Chapter Text
Silence blanketed the house like thick dark smoke. Dregs of strong summer sun filtered through the gap in the drawn drapes. Kirby sat on her mother’s living room floor, cross-legged. She hadn’t slept. Nightmares of what should have been pressed down on her throat, impeding her airflow every time she closed her eyes longer than a blink. She resorted to morning television instead.
She stared at the clock on the bottom left corner of the TV. Seven forty-two. The air hung heavy around her without the steady stream of hospice nurses coming in and out of the house, and her aunts grieving prematurely. She hated it. The quiet only amplified her mind screaming for time to come to a stop, only for a second, so she could think straight. She hated it almost as much as she hated the sterile smell clinging to all the furniture and curtains in the house It didn’t smell like home anymore; not of lavender and her grandmother’s homemade perfume. It didn’t look like home either. Someone had scrubbed the cup rings from the coffee table; hidden her sisters’ collection of Disney videotapes in the cupboard under the stairs.
Her only source of comfort slipped from around her shoulders when she looked up at the morning talk show she was too tired to recognise or pay any attention to. The blanket Kirby had stolen from her girlfriend before she left lay in a pool on the carpet behind her. She picked it up again and laid it over her lap - not that she needed it in the almost thirty-degree May heat - but it smelled of Fallon’s perfume, and it was the only thing keeping her sane. It was worth the earful she’d get when she spoke to her next - if that day ever came.
Kirby’s phone buzzed from the coffee table behind her. She braced herself for yet another condolence letter from someone she hadn’t spoken to since she was twelve. But, alas, it was her girlfriend. Again.
Fallon: We need to talk.
They did. They hadn’t - not properly - in seven months, despite Fallon’s best efforts. Kirby had tried to contact her girlfriend countless times, her thumb hovering over the call button for minutes at a time before her confidence shattered and she turned her phone off and hid it in the drawer of her bedside table. She’d drafted twelve emails in total, each longer and more rambling than the one previous to try to explain herself articulately. She couldn’t. She’d tried so many times to talk to Fallon, but she physically could not bring herself to do it. She didn’t know what to say. What could she say? It had been seven months . Too long to start up a conversation and pretend everything was fine when it was far from.
She typed out a reply she didn’t send. Fallon deserved more than a text or even a phone call. She deserved a conversation in person, but, with their circumstances, a Skype call would have to do.
Kirby stood from the floor, her legs half-asleep. She pulled Fallon’s blanket back around her shoulders and made her way into the kitchen. Her mother’s empty medication bottles sat in a neat row next to the sink, their labels picked off and the residue scrubbed clean. Her stepfather had already gotten rid of everything. Only thirteen hours later.
She made coffee she wouldn’t drink and cereal she wouldn’t eat. Her appetite had disappeared days ago.
Her legs carried her through the hallway and upstairs without instruction. She closed her eyes and held her breath, ignoring her increased heart rate and the burning in her lungs, as she passed her mother’s bedroom on the way to her own. It was too soon to look at it. Or even think about it. She closed her door behind her and opened her eyes to her room, cloaked in darkness. The curtains were drawn, as they were in every other room in the house. Aunt Sandy had insisted; something about privacy. Kirby didn’t remember.
She sat on her bed and crossed her legs under herself, taking her laptop onto her knees. Fallon was already trying to Skype her when she opened it.
It was almost nine o’clock in the evening in Atlanta. Fallon should have gotten home from work by now and be eating dinner. Kirby checked and discovered it was her fifth attempted call of the day. Guilt gnawed at her heart at the thought of her girlfriend so desperate in trying to talk to her.
“Hey,” the redhead greeted, her voice low, as Fallon’s picture materialised onto the screen. She was still at work and looked exhausted. She seemed surprised Kirby answered. The sky bled carmine through the large window behind her, the sun sinking behind a building.
“Hi,” Fallon said with a tight, sympathetic smile. She paused for a moment, cracking her fingers and surveying Kirby’s image, before continuing. “How’s your mom?”
Kirby said nothing for almost a minute, her gaze moving from the screen to the worn keyboard. Tears pooled in her eyes, waiting to fall when she looked up again. She took a deep breath as she opened her mouth to speak. She kept her eyes down and shook her head, worried saying it aloud would make it real.
“She passed last night,” she said, her voice tiny to prevent it from cracking. Her hands found her face and wiped the tears collecting on her chin and the end of her nose. She had cried in front of Fallon so many times, yet embarrassment swelled inside her, mingling with the empty sadness. It didn’t seem fair to cry after what she put her girlfriend through for the last seven months.
“Oh my God,” the brunette said, choking on her own tears. She shook her head. This didn’t feel real to her, either. “I didn’t realise she was that sick… How are you feeling?”
“We knew it was terminal from November, but we only found out it had spread to her lungs last week. She deteriorated really quickly,” Kirby said after a beat - after she’d calmed herself down enough to talk to without blubbering. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how.”
She didn’t answer Fallon’s question. She didn’t have an answer. She couldn’t feel anything. Her whole body was numb; unfeeling. Nothing but the emptiness and the need to cry when she thought about it. The news hadn’t been as earth-shattering as she had expected, but she wasn’t sure she’d processed it yet. Her stomach lurched and her mind screamed at her to stop every time she tried to think about it. She didn’t want to wrap her head around it. She shrugged her shoulders, where the blanket still lay, and looked up again, but her focus still fell on everything but Fallon’s image on her laptop screen.
“Do you need me to come?” The brunette asked, her voice shaking. Kirby knew the last thing her girlfriend wanted was to hop on a plane to the other side of the world and cry with her, but the offer was a relief. She didn’t have to ask her to come.
“Only if that’s okay.”
“Of course, yes. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I promise,” Fallon said with a nod and no hesitation, wiping her eyes. There was a minute-long pause where they sniffled and finally made eye contact again. “I miss you.”
Kirby wished she’d talked to Fallon more. She would have been there already, warming up to her aunts and fending off her cousins who liked gently bullying the redhead regardless of the circumstances and helping look after Darcy and Rorey, even though they were old enough to look after themselves. That was the way their relationship was supposed to be - them together. Not whatever they were doing now.
“I know. I missed you too. So much.”
Kirby missed everything about Fallon. The way she put too much creamer in coffee; the way her eyes lit up when someone complimented her shoes; the way her fingers played with the ends of Kirby’s hair when they lay in bed at night, talking about their days or bickering over what to watch. It was strange to see her, face-to-face - even if it was just over Skype. But, it needed to stop. It was becoming too much for the redhead.
“I think Thomas just got home, so I should probably go. I’ll let you get back to work. I love you.”
There was another pause. Kirby pretended they had a bad connection, praying they had a bad connection - that Fallon hadn’t fallen out of love. The hesitation made her want to vomit. She wouldn’t love her either had the roles been reversed.
“I love you, too.”
The call ended. The redhead stared at her reflection in the black screen and let herself break down. She’d held herself together in front of Fallon. She wasn’t sure why, but she couldn’t allow the brunette to see her cry. It wasn’t fair. She folded her arms over herself and exhaled, desperate to console herself. Crying would not help anything.
The house stood still and soundless around her as her breathing stabilised and her sobs became fruitless hiccoughs. Her loneliness trampled her, knocking her over without warning. Her body ached for her girlfriend’s embrace, the one she’d left behind seven months before.
Fallon walked into their bedroom and sat down next to Kirby, her hands trailing over the closed case in front of them. Her gaze danced from her girlfriend to the open door of the redhead’s empty closet. The brunette closed her eyes and nodded her head, her hands sliding along the sides of her cheeks. She pressed her lips into a fine line as she allowed her gaze to meet the other woman’s.
“Please tell me you aren’t leaving,” she said, her voice shaking and her tone afraid.
Kirby shook her head no. “I’m not leaving you,” she promised, taking Fallon’s hand from her face and took it in her own. “I have to go home.”
The brunette looked away and said nothing. She made no attempt to move, letting Kirby hold her hand, and sat with her, silent. She couldn’t believe this. A discontented sigh came a few moments later, as the redhead, startled, jumped an inch beside her.
Kirby opened her mouth to say something but closed it again. She nibbled the skin on her bottom lip and her gaze dropped to her hands fidgeting in her lap. She wasn’t even going to explain. Dread crawled from Fallon’s sternum and clawed its way to settle as a lump in the back of her throat, disrupting her airflow and making her dizzy. She was never going to see Kirby again, was she?
“How long will you be gone for?” Fallon asked after five minutes of dead silence. She still didn’t look at Kirby; her head tilted towards the bedroom door. She pulled her hand away and crossed her arms over her chest when her skin burned from the redhead’s touch. She wished it burned from anger, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel the emotion.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t really know the details, either,” Kirby said with her own disgruntled exhale, her hand still lying in the spot where it had interlaced with the other woman’s a moment ago. “I’ll let you know as soon as I know something, okay?”
Fallon nodded, but felt nothing short of bitter as she returned her gaze to her girlfriend. The thin line of her lips became a grimace, and her eyes glazed over with a mixture of sadness and irritation. “When do you leave?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
Fallon’s heart shattered into a billion tiny pieces and her face fell, merely for a second, before she set her jaw and tightened the elastic around her high ponytail. She cracked her fingers and stood from the floor again, her nose in the air, slamming the door shut behind her.
Kirby’s phone let out a ping as she rubbed the tears from her eyes. She picked it up, her grip unsteady. Another condolence from someone she barely knew. She replied with a brief thank you and told them she was holding up fine. Jeremy from across the road didn’t need to know her life was crumbling down around her.
She opened the Instagram app for the first time in weeks, the direct message icon flaming red. Twenty-six new chats in her inbox. She had a feeling every single one of them was from Fallon. Remorse burned hot in her throat when she opened one to find threads of messages longer than a piece of string. She was right. All of them were from Fallon.
@falloncarrington: I saw your recent, are you okay?
@falloncarrington: Rorey told me about your mom. Please answer.
@falloncarrington: I hope you know I’m here for you. No matter what. I love you.
Kirby didn’t answer one of them. It was too late now, four months had passed since Fallon sent the last one. Instead, she clicked on the brunette’s profile. It surprised her to see Fallon had almost a million followers and was verified. That was new. The fact her girlfriend was semi-famous - at least back in Georgia - never failed to catch Kirby off-guard. To her, the brunette was just Fallon.
The last photo posted was of the two of them the year before. Kirby knew them to have been extraordinarily drunk, but both looked decently sober despite Fallon piggybacking Kirby and the ridiculous grins splitting their faces.
@falloncarrington: Missing my best friend and partner in crime @kirbyanders1
Kirby hadn’t even liked it. The brunette posted it more than a month ago. Fallon had been just as absent from social media as the redhead. Great, Kirby had ruined her girlfriend’s life just as much as she’d ruined her own.
She read the caption again, ‘my best friend’ burning into her eyes. Right. Best friends. She’d almost forgotten about Fallon’s refusal to come out. Kirby scrolled down further, photos of Monica and Steven and the friends Fallon claimed to deplore rushing past until she got to the last photo she’d liked. Four months ago, promoting a spread in some magazine with Fallon on the front cover.
Kirby’s stomach curled in on itself, twisting until more tears rose in her eyes. She powered off her phone and set it face-down next to her. The ache in her chest intensified, spreading outwards until her body went from completely devoid of any feeling to completely overwhelmed with emotional pain in less than a minute. She grew hot, perspiration sticking her hair to her forehead, and she pulled the blanket from around her shoulders and threw it to the floor in an unceremonious heap.
She had to get out of her room. She had to get out of the house. Everything she didn’t have anymore haunted her with every breath she took. She had to get out.
The slam of the front door echoed around the front hall as her stepfather, Thomas, came home for the first time since the ambulance had carted him and Kirby’s mother off to the hospital fifteen hours before. Deep purple rings lay under his bloodshot eyes. He hadn’t slept either. Her two younger sisters came trailing in after him, their hands joined and their focus on their shuffling feet.
Kirby stood from the couch and enveloped each of them in a hug, their aching hearts beating in time with hers as their bodies pressed together. Rorey, the youngest, sniffled and buried her head into her older sister’s shoulder, her small frame shivering as she tried to even her breaths.
“I don’t like this,” she whispered, her hands clinging to the material of Kirby’s pyjama shirt. “I hate it, actually.”
“I know, babes. I hate it too,” Kirby said, closing her eyes when the thirteen-year-old showed no signs of pulling away from her. She rubbed her sister’s back as the shivers became shudders, squeezing her eyes shut to keep her own tears at bay. She didn’t need to break down in front of them. That would only make things worse.
Thomas left the room when Kirby finally pried Rorey off of her. Darcy sat on the floor in the metre-wide gap between the sofa and the wall, her back resting on an end table topped with a large, dying house houseplant. Her dark hair curtained her face, most likely hiding angry blotches on her cheeks from crying. She said nothing when Rorey sat in front of her and stroked her arm, her only reaction a strangled inhale.
Kirby resumed her seat on the other couch, pulling her knees under her chin and staring at the blank television as though it would make everything better. Her stepfather returning from the kitchen snapped her gaze from the TV, white spots clouding her vision. Thomas set a tray of hot chocolate and biscuits on the coffee table in the middle of the room, then sat next to his stepdaughter without any sort of greeting.
Kirby’s nails raked across the arm of the sofa, pulling a thread loose and letting it fall to the floor. She fixed her gaze on the horrid wallpaper on the wall opposite her and kept it there. Inexplicable goose pimples rose on her arms and hand, sending a shiver down her spine. She allowed her eyes to fall closed again for a second, the surrounding silence of the room pulling her into a false sense of security, as if when she opened her eyes everything would be fine again. Not one thing had been fine since she set foot in Australia nine months ago. That wasn’t about to change now.
Kirby pulled her face into her hands, letting out an exhale somewhere between an exhausted sigh and an irritated groan. Weary muscles tensed, and she pushed the heel of her palms to the top of her eye socket, trying to relieve the throb there. A yawn split her features and her eyes threatened to snap shut again. She couldn’t fall asleep - she wouldn’t permit it. Her sisters needed her. Falling asleep now was only selfish.
“What happens now?” Rorey asked, standing from her seat on the floor next to Darcy and crossing the room to sit with her father. She squeezed herself between Thomas and Kirby, taking one of each of their hands and holding them tight.
“Shut up,” Darcy said, speaking for the first time since she came home. She raised her head and shot daggers with her eyes at her younger sister. “What kind of question is that? You know exactly what happens now.”
Kirby gripped Rorey’s hand tighter, her thumb rubbing small circles on the back of her palm. Her mind spun, and her heart raced against her ribs as she processed the question. She knew Rorey didn’t mean the question in the way Darcy had interpreted it, that she was actually asking how they moved on from this. The redhead’s skin crawled at the thought of having to cope without their mother. She’d watched Fallon do it for years, and she didn’t want that for herself. Or for her sisters.
Her fingers flexed, and she dropped Rorey’s hand, a pained gasp leaving her mouth before she could stop it. She stood from the couch and mumbled something about having to call her dad. Her lungs contracted, pushing every last drop of oxygen from them, and halting her just outside the living room door. Tears sprang up in her eyes, falling and dripping from her chin before she even noticed them forming. She coughed, pulling in an unsteady breath and blinking fast to quell her tears. Her eyes began to ring, earsplitting tones whistling high, and only got worse when she shook her head to rid herself of them.
Her vision blurred further, and nausea bubbled in the pit of her stomach. The hallway spun around her and the ringing came to a sudden stop. She couldn’t hear anything.
Fallon lay flat on her back on the hardwood floor of their living room. She watched a fly bounce around in the light shade - anything to take her mind off what was happening with Kirby. She held her right arm above her head after it had gone numb from lack of use. Kirby lay next to her, breathing slow and shallow.
The brunette’s left hand entwined with the redhead’s right in the narrow space between them. Kirby had to leave the next morning. They still hadn’t spoken, instead sitting in absolute silence and stewing in the unresolved tension.
Fallon wanted to ask Kirby why she had to leave, and she had every opportunity to do so. She took not one of them, her gut flipping in uncomfortable circles every time she even considered the idea. She was too afraid of her girlfriend not having an answer and using her family as a cover.
She lifted their hands and placed her lips on the back of Kirby’s hand, leaving a stain of expensive red lipstick on her knuckles. Something unfamiliar pulled at her sternum, sending a dull ache up into her chest where it would remain for months on end.
Fallon laid their joined hands on her abdomen, spreading her fingers before closing them again. “I’m not mad at you,” she said, turning to look at the redhead. “I really want to be, but I’m not.”
“Thank you,” Kirby breathed, her focus glued to the ceiling. She chewed on her bottom lip, her head shaking slightly.
Fallon’s arm fell to the floor with a dull thud as she sat up, her gaze never leaving Kirby’s face, her eyes burning holes into the redhead’s cheek. Still, Kirby did not look at her.
“Did I do something wrong?” the brunette asked, prising her hand from Kirby’s grip and crossing her arms over her chest. “Because you’re making me feel like I’ve upset you.”
“You? Never,” Kirby said, sitting up but keeping her eyes forward.
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
“Because I’m about to do something that will hurt you.”
The hallway faded back into her vision, and sound rushed back to her ears. She shot bolt upright into a sitting position, her heart thundering in her chest. She gasped for air, blinking to get her eyes to focus. Heat crept up her neck and to her cheeks and ears.
“Oh my god, Kirby! Are you alright?” Thomas’s voice broke through the blood rushing in her ears and the chaos in her mind, pulling her back to earth.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” she assured him, carefully standing from the floor. “I think I’ll go to bed.”
Her legs shook as she ambled upstairs, her knuckles white as she gripped onto the banister. Her body grew heavier with every step, her muscles screaming at her to sleep. She pushed open her bedroom door with a pained breath before falling back onto her bed and melting into the mattress.
Her body relaxed and her heavy eyelids fell closed, and this time she was powerless against keeping them open. She didn’t fight it and allowed her exhaustion to take her over.
The iPhone Marimba startled her from her slumber, shocking her body into a sitting position. Kirby rubbed the sleep from her eyes and lifted her phone from her pillow next to her. Her vision took a few moments to blur into focus. Her father was calling.
She stared at his caller ID for a few seconds, her throat closing over as the device vibrated in her hand. She needed to talk to him; to tell him, but the thought of admitting it out loud twice in one day sent her already overexerted brain into overdrive.
She answered, waiting a few moments before saying anything.
“Hi, Dad,” she said, her voice thin and cracking.
“Hello, sweetheart. How are you holding up? I haven’t heard from you in a few days.” His tone came through soft and even. He knew, but he wouldn’t tell her Fallon had already told him. She needed to tell him herself.
Kirby exhaled through her nose. She didn’t want to answer the question. Again. She didn’t know how. She shook her head as though her father could see her.
“I’ve been better,” she said. Understatement of the century. “I just don’t know what to do anymore.”
Her father gave a hum of understanding, opting to listen to her laboured breaths rather than speak. She wouldn’t have listened to him, anyway. There was too much on her mind to do anything but think.
“She’s dead,” she whispered, her eyes shut to keep the tears in. She hesitated before continuing. “She died last night about seven.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” he said, the lump forming in his throat blatant in his voice. “I’m so sorry.”
“Um… Fallon’s coming, I’m not sure when, but could you maybe come with her?”
“Of course.”
Kirby clicked the hangup button without saying goodbye. Her mind fogged up, her vision hazy as she looked around her bedroom. She licked her cracked, bone-dry lips and pulled her hair away from her face and into a ponytail, stretching her stiff legs out in front of her. Her head still spun, but she forced her eyes to stay open and stood up. Henry, her cat, lay on top of her dresser, asleep. She’d almost forgotten about him in the whirlwind of the past few days. Something new to add to her list of things to feel guilty about. This list was getting rather long.
She looked out the window to find the sky pink with dusk. She’d been asleep for hours. She took a tentative step forward, holding onto the door handle like it would keep her upright. Her legs shook beneath her and her vision clouded yet again. She needed to eat something before she fainted again.
Kirby staggered out of her bedroom and downstairs. She stood in the hallway for a minute, the sound of her family talking traveling through the askew living room door. One of her aunts was here, which meant at least one of her cousins was here, too. She swallowed hard and walked to the kitchen instead, where she found a pizza box sitting on the counter. She pulled a plate from the drying rack next to the sink, lifting the lid and transferring two slices onto the plate before leaving the kitchen. They were cold, but they were food.
The living room fell silent when she entered, the eyes of her sisters, her stepfather, her Aunt Sandy, and her cousin Jaime fixed on her. She stared back for a few seconds before slinking to the armchair in the corner. She sat down and crossed her legs, moving her gaze from her family to the plate on her knee. The begging hunger in her stomach morphed to nausea at the sight of congealed grease laying atop her food.
The room’s conversation continued after a moment, though their focus still lingered on her as she reluctantly took a bite from her first meal in days. She didn’t listen to them, something in her chest twisting as she watched the cars pass the house through the window opposite her, their headlights bathing the room in muted orange light for a few seconds as they drove by.
Rorey moved from Thomas’s side to sit on the arm of the chair Kirby sat in. Her fingers played with the ends of her auburn hair, plaiting it as she watched her older sister, cautious not to break her, it seemed.
“Kirby?” She said, her voice hushed. Her eyes burned holes in the side of Kirby’s face.
“Yeah, babes?” The older of the two responded, turning her head to look at Rorey. The lost look in her eyes made Kirby want to hold her and protect her from the world for the rest of time.
“Is your dad coming?”
“Yes, he is. I think he and Fallon are getting a flight in a day or so, so they’ll be here by the weekend.”
The teenager nodded, her large brown eyes still staring at her older sister, almost unblinking.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Kirby asked, pushing Rorey’s hair from her face and behind her ear.
“Mum’s coming home tomorrow at half-past three,” she said. She turned her head to look at their sister. Darcy sat wedged between Aunt Sandy and Jaime, her expression sour and her eyes puffy. “I don’t think Darce wants to see her.”
Kirby’s heart plummeted to her stomach. She wasn’t sure if she could bear to see her mother’s body, either. She held her gaze on her family across the room, keeping her focus on anything but the coffin sitting where she sat now.
She moved her plate to the other arm of the chair and let Rorey slide down to sit on her lap. She wrapped her arms around her sister’s small frame, encasing her in a rib-crushing hug. The teenager shrugged and kept her eyes fixed on the wall to their left. She shook her head, several blinks coming in quick succession as she tried to quell the visible tears pricking in her eyes. Kirby kissed the top of her hair, her stare still concentrated on her aunt, cousin, and sister on the other side of the room. Jaime looked at her for a second, considering her with sympathy before returning his attention to Thomas again.
Kirby didn’t speak another word that evening, opting to listen to the laments of her family instead. She pulled Rorey’s hair into a complex braid while she stared at the lamppost outside the house flickering and surveyed anyone who passed. Her stomach twisted itself into complicated knots and her legs hurt from her sitting position and her sister sitting on her. Her head still spun, and her sleep and food-deprived brain registered little noise.
She still sat on the armchair in the corner when Aunt Sandy and Jaime left again. She still sat on the armchair on the corner when Thomas, Darcy, and Rorey went to bed. She still sat on the armchair in the corner when she woke up the next morning.
She raised her arms over her head, the vertebrae in her back clicking with the movement. For a moment, she felt light - like the weight had been lifted from her shoulders. It barely lasted a second, the burden tumbling back down and landing square at the base of her neck. She grumbled, rubbing the spot with her hand, and left the living room.
She pulled her phone from her back pocket and checked the time. Six thirty-five. She had three missed calls from Fallon and another from her father. Apparently, they’d forgotten the thirteen-hour time difference. Kirby sat on the bottom stair and called Fallon back, resting her head against the wall. Her girlfriend didn’t answer. Neither did her dad. She was inwardly grateful. She wasn’t sure she’d be anything close to coherent at this hour.
She went to bed after that and stayed there until Thomas dragged her out at close to twelve that afternoon.
Fallon: Hi babe! Sorry I missed your call, we were in the air. We just landed in Sydney, and our flight is due in around 45 minutes and we’ll get to Perth at around 5:45. Could you pick us up and call me when you get this?
She’d sent it fifteen minutes ago. Kirby put her phone face-down on the couch next to her without answering the message. Of course she would pick them up, they didn’t have to ask, but answering a text seemed like far too much brainpower for her right then. She should call Fallon. But, despite sleeping for fourteen hours, every drop of energy had been sapped from her when she interacted with her family the evening before. She put her face in her hands and withheld a sob, blinking away tears before they could even form properly. She didn’t know why she was crying, but it seemed that was all she could do at this point.
She was home alone again for the first time in two days. The girls were back at school, per their own request, and Thomas was organising things for the funeral. Kirby opted out of joining him. The funeral meant goodbye, and she was nowhere near ready for that - she’d never be ready for that.She didn’t know how anyone could be.
The air inside the living room was hot and humid, the windows locked and the curtains drawn. She still wrapped herself in Fallon’s blanket, Chanel No. 5 filling her senses. Her heart gave a jolt as she remembered the text message again after spacing out for a moment. She really should call the brunette.
“Hello?” Fallon answered on the second ring. She sounded relieved, as though she hadn’t expected Kirby to call.
“Hey,” Kirby said, her tone as flat as her mood. She trained her eyes on the wall opposite her, keeping herself from looking around the room and reminiscing. Her heart couldn’t handle anymore wounds. “Is your flight soon? Sorry, I just got your text.”
“No, no. It’s okay. We leave in around thirty minutes, so we’ll be boarding in like five. Are you okay to pick us up?”
“Yeah, yes. That’s fine. I’ll probably bring Rorey and Darcy with me. They’ve been asking for you,” Kirby said, barely believing her own lie. Neither of her sisters had mentioned her once in the months the redhead had been home. Darcy had hardly spoken at all, and she wouldn’t waste her breath asking her sister about her girlfriend, and she probably told Rorey to do the same. “That’s okay, right?”
“Sure, I’ve missed them.”
Kirby said nothing for a moment, escaped light dabbling on the wallpaper distracting her for several seconds. She heard their flight being called from the other end of the line and sighed. They’d wasted a conversation asking stupid questions. It was like they didn’t know each other anymore.
“We’re boarding now, so I have to go. I love you.”
“I love you too. Bye.”
“Bye, Kirb.”
Kirby’s line felt like sandpaper as the line went dead. It was as though she was speaking to a stranger; it didn’t feel like she was talking to Fallon at all. All senses of familiarity and love they claimed to share were nowhere in sight. They were lying to each other, and it was becoming increasingly blatant with every conversation they had. And it was all Kirby’s fault. If she had made any attempt to talk to her girlfriend, just once, or even explained everything before she left, they wouldn’t be in this situation. They wouldn’t be hanging onto their relationship by its very last strings. But, she hadn’t, and they were. This wasn’t fair to Fallon, and it was eating the redhead alive.
Rorey and Darcy ambled into the kitchen at three fifteen, Thomas following closely behind them. Their faces fell sullen and the dark rings under their eyes had only grown darker after their first day back at school. They were home early, but Kirby expected they wished they were anywhere but here. Their mother’s body was to arrive in fifteen minutes. Kirby’s heart clenched when she saw her little sisters’ faces, so lost and broken. She wanted nothing more than to scoop them up and protect them from the world.
Rorey ran to Kirby and hugged her tight, her school bag still on her back. She buried her face into her sister’s body and shook her head. Kirby petted her hair, hushing her in an attempt to soothe her. It didn’t work. The redhead rested her chin on top of her younger sister’s head and turned her attention towards Darcy.
Darcy sat at the kitchen table, pulling books from her bag. She was doing her homework when her mother’s body was on its way home. Kirby wanted to say something, ask what she was doing, but stopped herself. Darcy was probably coping by distracting herself. Kirby had to respect that.
Rorey pulled herself from the hug a few moments later and sat down at the table across from Darcy. She didn’t take out her homework to do, she just sat there, staring at her fingers. Kirby continued to stand at the sink, leaning against the counter. She crossed her arms over herself and looked to her stepfather.
“Where are we putting the coffin?” She asked. She didn’t want to know. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to see the body. She just needed to know what part of the house to avoid.
“On the back wall of the living room. That’s the only place with room for it,” her stepfather said. “Your aunts will be here at four.”
“Okay.” Kirby turned to boil the kettle. “I have to get Fallon and my dad from the airport at five-thirty so I won’t be able to stay for long.”
“That’s fine. Just let me know before you leave.”
There was a knock at the front door. The undertakers were here. Kirby kept Rorey and Darcy in the kitchen while Thomas showed them to the living room. She shut the door and stood against it, preventing anyone from getting in or out until the undertakers left. She wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening for as long as she possibly could. Which wasn’t very long. They left, and Thomas knocked on the kitchen door for them to come out and have a little time with their mother before other people arrived.
Rorey and Darcy left to go into the living room, but Kirby stayed put in the kitchen, taking a seat at the table. She hated that her teenage sisters were handling this better than she was. How did they have more emotional maturity than she did? She was an adult. They were children.
She went into the living room eventually, after Darcy had come back into the kitchen and mumbled something Kirby didn’t understand. The redhead stood in the doorway and stared at the coffin from the other side of the room, failing to stop her tears or quell the ache in her chest. She hated this. She took a step forward, and then a step back. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t go near the body.
Kirby turned on her heel and went back into the kitchen to make tea for her aunts. Rorey had gone upstairs to her room, but Darcy still sat at the table.
“You okay, babes?” the redhead asked, emptying the kettle into the teapot. “How are you holding up?”
Darcy shrugged but put her pen down and looked up at her sister. “I don’t know how I feel. Nothing feels real.”
“I get what you mean. I feel like this is some kind of nightmare I’ll wake up from and everything will go back to normal,” Kirby said, laying out a row of mugs. This was the first conversation she’d had with her sister in over a week.
“And you’d be back in America?” Darcy’s voice had sounded hollow before, but more so now. “You’ll be going back soon, anyway.”
Kirby didn’t reply for a moment, digging through a cupboard for biscuits. She didn’t know what to say. She would go back to Atlanta soon, but she didn’t want to leave her sisters. She’d left them for the last eight years, she didn’t want to do it again.
“I’m going to stay here for as long as possible,” she said, making the decision on the spot. “I will go back to Atlanta eventually, but not soon.”