, ‘cause you need to hear it.”

  Well, I wish she had more faith in me, but I guess she’s just trying to be considerate as best she can before she rips me a—

  “You’re not terrible. I don’t think you have to come back from this if you like what this is, because there’s nothing wrong with moving on, even after what you and Beckett specifically went through.”

  Blinking hard, I lean back from her.

  Then I stare at her, shocked.

  Beyond shocked.

  Stunned.

  Staggered.

  She looks at me, too, as steadily as I anticipated, while unexpected words continue to leave her.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you moving on with each other. It’s a natural thing. I don’t think many people grieve forever, and you and Beckett are…” she lifts her shoulders, “…honestly, babes, you’re two halves of the same whole.”

  “No,” I flat-out refuse. “Cece—no. What? What?”

  My heartbeat has taken off on a sprint, like it’s trying to run away from her words. Damn right, I wasn’t ready to hear this. What is this? What the hell?

  “I know it sounds crazy to you,” she’s saying, “but it’s true. We’ve talked before about you maybe dating someone again someday, and—”

  “This is not what we were talking about.” Pulling my hands from hers, I get on my feet even though my legs don’t feel any stronger than my weak voice. “We were never talking about me starting back with my—with my fiancé’s—”

  “No,” she agrees, “but my point is that hearts heal. And they don’t go back to the way they were before whatever it was that broke them—they heal into something different. But they do heal, and yours and Beckett’s have done that together. Maybe it wasn’t what you planned on and wasn’t something you ever thought about in the past, but that doesn’t make it a sin now.”

  I shake my head hard. “No.”

  “Yes. In fact, it doesn’t surprise me. It makes sense because you two have formed a really, really special bond with each other. A more special one than I think anyone else could’ve formed with either of you.”

  I’m teleported back to last night when he and I were coloring on the floor with Theodora, so close to where I am now, and he gave me that one look. With his hand on my knee, he looked at me in a way I knew no one else was capable of because of what Ceceli just said: no one else is him.

  But I’m still shaking my head. “No, this is insane. I can’t believe you would….”

  The tears pricking at me now are born of a whole new kind of frustration.

  My already thin voice drops to a whisper. “Aren’t you my best friend? Why are you not agreeing with me on this? How can you not agree with me on something this gigantic?”

  She blinks slowly, like I’ve appalled her, but the next look she levels on me is nothing but loving.

  “I am your best friend,” she replies, “and you know it. And you also know, down beneath everything you feel and wish you didn’t feel, that me being your best friend is the reason I can be honest with you. It’s the reason I can look you in the eye and tell you it’s okay to want something with someone who isn’t Cliff.” She swallows hard, then stands so she can drop her hands onto my shoulders. “It’s okay to want something with someone who isn’t Cliff even if that someone is his best friend.”

  Her words make me feel like ocean water is trickling into my lungs.

  Between them and my wild pulse, breaths are hard to come by.

  She goes on. “And like I said a minute ago, I get how hard this is to hear. I really do, Noelle. I’ve…” now her voice weakens, “…I’ve known you forever, so I know your heart and what kind of person you are. I know hurting people isn’t something you do, especially Cliff, because I know how much you loved him. And watching what losing him did to you was the hardest thing I’ve ever….”

  My vision is blurring again because I can see tears welling up in her eyes too. Can see her pretty face creasing with painful memories.

  We both sniffle, and she pats my shoulders. I can’t even care about the bruising spot on the one I hit on Theo’s doorframe.

  She sighs shakily.

  “In a lot of ways, I couldn’t help you. It wasn’t in my power. Not once in my life did I imagine something would ever come
along and damage you so badly even I wouldn’t know how to comfort you, but that’s what happened. But something else that happened—something else I watched—was Beckett being there for you in all those ways I couldn’t be. He put you and Theo back together. And Noelle? I trusted him with you. Your parents and I all did.”

  My parents, I somehow think numbly as Ceceli’s words continue to overwhelm me. What would they say about this?

  “So yeah,” she says. “I get how hard it is for you to hear me right now. This isn’t what you wanna hear. You wanna be reprimanded and told that you fucked up so your guilt will feel more valid than everything else. When we make a mistake, confronting it is the first step to making things right, huh? Dragging ourselves through it until we’re bloody makes us feel better, like we’ve suffered an appropriate amount? But that’s not what I’m here for. I’m not gonna tell you how much you suck if I don’t think you suck.”

  More ocean water in my lungs.

  I close my eyes and try my damnedest to breathe.

  After another pat at my shoulders, her hands drop away.

  “I’m also not rushing you or trying to say you’re wrong to be upset. Feel your feelings, girl—feel that sadness and guilt and resentment and whatever. It’s healthy. Just don’t feel the dark things so much that you refuse to let the good things back in.”

  I hear her clear her throat once, twice, before her newly tearful voice hits the air again.

  “You deserve to be happy.”

  I don’t know how there’s anything stable enough in me to feel hope over that.

  Doesn’t matter. Those dark things she spoke of overtake it in two seconds.

  “Just think about what I’ve said, hmm?” she adds. “Come back to it. Sooner or later.”

  Judging by how heavy my engagement ring feels on my finger, I don’t think ‘sooner’ is very likely.

  Then again, how could ‘later’ be any less painful?

  How could any of this not be painful?

  Ceceli says I deserve to be happy, but what about what Cliff’s memory deserves?

  —

  It’s Theo greeting the day and wondering where her Uncle Beck is that gives my tired brain the answer for how to handle all this.

  He and I need to try to ignore what happened, as well as everything that led to it, and push forward as the friends we’re supposed to be.