Learning to Live Read online

  No. I shake my head against the pillow. Those thoughts sneak in sometimes, but I’m glad I at least have the strength to shove them away. I know what death does to those left behind, and I can’t do that to my parents. Or my friends.

  I lift myself up to a sitting position. It feels like I’m picking up an anvil. I stare at my computer. I want to wretch. But I don’t. Instead, I scoot off the bed and sit down at my desk. My email is already open. Compose.

  [email protected]

  Mom and Dad,

  Sorry I haven’t taken your calls in a while. It’s been hard. Really hard. But they put an eviction notice on my door today. I can’t fathom leaving here, but I know I can’t stay. And I can’t afford NY anymore. If you’ll have me, I’d like to come home. Please email back. I can’t do the phone right now.

  Love,

  Jessica

  I hit send. It’s done. I’m going home

  TWO

  I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this. It’s ripping me apart. And not just little by little. Every time I take one of his t-shirts from the drawer and put it into a box, it’s like I’m being gutted from the inside out. Because I’m being forced to admit that he’s truly gone. He’s never coming home.

  Damn it, haven’t I cried enough?

  I swipe at the tears, angry with myself for letting them fall again. I’m getting everything wet.

  Deep breaths.

  After taking a moment, I open my eyes, feeling a new determination. I’m going to get through this. I have to get through this. My parents are going to be here tomorrow with the U-Haul. And Kyle’s parents are coming today to take some of his things back to Massachusetts. Not everything. I’m keeping most of it. They just want some mementoes of his. Childhood trophies, yearbooks, that kind of stuff. I don’t care about any of that. I didn’t even know Kyle back then. I care about the things that most people would think were stupid to care about. His razor, the last load of dirty laundry that I’ll never, ever wash, his pillow.

  A sob chokes me out of nowhere. This is shit. I have to get past it. I have to get over it. I mean, damn it, it’s been three months already. When is it going to stop hurting so much?

  I hear the key turn in the lock at the front door.

  “You decent?” Melissa calls.

  I don’t answer. I can’t. I’m crying too hard. I hear Melissa sigh as she comes into the apartment, as if my sadness is getting her down.

  I know that’s not fair. She’s probably just at a loss for what to do with me. I can’t blame her. I’m at a loss too.

  “Do you want help in here or should I start on the kitchen?” she asks, ignoring my sobs. I appreciate that, oddly enough.

  “You can do…the…kitchen,” I manage.

  “Okay,” she chirps back. “Just let me know if you change your mind.”

  I nod, even though she can’t see me as she walks away. I’m comforted by her presence, though. It calms me somehow. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to face the kitchen myself. Kyle was a brilliant chef, and that was his domain. Every gadget, every serving spoon was special to him. I’m taking them all with me, not that I know the slightest thing about cooking.

  The hours press on, and by three o’clock the apartment is pretty much packed up.

  “Should we order pizza?” Melissa asks. “I’m starving. We completely forgot to eat lunch.”

  “I’m not hungry,” I say, morosely. “But you can order it.”

  I curl up in the corner of the couch, hugging my knees to my chest, while Mel calls for pizza. She orders my favorite even though I’m not eating.

  “I told you I didn’t want any,” I say as soon as she hangs up.

  Melissa shrugs. “You’re not the only one who likes a Hawaiian pizza.”

  She’s lying. I already know she’s not a huge fan of Canadian bacon. This is a ploy to get me to eat. But I don’t say anything else.

  She plops down on the other end of the couch, and sits cross-legged facing me, her elbows propped on her knees. She doesn’t say anything. Just stares. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable, so I don’t ask her why she’s staring at me. I don’t care. But clearly, she’s uncomfortable.

  “Do you want to talk about anything?” she finally asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Have you seen Kyle’s parents since it happened?”

  Another shake of my head.

  “Nervous?”

  I am. We took a trip up north to see them over the summer. That was the last time I saw them. They’re very nice. A little reserved, so I never quite knew how they felt about me. Not that it matters now. Although, something inside me still wants them to accept me. I’d like to know that if Kyle were still alive, they’d be happy with his decision to marry me.

  “A little,” I admit, but I don’t offer anything more.

  Melissa nods. “Well, I’ll be here as a buffer.”

  I muster a smile for her. “Thanks.”

  We sit in silence for a few more minutes until my phone rings. It’s Kyle’s mom.

  “Hi, Linda,” I say into the phone.

  “Hey, Jess,” she says back. I can tell they’re still in the car from the background noise. “We’re just downstairs. Cliff is trying to find a parking space.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “I don’t know how long we’ll have though, especially if we have to double park.” She sounds a bit nervous, rattled.

  “No worries.”

  “Thanks, hon. We’ll see you in a minute.”

  I hang up and stare at Melissa. “They’re here.”

  “I gathered.”

  “She thinks they won’t have a lot of time.” I’m relieved by this. I was worried we’d have to drag it out into a long afternoon of sharing our feelings or, God forbid, share a meal together.

  The door buzzer rings. Melissa hops up to get it.

  “Who is it?”

  “Pizza.”

  “Oh, thank God,” she says as she hits the DOOR button on the panel. As soon as she pays the pizza guy, the buzzer rings again. “Who is it?”

  “It’s us,” comes Linda’s voice over the intercom.

  Melissa buzzes them up and leaves the door open before grabbing a slice from the box. She stands over the sink, shoving it into her mouth, and I can’t help but laugh. I probably should have mentioned food at some point during the day, but I forget that other people have to eat.

  Linda and Cliff appear in the doorway moments later. They both look different from how they looked over the summer. Linda’s face is thin and drawn, and her skin is sallow. Probably not far off from how I look. Cliff, on the other hand, has probably gained about thirty pounds. I guess we’re all dealing with Kyle’s death in different ways.

  I stand up next to the couch, but I don’t move. Neither do they. We all just stand there, staring at each other. I don’t want to talk about it. They probably don’t either. But we don’t know what else to talk about. Anything else seems trivial and pointless after what we’ve been through.

  It’s Melissa who finally breaks the silence.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Clarke?” She approaches them with her hand outstretched. “I’m Melissa, Jessica’s best friend.”

  “Very nice to meet you,” Linda says, gently shaking Melissa’s hand. “I’m afraid we can’t stay long. We were forced to double park.”

  “No problem,” I say, coming to life. “I’ve set aside the boxes for you guys. It’s all his high school stuff, and some pictures I thought you might want to have.”

  “Thank you.” Linda stares at the boxes I’ve gestured to, and I can tell she’s about to break down.

  For the first time in months, I don’t feel like breaking down myself. I’m not the only one who lost Kyle. And I had only known him a couple of years. What must it be like to lose your son, who you held in your arms as a tiny infant? Who you witnessed as he took his first steps, spoke his first words…cooked his first meal. Which, for Kyle, was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a side of potato c
hips.

  We stare at one another for a long time, and Melissa has the good sense not to break the silence this time. We’re bonding, even though there are no words being exchanged. No one really knows what to say. “I’m sorry for your loss” seems lame. I lost someone too. The same someone. “How are you doing?” is even worse. No one is okay. I doubt we ever will be.

  The one thing I’m not sure they ever knew about was that Kyle had proposed to me. It’s possible he called to tell them ahead of time, but that wasn’t usually his MO. He typically acted first, and then let people know he’d done it. So it stands to reason they have no idea. But it occurs to me that maybe it’s something they’d like to know—to realize that their son was happy and in love.

  “Linda, Cliff,” I finally say, and my voice sounds weird and hollow to my own ears. “I um…I thought you might like to know…” The tears are welling up again, but I push them down ruthlessly. “Kyle proposed to me.”

  Both their eyes widen, and I realize I was right. Kyle hadn’t told them.

  “Is that so?” Linda says.

  I nod. I have to contort my face to keep from crying as I say, “The day before…before…”

  There’s not a dry eye in my apartment now, but thankfully no one moves to hug me, or anything. The thought of human contact makes me cringe. I haven’t had any since Kyle.

  Linda is sobbing so hard now. Cliff pats her on the shoulder, then he looks at me. “Thank you for telling us,” he says. “We’d better get going.”

  He picks up the two boxes that are waiting for him, nods a goodbye, and then leads the way down the hallway to the elevator.

  My tears have dried up. I feel numb now. Probably a good time to finish what’s left of the packing before another wave of despair hits me.

  Melissa is back in the kitchen already, stuffing more pizza into her face.

  “I’m gonna go back in and finish up the bedroom closet,” I tell her.

  “You sure you won’t eat any pizza?” She looks at me hopefully with her dark, exotic eyes.

  “I’ll throw up if I eat.”

  Melissa nods. “Fair enough. See you in a bit.”

  I’ve just gotten a new box taped up and ready to receive more stuff, when Melissa calls me from the other room.

  “Hey, Jess,” she says. There’s a tone to her voice that I can’t quite pinpoint, so I go out to see what’s going on. She holds up a black and white composition notebook. “Did you know about this?”

  I lift my brows. “Am I supposed to?”

  “Come take a look.”

  I join her in the kitchen and she opens the book to the first page. It’s a recipe.

  “Yeah, so?” I shrug. “He was a chef. He had a gajillion recipe books.”

  “Jess, these aren’t copied out of a recipe book. These are originals. His inventions.” She sighs and punches her hands to her hips. “Don’t you see? He was a budding chef, with incredible promise. He wanted to open his own restaurant, and these were probably the recipes he was planning to use.”

  I’m still not understanding her excitement. “So, what am I supposed to do with them?”

  “All right, I guess I have to spell it out for you. Get. Them. Published.”

  I laugh, but there’s no joy in it. “Right. Because I know so much about the publishing industry.”

  “You can learn.”

  I balk at this. “Listen, this is a memento of Kyle that I will cherish forever. But I…I don’t know if he would have wanted these published. Hell, he never even told me about them. And then what? You’re asking me to capitalize on my dead fiancé’s legacy—”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  I grab the notebook from her and clutch it to my chest. “Listen, Mel. I’m gonna go back to Atlanta and get a job as a hostess or a receptionist, and just try to…survive.”

  Melissa purses her lips and breathes out heavily through her nose. She’s not happy with me. She hates when I do the self-deprecating thing, but I don’t know how else to be. I’m not terribly talented or exceptionally smart. My looks are only so-so. My bubbly personality had always made up for my lack in those areas, but I can’t imagine ever being bubbly again. Kyle was the best thing about me.

  “Alrighty then,” Melissa says, grabbing another slice of pizza.

  I’m glad her mouth is full. I don’t feel like talking anymore.

  THREE

  It’s been three weeks since my parents picked me up in New York and drove me 900 miles back to Atlanta, the place I considered home for most of my life. Until I went to NYU. Or really, until I met Kyle. He made New York my home. He was my home.

  I feel so lost. It’s weird being back here. There’s a part of me that feels like I never left, and if I could just hold onto that feeling, maybe the last three months would disappear. Or the last two years. I could pretend I never moved to New York, never met Kyle.

  Just the thought makes guilt bubble inside of me. How could I dare think that I would have been better off never having met him? It feels like I’m dishonoring his memory. Like I’m betraying him and every wonderful moment we shared together.

  But it just hurts so damn bad.

  “Jessica?”

  My mom knocks on my door. It’s ten o’clock in the morning, and I’m still lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. I’ve slept a lot since I got here. The restlessness and anxiety I’d started to feel in New York had subsided, and now I was just sad. And tired. I didn’t want to get out of bed, ever.

  “Jess, are you awake yet?” she calls again.

  I sigh. “Yeah, Mom. I’m awake.”

  “I made some bacon and eggs. I can make you a piece of toast too, if you want.”

  She’s been trying to feed me ever since we got back. I know I’m wasting away to nothing—it’s a new feeling for me, since I’ve almost always been just slightly overweight. But it doesn’t feel good. I want to eat. I really do. I just haven’t found a food that doesn’t make me want to hurl. I know it was especially disappointing for Mom on Christmas when I turned down her broccoli casserole in favor of a single plain roll and some 7-Up.

  “I know,” I call back. “I can smell it.”

  “Well, do you want any?” There’s hope in her voice, and I’m starting to feel badly about letting her down so often.

  “Um…sure. Maybe a couple bites.”

  “Really?”

  An unwilling smile spreads my lips. I turn it back into a frown immediately. “Yeah. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  “Okay, honey.” She’s trying to be cool, but I can hear the triumph in her voice. “See you in a few.”

  Her footsteps retreat down the hallway. I take a minute before I throw the covers back and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I’m a little light headed, probably from not eating enough, so I stay there for a couple minutes to make sure I’ve got my balance.

  It’s chilly in the house, so I throw a sweatshirt over my head and shove my feet into the slippers I used to wear in high school. They’re still as soft as they were back then. I remember the year I got them for Christmas. I was fifteen, and I thought my parents were so lame for giving me slippers when what I really wanted was tickets to go see the Dixie Chicks.

  Try them on, Mom had encouraged. And when I begrudgingly slipped them on my feet, my toes met with the sharp edge of a piece of paper. I thought I had forgotten to take the stuffing out of them, but when I pulled out the paper, there were two tickets to the Dixie Chicks concert.

  I smile at the memory. It was super cool of my parents. And even more cool that my mom went with me after my best friend came down with mono and couldn’t go.

  Guilt stabs at my heart. I haven’t been very fair to them lately, ignoring their calls all those months and now refusing to engage them, even though they’ve taken me back in. I know they’re just glad to have me back and to know I’m okay, but still…I could probably put in a little more effort.

  I shuffle into the kitchen. Dad is at the table reading the local pa
per. Mom is buttering a slice of toast.

  “Hey, guys,” I say quietly.

  They both look up from what they’re doing. Dad shoots Mom a look before turning back to me. Mom just has a goofy grin on her face, which makes me bite back a laugh.

  “Good morning, pumpkin!” Dad hops up from his seat, letting the paper fall to the floor, and rushes to pull out a chair for me. “You gonna sit?”

  I nod and then walk across the kitchen to sit down. Mom is there with a plate of eggs, bacon, and buttered toast. My stomach is already rejecting the idea of food. I gag a little at the smell. But my parents look so happy, so hopeful.

  I glance up to find them both watching me, waiting for me to take the first bite. I can do this. For them.

  For me.

  I start with the bacon by taking a tiny nibble off the end. The smoky flavor accosts my tongue and the next thing I know, my stomach is rumbling. But not in protest. It’s asking for more. I take another bite.

  “Good, honey?” Mom asks, her brown eyes lit with excitement. I know this is a big step for me, so I can’t blame her for being so thrilled.

  “Yeah,” I say, a little surprised, myself. It’s been a long time since food has actually tasted good to me.

  I go for the toast. Something inside of me is awakening. Or re-awakening. The eggs feel so warm as they slide down my throat. I can feel them in my stomach, filling the emptiness that’s been there for so long.

  “You might want to slow down, hon,” Mom says, but she’s smiling. She’s right, though. I haven’t had this much food at once in months. I don’t want to make myself sick.

  “Yeah, okay,” I say, setting down my fork and taking a breath. Everyone is silent for a minute, and then I ask, “Did I miss New Year’s?”

  Mom nods. “It was yesterday. Today is the second.”

  Good. I know I can’t prevent the passing of time, but I didn’t want to participate in any kind of ringing in of a new year. The New Year symbolizes hope and fresh starts, things to look forward to. Without Kyle, I’ve got nothing to look forward to. The years stretch out in front of me, and I have no idea how I’ll make it through. It all seems so daunting.