Chapter Text
Sunday morning, the sabbath. An entire day specifically set aside for all to abstain from work and other general tasks that require unnecessary amounts of effort.
And yet, here you are; putting in all the energy you can muster into your day. You would much rather be working in some hellish dead-end job for the entirety of this god forsaken day, than to be pulling up late in the parking lot of the overstuffed local church.
It’s not like you had woken up late or gotten your timing wrong, you hadn’t slept at all - in fact, and you hadn’t spent your time making-up your tired face either. It was the stress of it all, or the immense pressure, rather. You hadn’t kept in contact with any of your extended family since moving out of the city, and when your Mother unfortunately passed from a short illness, it forced you to return to the city you had fled.
The wet bricks beneath your chunky heels click in a way that makes you panic slightly, only drawing more attention to you as you enter the church to silence. Safe for a few wet sniffles here and there. The pristine maroon carpet now mutes your footsteps as you settle into the pews and adjust your dark sunglasses.
You can see your Aunt, right up front, milking this opportunity for all the sympathy and attention that she can. You knew they hated each other, everyone knew. It’s almost laughable as the priest briefly consoles her.
You numbly sit through the processed eulogy that you can’t figure out for the life of you, who wrote about your Mother. Because it’s bland and lacks all traces of any real heart.
With an organ playing, and amongst quiet chatter- you all take turns in passing by the coffin. As you bend down to kiss the polished wood with your cracked lips, you eye the different shades of lipstick and gloss marks and wonder if they had put anything on your Mother’s lips. Burgundy would’ve suited her and you hope that’s what they chose.
The priest is kind when the ceremony comes to an end, and he seeks you out to offer his condolences. You vaguely recognise him from one of your cousins’ weddings, you thank him for his kindness, and for delivering such a beautiful service.
As you leave for your car, you’re interrupted by a series of high-heeled steps and a tap to the shoulder. Finding yourself face-to-face with your Aunt, Silvia. A lady of buxom perfumed proportions and bright lipstick.
“Where were you to come and offer condolences to your Aunt?” She asks, exasperated and seeming borderline offended. She’s being dramatic. You feel your heart pitter-patter like a train speeding on a railroad track, threatening to burst out of your chest as you feel your face run hot.
“Auntie Sil-”
“My older sister just perished and you don’t have the courtesy to contact me? To send flowers, even?” She pauses, to really let the venom bleed into her next words. “It seems she was right about you, right all along,” she smugly spews, crossing her arms and pressing her red lips into a thin line. Your eyes start to burn and you can’t stand that she’s talking loudly on purpose, a crowd of relatives nearby who are in close enough proximity to hear every word. “You’re a cold little girl, with no regard for anyone but yourself.” You don’t say a word as she passes by you with a murmur, stepping into the limo that the funeral service has provided.
You feel panicked as you flee to your car, choking out sobs and gasping for air once you get your door shut. Did your Mother truly think that of you? She wouldn’t ever speak about you like that… Right? No, she couldn’t have.
A panic attack is the last thing you need right now, it had been so long since you had experienced one that you hoped you had lost the ability. You dig your fingers into your eye sockets as you rake them over your face. You were stupid enough to believe that you wouldn’t cry at all today, after all, you hadn’t cried a tear since you heard the news. You were just numbed by it all, nothing felt real. Especially living so far from this reality. You hadn’t received any sympathy calls, or had any contact with relatives, no visits. It was one of your cousins who had broken the news to you, not even the hospital had you in their phone book, it seemed.
The hot tears collect at the high collar of your blouse, you hold your breath as the limo passes the front of your car and you know you must follow it to the burial service.
You turn the radio all the way down and the church bells ring, deafening and dark, in a trinity. Pulling the attention from people passing by in the street, unbothered strangers. It makes you feel dread, like it marks the end of something. A miserable existence, or a life-long pain.
You wished she was better to you, and you were better to her. If you could start over or maybe if you had siblings in the picture, it would’ve been different. Maybe if she had found a partner who truly made her happy, instead of a revolving door of shitheads. Perhaps you’d have been spared some of the neglect you had experienced.
It’s wishful thinking, you know it is and you’re coherent enough to admit so. Mentally, you’ve been pushing your grief to the side and trying to work like normal over the last fortnight. Like anything is normal anymore. You’ve just lost the closest thing you have to family, and you have no idea how to process it.
Your tyres crackle over the bumpy gravel as you enter the cemetery, and you can feel that they need air. What a coincidence, you think.
The procession follows and you contemplate driving out of the whirling roads of the cemetery to avoid witnessing the burial, or any more of your relatives. But you do what’s right and you leave the warm confines of your car to enter the bitterly-chilled rain. You duck under the umbrella of your cousin Gina, who you know won’t ask any questions. She offers you a sympathetic look and leads you to the plot where the priest is waiting, standing at the head of the grave.
You grip Gina’s hand as tight as you can and cry silently, feeling your tears group under your chin as you try to control your breathing. A man dressed in a sharp suit, who you saw earlier from the limo comes into view and offers you a basket filled with red roses. You grasp a thorny stem in shaky hands, feeling a prick in the skin of your palm as you bring it to your lips for a kiss, stepping forward and letting it fall to the bottom of the grave. Hitting the top of the mahogany coffin with no sound of impact at all.
After the service, Gina makes sure to check in with you, and God are you grateful.
“I know this is a stupid question, but are you going to be okay?” She asks, her hand grasping your elbow as you inhale shakily. You let out a huff and wipe at your nose with a handkerchief she had given you from her purse. “I don’t know,” you confess. “I feel so,” you look to her eyes for an answer and let your words hang in the air. “Your Mother approached me in the parking lot,” you inform her. “Did she say anything to you?”
She looks confused for a moment, “No, why?” She asks, as if knowing the answer isn’t pleasant. “She’s upset with me because I haven’t offered my sympathies to her.”
Gina groans at this and shakes her head to the ground, you wipe at your nose again, the skin around your nostrils swollen and inflamed. “Please don’t take it to heart, you know what she’s like. She does this, she needs to have things her way, all the time.”
You think about it for a moment and clear your throat, “No, I’m not upset about that. She had mentioned.. My Mother had told her I was cold and selfish,” you pause and swallow thickly. Because you don’t want to start crying again, after all - you had only just calmed your breathing. “Do you know if they were talking? Is this-”
“True? Do you think it has any truth to it?” Gina scoffs a little and apologises before regaining her composure. “They didn’t talk, trust me. Please. And I know your Mother, I knew your Mother.” The correction makes your stomach drop and you have to look away for a moment, the clouds in the sky white and fluffy in comparison to the darkness they had this morning.
“You two had your differences, but she would never, ever.” She searches for your eyes, reaching for your hand. “Especially not with my Mother, she would never confide in her.”
You think about it all the way back home, the two-hour drive spent in silence. With heavy eyes, a tight headache and an overall sickness that you could never get used to. You count yourself lucky for having avoided an accident as you enter town, pushing your sunglasses on once again, this time to shield your swollen eyes as you decide you need a cup of coffee.
You let out a sigh and run a hand through your hair, pulling out your phone to look up the nearest available option and are relieved to find you are two minutes from a popular diner with positive reviews. You make the short trip up the road and kill the engine. Sitting in your car for a few minutes, just staring blankly, no thoughts.
You believe Gina. You do, you knew your Mother. Your Aunt was someone she never got along with, and no matter how you spoke to each other. Involving a third party was not something you knew her to do.
With maximum effort you hurl your tired body out of your car and stretch a little, an ache in your chest and your belly, making you feel sick.
You approach the diner and win a short-winded battle with a push/pull door before entering.
The scent of something achingly sweet and decadent flows through your raw nostrils. Grouped with the sound of quiet chatter and constant ‘pshhh’ noises from large coffee machines. You manoeuvre your way past a couple of young families sitting in booths with waffles and pancakes to find an empty one right at the end, in the back corner as you would’ve preferred. You face the wall, your back to the other patrons as you settle in and massage your temples, soft wisps of condensation creeping up the large glass windows. You can’t help yourself, reaching out to run your finger through the condensation, drawing a little misshapen heart, the drops of liquid running down the glass as your finger moves, making the heart look as though it’s bleeding.
“Good afternoon,” a bright and cheery voice startles you and you use your palm to wipe the glass clean before turning to the voice. “Didn’t mean to startle you,” a gentle apology sounds from the young gentleman standing above you. You sink further into the booth as you glance at him from behind your glasses, and look down at the table out of nervousness, running your cold finger along the wood.
“May I take your order?” It’s now that you get a proper look at him. He has a clean linen apron on, a burlap colour, and a crisp white shirt. Tawny skin and inviting, warm, brown eyes. He only serves to make you feel increasingly nervous as he awaits your answer with a friendly smile.
“An espresso, please,” you mutter, a wet sniffle following, he writes it down right away with a pencil so small you can barely see it over his tiny notebook. His eyes find yours behind your dark lenses and you almost flinch in fear that he’s seen how irritated they must look. “Will that be all?” He asks and you nod your head, he still holds his smile as he leaves and you sigh for the umpteenth time today.
There’s a rumble of thunder over the mountains and the sky looks angry, menacing. Your phone buzzes from inside your purse, and when you check, it’s just Gina asking if you got home okay. You reply and express your gratitude to her. You don’t think you would’ve made it through the latter half of today, if not for her presence.
It doesn’t take long, the mocha-eyed boy returns with your drink on a black tray he holds with one arm, placing the small cup and saucer directly in front of you. “Enjoy,” he expresses brightly. Before he can retreat, you grip the cup and swallow down the scalding liquid in two gulps, hissing as you exhale sharply, placing the cup down with a loud clunk. You had even swallowed the thick mud that sits at the bottom of the cup, and the remnants slid down the outside, slowly toward the saucer. The boy’s eyes are wide, appropriately so.
The burn makes you feel alive, though your poor tongue probably has other opinions on the matter. You wipe at the side of your mouth with the back of your hand before clearing your throat, “Could I also get a long black.. If it’s okay?” You ask sheepishly. He nods, this time not even touching his notepad, pausing, “Rough day?” You slowly nod in response and he offers a sympathetic look, before turning away.
You can feel the espresso hit your stomach, warming your insides as you cross your legs beneath the table and remove your glasses so you can properly watch the rain as it starts up again. You think you spot a flash of lightning over the mountains in the distance before your solace is interrupted. The server doesn’t say anything this time, he simply slides the long black down toward you, accompanied by a small, appealing muffin.
You stare down at it, almost gawking in question. The boy lets out a sheepish noise, “The muffin is complimentary, I think you might like it, or I hope you do,” he says, leaving before you have gotten a chance to thank him. You couldn’t possibly eat a thing with the sickly feeling that your nerves have embedded in your belly, but you appreciate the waiter’s kind gesture nonetheless.
The long black goes down nicely, the bitter warmth satisfying your desire for caffeine as you watch the rain intensify for a half hour, and then disappear. Leaving only shrouds of dark clouds in its wake. The air in the diner is thin and icy, and you overhear the family at the next booth order hot chocolates for their two well-behaved children.
Your eyelids are heavy and you can’t hold back a yawn as you rest your weary head on your palm, closing your eyes for a moment.
“How was everything?” The same boy returns, his voice now almost familiar as you turn to him and albeit small and tired, you offer a smile. “Lovely, thank you.”
He grins in response, a large grin with lots of gorgeous white teeth and you’re jealous for a moment, of how genuinely upbeat he seems. “You are welcome. Would you like me to wrap that up for you?” He asks, gesturing to the small muffin. You give a quick nod, “Yes, sorry. I just can’t stomach any food right now,” you apologize, slightly embarrassed.
“Please don’t apologize,” he replies quietly, “I’ll be right back.” You gnaw on your lip and he returns swiftly to hand you a small paper bag. You allow him to leave before setting a small tip on the table, leaving with your head ducked down.
You get home mid-afternoon, around 4pm, the sky is much darker than usual due to more impending rain, and it fits your mood perfectly. You fall asleep on your couch in your stocking-clad feet, sore from the chunky heels you had worn, with messy hair and a dry tongue. And you wake the same way, many hours later.
It’s around 6am and your living room is pitch black, the sound of heavy rain pulling you out of your sleep as you search to turn on a nearby lamp. You sit there for a while, just breathing slowly and letting out a jaw-achingly long yawn. Your gaze is not even focused on anything in particular as you blink your tired eyes. You turn on the morning news for background noise, then you shower, hot and steamy. It helps your physical wellness, at least, your muscles relaxing under the stream until you feel slightly faint from the thickness in the air. Too hot.
You realize you hadn’t eaten at all yesterday, and your aching belly draws you from the foggy confines of your bathroom. The floorboards in your home are cool when your heated skin pads across to the kitchen, barefoot, your eyes going to your handbag before you find anything to eat. You dig out your phone with furrowed brows, relaxing them once you find no new notifications. Your gaze moves to the small white paper bag, folded neatly at the top, poking out the opening of the black leather bag.
You sigh thankfully as you open it up, the small muffin hard to the touch as you bite into it. White chocolate and raspberry, it’s enough to make your belly groan with content as you messily finish it off. It’s slightly stale, but the flavour makes your belly sing. The taste brings back a memory that has you feeling warm. A fond memory of your Mother buying you a big, scrumptious muffin with the same flavour combination from a little bakery after school in 1st grade. You remember being upset that your birthday was on a school day and she had tried her best to make the day special for you. It makes you feel fuzzy and thankful and you want to hold onto the memory.
You forget about laundry, housework and whatever other bullshit that Mondays usually call for and dress up to do exactly that, because a muffin - you decide, is going to lift your spirits.
‘Greta’s’
You hadn’t noticed the name before, and you take a beat to admire the shop-front before remembering to push the door this time. There are light bulbs, lit up in a surrounding circle around the bright yellow sign above the front doors. A wheelchair ramp up to the store with optional steps, and warm white bricks. It’s bright and as you pass by, you can see customers in their booths by the large windows. There are far fewer people, given it’s nearing 7:30am. Just a few elderly folks reading their newspapers, and two younger people conversing with a boy at the counter. The scent of warm coffee beans floods your senses as you take a seat in the back corner, the booth bringing a new level of familiarity to you.
You remove your knitted gloves and stare out the window, the peak of morning glow from the honeydew star, rises above the mountainous terrain in the distance. You’re grateful for such a view this morning. Beauty exists in so many ways and the way it manifests can be so breath-taking. Through your day-dreaming, you can hear gentle footsteps with how far fewer people there are today, and as they near your booth your breath almost hitches in anticipation of human interaction. You feel as though you haven’t used your voice in ages.
“Good morning,” him, much less enthusiastic, more mellow and toned-down. You turn to find yourself being approached by the same server as the day previous smiling tiredly at you. You offer a small smile in return, “Back so soon?” He quizzes.
“I need some more of those muffins,” you answered pointedly, he hums knowingly. “Aren’t they great?” You nod in agreement, “Also, a long black,” you add, watching as he writes it down onto his tiny notepad. He nods, “Coming right up.”
You feel fidgety as you wait, and you blame it on the fact that you took your gloves off prematurely, your knee bouncing beneath the table. Though it’s probably your craving for caffeine, being the true source. The server returns with your order and his mocha-brown eyes, smiling and telling you to enjoy before he leaves.
You don’t say anything, you just take a sip of the too-hot coffee and unwrap one of the three muffins he’s served you. As you eat, you quietly people-watch out the window, the rain paused for now. There aren’t many people out, but the ones you do see are all rugged up nice and warm; pretty girls walking their little white dogs in tandem, elderly couples holding gloved hands and the brown-eyed waiter.
Yes, there he is.
He is standing on the sidewalk outside of the diner, and you avert your eyes to avoid getting caught staring. But you watch out of the corner of your eye anyway as he lights a cigarette, blowing the smoke out as he tips his head back, running a hand through his lengthy hair. You can’t believe he’s wearing short-sleeves in this weather, his tawny skin showing no sign of frost at all as he lets the cigarette dangle from his lips, condensation and smoke billowing in a concoction that - along with the boy, begs to be photographed.
You can’t seem to tear your eyes away. He’s standing there smoking, scuffing his boots along the wet pavement as he pinches the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. You know nothing of this man behind his employee of the month smile, and yet there you are, quickly wiping muffin crumbs off your lips as you hear him re-enter the diner from his smoke break.
All three muffins are in your belly as you finish off your long black, feeling full and content as you feel the morning sun finally hit your window, warming your skin. “So, how was it all?” You hear nearing your table, you meet his eyes as you peer over your shoulder, you nod. “Just what I needed.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” the server replies, satisfied, reaching for your dishes. You breathe in his smoke scent, as he leans over and your eyes follow his busy hands and trail up to his face where he’s staring back at you. He leaves for the kitchen and you dig around your purse, leaving a generous tip before exiting the diner.
You pass the charred cigarette butt on the clean sidewalk as you make your way to your car, and you use it to remind you to return.
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The first couple of days since the funeral passed incredibly slowly. You had taken time off work, and your manager - ever the lovely woman that she is, has told you there’s no rush to return. You’re thankful, because you’re in no rush to return at all.
An intense series of storms had set over the area, and the power had gone out for a few hours on Wednesday during a hail storm, forcing a change in routine of sorts. That is until Thursday night, when you get a call from an unknown number. You contemplate ignoring it, but you feel like talking to someone, so you pick up. “Hello?” You answer, hesitantly.
“Hello, yes,” the gentleman on the other line asks if he has the correct number before proceeding, “I’m with Suncorp Lawyers, I am calling to discuss your Mother’s estate.” He informs you, making your stomach sink.
“I am deeply sorry for your loss ma'am,” he begins after your lack of reply, “But we require your signature on some paperwork, we will read you your inheritance and take it from there upon arrival. When shall we book an appointment?”
You sit there, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water for a few moments, “Uh, I’ll be in the city on Sunday.”
“Wonderful,” he replies, “I will secure an appointment around midday for you,” he bids farewell and you swallow thickly as you feel the air shift around you. Your phone screen fading to black as you lay it on your coffee table. You feel your heart rate pick up and your throat restrict, a sick churning in your stomach that makes you want to get up and run. Your hands reach for your phone again and you search through your contact list. The sound of the number dialling always makes you nervous, and when the first few rings go past, your anxiousness grows.
“Hello?” She answers, “Gina,” you rasp out, foregoing any attempt of composing yourself. “Hey,” she answers back sympathetically, “I’m here, what’s wrong?”
You feel a set of sobs rack through your chest and you can feel your head begin to pound already from the pressure of trying to hold them back. “I just got a call from some lawyer, telling me I have an inheritance to collect.”
Her breath crackles down the phone as she sighs, “I’m so sorry, gosh. That would be the last thing you’d want to hear right now.” You nod to yourself as you inhale shakily, “I don’t want it Gina, I can’t use that money. I don’t deserve anything.” She consoles you as you ramble hysterically. “Listen, this is all very fresh for you, okay? Don’t make any rash decisions, I’ll come down with you when you go to do your paperwork. When is it?” You swallow, sniffling before answering, “Sunday, after church.”
“I’ll be there,” she pauses, “You know she would’ve wanted you to have this money,” she says softly, consoling you. “Your Mother wanted you to have this for a reason, please think of it like that.”
You know she’s right, and it makes you cry harder. You don’t say anything else as she tells you to take care of yourself before hanging up. You cry so hard, you recall falling asleep at some stage. You find yourself waking up around 2am and wishing you hadn’t, so you wouldn’t have to be alone with your thoughts.
You still haven’t been eating well, but acknowledging the fact alone isn’t enough to make you start doing so. Your lack of energy is giving you migraines, and you can’t remember what day it is that you last took a shower.
You start small first, you brush your teeth and comb your hair and shower. Avoiding your reflection, because the glimpse of swollen eyes and cracked lips is so unrecognisable that it’s become frightening. There’s a small houseplant in your bathroom that you water, and it reminds you to get a drink for yourself. You sit on your cold kitchen floor with a glass of orange juice and a granola bar and eat in silence as you hear the drain pipes of your apartment begin to pitter-patter with more light rain.
You do some laundry, because you have run out of clean underwear and you find yourself yawning when you pull them out of the dryer once they’re cleaned.
You sleep until midday, and you wake up feeling a lot better. Maybe it was the fact that you had decided to put some food into your poor body. You feel the craving for caffeine heavy on your tongue, and dress warm to head into town. Only one place on your mind as you buckle up your seatbelt.
You’re at Greta’s within five minutes, entering and quickly ducking into your favourite corner. The booth makes you feel relaxed as you find that the heat is turned up today, warming your cheeks and the tip of your nose. You wait a bit longer to be served today and when finally you do, you find it’s a familiar face. “Good afternoon,” he greets and you lift your eyes and muster a strained smile. “Hi.”
“What can I get for you today?” He asks, pulling out his tiny notepad and freshly sharpened pencil. “A long black and-”
“And some muffins?” He finishes, you flush a bit, caught off-guard and nod, closing your lips as he smiles. “We have the white-choc and raspberry today, you’re in luck,” you think you see a twinkle in his brown eyes. “Won’t be long,” he assures in a honey-like tone.
You’re a creature of habit, it seems that when you find something you like, it’s almost impossible to snap you out of that routine. Brewed coffee and luxurious muffins seem to be the new hyper-fixation of yours and you aren’t necessarily trying to shake it, especially not when you taste the combination of white chocolate and raspberry once again. It’s familiar and comforting and it makes you feel safe.
You’ve got a mouthful of your second muffin when you lift your gaze to find the server approaching your table. You wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand, swallowing your bite as you watch him crouch down beside your table.
“I.. Wanted to give you this,” he says quietly to you, handing you a white paperback with two hands and a gentle gaze. You raise your brows in surprise and slowly take it from him, it reads; “On Grief & Grieving” by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross.
You feel your grip tighten around the soft cover as you look up to find his patient gaze, and you feel your tired eyes sting as they begin to well up. “I apologise if you find this intrusive of me, but I can recognise grief a mile away.”
You huff as you feel a tear stream down your cheek, wiping at it with the sleeve of your sweater. “Thank you so much,” you reply slightly above a whisper, overwhelmed. “You’re welcome,” he replies. You sniffle and hug the book to your chest, he smiles. “I’m Jake, by the way.”
You swallow your emotions and tell him your name quickly, “It’s nice to formally meet you,” he replies and stands up, brushing his apron off. “Just before you go.. Could I have some muffins to take home?” You ask quietly, eyes round and hopeful as you sniffle.
He happily returns with a much larger paper bag than last time, and hands it to you, in turn you leave a much larger tip for him as you head home.
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You had no idea there were five stages of loss.
The book Jake had gifted you was helping you realise a lot of important things. Like how normal it was for you to be feeling about the loss of your Mother. The guilt, the regrets, the re-counting every step, the confusion. It was all part of the shock that such an occurrence has on you, mentally.
You suppose the grief has hit you so hard, because you didn’t expect things to just end whilst you were estranged. Deep down, you’d never admit it beforehand, but you had hoped one day things would be different. But the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
Today, you’ve been dreading it, but you put on a brave face to conquer it anyway. You make the trip into town for mass and thank the heavens that the rain has stopped.
You stand next to Gina, and hold her hand as the priest addresses the one-week mark of your Mother’s passing. In tradition, you visit the cemetery next, and light a tealight on her grave. And it makes you feel at ease, in the smallest way. It’s enough to bring you strength as you sit through your appointment with the lawyer. You sign your papers and shake hands with him as he informs you that it takes up to two months to process the ’deceased’s estate’.
Something you could’ve gone without hearing.
As you hug Gina goodbye, you promise to call her when you get home and you relish in the easy drive back into town with the lack of rain. Already planning to drop past the diner, before you even head back to your apartment.
You feel a rush of electricity as you walk into Greta’s, eyes searching for Jake as you head to your spot in the right corner. This time, you decide to sit facing the restaurant instead of the window, noticing many details you hadn’t before; like the small tv above the barstools at the counter, playing muted baseball games, being watched by no one. There is a booth of young girls drinking milkshakes and a curly-haired boy tending to the cash register up front.
Your observations are interrupted by the sound of a yell from behind the kitchen door, and the subsequent opening of it. Jake’s black boots click along the chalky tiles and you wonder how he keeps track of fresh customers entering as he approaches your booth. He catches your eye, smiling warm and bright. “Hey,” he greets with an attractive jut of his chin.
You’re slightly taken aback by his casual demeanour, adjusting your posture before greeting him. “Hi,” you smile, “Listen. Jake, your book has helped me so much, I- can’t even begin to tell you how deeply I needed some guidance.” He appears bashful, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck before he smiles, “Well, I’m happy to hear that it’s helped you in any way.” You nod, “Thank you, so much. Really Jake, you didn’t have to.”
He waves his hand as he talks, “You’re welcome.” He pauses for a beat, “I felt like I needed to, my Mother raised me that way. I just felt like I needed to..” He trails off.
You let yourself get lost in his eyes for a moment, and he seems to be lost in the pools of your own eyes, too. It feels like a headrush and a daydream, both at once and if you could press the back of your hand to them now, you just know your cheeks are warm to the touch.
The sound of a car honking just outside brings you back to Earth and you feel your breath stutter. “Um, I’ll get my usual, please,” you interrupt, looking away, and he nods, clearing his throat. “Of course.”
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The second step of the grieving process is anger.
You find the book is spot on in that factor. You had skipped over the denial of your Mother’s death and gone straight for the anger, initially.
You were always bickering with her while you two still lived together. She was the one in denial, no accountability in her life whatsoever. It enraged you, and you grew apart, even more distant than you had been when you were a hormonal teen. When you could, you left the city as quickly as possible, moving as far as you were able to.
You didn’t speak at all when you left, she didn’t try to contact you and you hadn’t tried to contact her. You were both stubborn in that aspect, neither wanting to be the first to extend the olive branch.
That, you can admit you do regret.
You know you wouldn’t have, even if she would still be living, but the thought that you could move on from your tumultuous relationship and start anew, is an ending you would much rather have had. You’re sure she would’ve wanted the same.
You’re out running errands today, something you’ve been putting off. Your fridge is empty, and take-out options are limited in such a rural town, and you suppose you must eat. So off to the supermarket it is.
You’ve written a small list on your palm in red ink, and you refer to it as you grab a basket. Apples and bananas, the only fruits that seem to be in season at the moment. You need veggies, too, and lots of pasta. Pesto and cheese, granola bars and orange juice.
You know you’re running low on instant coffee, and you contemplate it, because it’s not on your budgeted list, but go for it anyway. When you turn into the aisle, you pause, because there’s already someone standing in front of the coffee section. So you hang back and wait for them to move so you don’t have to interact, you back-step to leave the aisle when you bump into something hard and feel your hair fall around your face from the impact.
You gasp and turn on your heel, “I’m so sorry,” you rush out, your eyes wide and concerned as you sweep your hair behind your ear. “No harm done,” he assures you as your eyes meet.
Jake.
He lets out a chuckle along with your name as you breathe a sigh of relief, “Jake! They don’t have it!” You hear over your shoulder, stepping to the side as the stranger from the aisle approaches where you’re standing.
“They don’t have the hazelnut beans, man,” he repeats at a normal pitch. “Oh, who’s this?” He pauses, a friendly grin taking over his features. Jake introduces you and he clicks his tongue, “Well, I’m Josh, Jacob’s older brother.”
Jake scoffs and explains to you that he is only older by five minutes, which has you smiling in amusement as the older boy rolls his eyes. “She’s a regular at the diner,” Jake indicates toward you and Josh practically jumps. “Oh! Yes, I do recognise you,” he says pointedly, “You know, you’re a real generous tipper.”
Jake whacks his brother across the arm and you let out an embarrassed huff. “Ignore him,” Jake tells you, muttering something to Josh which has him walking off with a wave goodbye.
“How have you been? I haven’t seen you 'round,” Jake turns to you, “I’ve been somewhat productive,” you begin, “Reading a lot.. Running errands is something I haven’t done in a while, it feels nice to be doing normal things.”
“I know what you mean,” Jake smiles softly, “Baby steps,” he comments, “Little by little, it all adds up. You’re doing great.” You feel your heart swell at his encouragement, “Thank you.”
He smiles and goes to open his mouth when he’s cut off by a shout from his brother at the counter, his disregard for other customers giving you the urge to laugh. He shakes his head amusedly and bids farewell, “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”
You can’t reply before he’s out of sight and you’re spaced out for a moment, before you move aside to let an older man into the aisle.
What were you here for again?..
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You’re back in the city for the third week of mass come Sunday, and Gina invites you out for breakfast afterward.
Things have been getting easier, ’little by little’. Visiting the cemetery helps you feel somewhat at ease, peaceful. Your Mother is buried in an area surrounded by an abundance of greenery and tall, shady trees. You keep the grassed area around the grave clean of fallen leaves and light a tealight candle in a small lantern you’ve bought to shield it from the wind. And Gina’s presence always helps you feel supported.
“How have things been?” Gina asks, settling into her chair. You shrug off your coat and unbutton the top of your shirt as you admire the breakfast bar, “Better,” you reply as if contemplating. “I’ve been reading this book on grief, and it’s really helped with walking me through the different steps of the grieving process.”
“That is so great to hear. I’ve been a bit worried about you, if I’m honest,” she says truthfully. You pause and let out a sigh, “I can’t really blame you, I tend to get all spacey and distant when things get tough. But I’ll admit that is certainly not going to help me through this situation. Reading on grief has really opened my eyes about the way I’m feeling.” Gina just stares at you with a blank stare and you huff, “What?”
She shakes her head, sweeping dark tresses behind her ear, “You’re amazing me right now,” she smiles. “Who have you been talking to?” She asks casually and you hum, “There’s a diner near my apartment, and I’ve been sort of glued to the place. They have the best coffee, Gina.” You gush, “Anyway, one of the servers actually gave me the book I’ve been reading.”
“Oh, that was nice of her-”
“Him,” you correct and she hums, “Oops, sorry. Him, well that’s nice. Now, go ahead. Order whatever you want, my treat.”
“You’re the best,” you grin, “Let’s see what we have here,” you trail off, picking up the menu.
You order something small, regardless of Gina assuring you she’d pay, and although the muffins aren’t as good, you order some to take with you on your drive back home.
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'Stage 3 of grief; bargaining. This stage is about negotiating our way out of the pain.’
The book mentions that some people turn to religion, bargaining with God to find a way out of their guilt, regrets, or pain. Some dedicate their life to a cause, or blame themselves entirely.
'Then the ‘If onlys’ can lead us to blame ourselves and to seek out those things which we could have done better.’
Boy, if that didn’t just entirely sum up everything you’re going through right now. Regret is a bitch. It’s all about; 'should’ve, would’ve, could’ve.’
The next chapter talks about those who may never accept their loss, about not healing properly and causing long-term pain through not processing the acceptance of grief. The topic alone makes you nervous, so you decide to put the book down - for now.
It’s midday when you look at the time, and realise you’ve been reading for two hours. You have some already made soup on the stove and the warmth of your heating turned up, as the year-end chill slides it’s icy fingers over the town in a fierce grip.
You decide on a walk, some fresh air may help with your jumbled thoughts, and rug up appropriately. Beanie, scarf, gloves, lots of layers and your favourite winter boots.
You feel a surge of electricity as the scent of wood fires flows through your nostrils, as you walk deeper through the neighbouring streets. There are distant sounds of dogs barking and you hope the owners are planning on bringing them in, as your skin burns, ice-cold. The thought of snow crosses your mind, and you wonder if this year your small town will be blessed with some. You’ve yet to see any real snowfall since moving to the mountainous area, and the idea excites you.
You hear a car approaching the street with their bass boosted, and there’s a series of cheering from the vehicle as they pass you with a ’whoosh’.
Ah yes, it is Friday evening. You suppose your fellow youth are getting ready to go out and party, or stay in drinking. Either sound off-putting to you right now as you find yourself approaching the town centre. You’re nearing Greta’s anyway, and your body definitely needs something warm.
As you walk into the diner, you connect eyes with Josh behind the register and smile, “Josh, hi.” He waves, “Hey, welcome. It’s a bit empty today, we could use a pick-up with the energy in here.” You look around and notice the place is almost empty, safe for you and a full booth of teenage boys who seem to be glued to comic books. “Well, I’m not sure I could help with the energy, but I’m definitely here and in need of some coffee.”
“Sit, sit,” he encourages you, “Jake will be out in a second,” he smiles, you oblige and take off your gloves as you situate yourself at your preferred booth. Bouncing your knees beneath the table in order to circulate some warmth through your legs.
Jake is out a moment later, exiting the kitchen door and approaching you. Black boots, blue jeans and a navy sweater, his apron neatly tied around his waist, he looks awfully cosy, you note. He calls your name with a bright smile and you can’t help but mirror it, “Hey, I was hoping you’d come by.” He expresses and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop your grin from reaching your ears.
“I was out walking and thought I’d stop in for something warm, God knows I need it,” you admit, holding back a shiver. His gaze softens visibly and he furrows his brows, “You were out walking in this weather?”
“I know, but I needed to clear my head and in my defence, it did help.”
“Well, the heat is up in here, and you’re in the perfect spot to feel it. So sit tight and I’ll get you that long black,” he assures you before leaving and you find yourself speechless. You feel at home in this quaint diner, the atmosphere is lively (regardless of what Josh thinks), and Jake is so friendly that you’re drawn back to this place like a magnet.
Jake is back a few moments later, and you’re giddy in your seat as you salivate at the sight of your steaming mug. He sets it down and takes a seat opposite you, prompting you to raise your brows, although you promise you aren’t opposing his company in the slightest. “I wanted to ask you something,” Jake starts, gaze pointed. You nod, painfully curious. “Yes?”
“It’s our birthday tomorrow, Josh and I’s - and we’re having a small party in the evening at our place. I know it’s short notice, but I was wondering if you’d like to come?” He asks, face hopeful, lips parted and brows slightly furrowed. You feel your breath stutter and your cheeks go warm. “Yes.. Yes, of course. It sounds like fun,” you reply, unable to contain your smile. He grins, “Perfect, I’ll go grab a pen so I can write down the address.”
He returns as quickly as he had left, with a small blue scribble on a piece of paper that he hands to you, “I’ll see you then, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you breathe affirmatively, as you read the paper. The steam rising from your cup moving as you talk.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
You’re nervous as all hell.
You take time with your hair and makeup, and pick out your clothes before its 5pm. A tad overkill, but it’s been a while.
You feel happy, though. It feels different, and knowing you’ll be meeting new people excites you to no end. There’s also a part of you that is painfully curious to see how Josh behaves with some alcohol in him.
You find their home is a 10-15 minute drive at most and hum audibly at the beautiful cabin-style house. All the lights are on in the home, visible from outside as you park amongst other cars along the gravel driveway.
You knock on the front door a few times, a fleet of tiny moths flying in circles around the overhead light. You hear a click before the door opens, and Jake is standing there with a beer in hand. “Hey!” He exclaims brightly, “I’m so glad you came, I was starting to think you had decided not to,” he admits and you feel your cheeks flush at the thought of your lack of presence being so important. “Sorry, I always tend to run a bit late, it’s a bad habit,” you comment. “But, Happy Birthday!” You wish him, pulling out an envelope from your purse to hand to him. He looks surprised as he takes it from you, “You didn’t have to bring anything,” he assures you and you shake your head, “Don’t be silly. Open it up.”
He grins and opens the envelope, finding your small gift enclosed along with a card. He takes it out and slides it over his fist, all while holding his beer, the cord bracelet fitting around his wrist perfectly. “This is really thoughtful, thank you,” he steps forward for a hug and you feel your heart rate pick up as you secure your arms around his body. You pick up the scents of amber and vetiver permeating off of his skin as you pull back. He’s wearing a light-blue denim jacket, black jeans and a navy shirt unbuttoned to his breast. A necklace with a silver arrow draped, distractingly-so, across his skin. He turns his attention to the card and reads it to himself quietly, laughing as he admires the note you had written inside.
Happy Birthday Jake, thank you for being so kind, always. I should buy a cup of coffee for you sometime, do you know any good places?
“Ha ha, I might know a few,” he jests, “Thank you again, really,” he expresses to you and you nod, “You’re welcome, Jake. I have one for Josh too,” you say, pulling out another envelope from your purse. “Don’t tell him, but he doesn’t get a bracelet,” you admit quietly, causing him to laugh loudly. “I’ll keep it quiet. Come in, come in. Welcome.”
The house is even more beautiful inside, there are woollen rugs over hardwood floors and house plants that are flourishing. Oak cabinets and furniture that is worn-in and visibly loved. It smells delightful, like citronella oil and there are large reeds of pampas grass in a centrepiece on the counter-top in the kitchen.
“Gorgeous place,” you comment in awe, eyes above as you take in the high ceilings, a chandelier that looks like it’s made from imitation deer antlers overhead. “Oh, yeah. It’s our parents place, actually. They’re away on vacation for their anniversary, they’re somewhere in the Mediterranean right about now,” he informs you. “And when the parents are away, the kids will play,” he jokes and you chuckle.
“What do you want to drink?” You look around and see no one you recognise, because why would you. There is music playing that sounds pleasant enough, not so pleasant that you feel the urge to dance. “Jack and Coke please,” he hums, turning to make your drink while you feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn to see Josh with glitter under his eyes, smiling wide and showing off all of his teeth. “Hey! Jake told me you were coming,” he exclaims, and you can smell the beer on his breath, it makes you smile in amusement. “Happy Birthday,” you grin as you hand over the envelope. He places a hand to his chest, as though he is touched and brings you in for a lingering hug which makes you giggle. You’re already having so much fun and Josh makes you feel warm with his overly-joyful presence.
“You’re so sweet!” He exclaims before opening the card. He reads it quietly to himself and laughs so loudly, you think you can feel a ringing in your ears. “Jake! Jake, listen to this,” he clears his throat.
“I don’t know you very well, but I do know that it is your birthday, and I think that is the most important thing of all. Happy Birthday Josh.”
Jake laughs loudly, the exact sound of ’ha ha ha.’
“That’s hilarious.” You feel accomplished as Josh continues to laugh. You can hear the music changing in the next room and recognise Axl Rose’s voice as you turn your head to the sound. You fix your gaze on a brunette girl, smiling widely and laughing before turning to another girl beside her. She has daisies braided into her hair and the same gold colour glitter Josh has under his eyes, though not placed as haphazardly as he has done. There is a small crowd of well-dressed people hanging around the large suede couch in the centre of the room and you can smell smoke and a concoction of sweet-smelling perfumes through the air.
“Ronnie!” Josh calls out loudly from behind you, nearly deafening you in your right ear as he calls the brunette girl over. She rolls her eyes, smiling wide at him as she approaches the kitchen. “Yes, Josh?”
“This is my little sister, Veronica,” Josh introduces you as he wraps an arm around her shoulder, she smiles and asks your name as she shakes your hand. “You’re so pretty,” she compliments and you blush instantly, not expecting to hear it. “Oh, thank you.” You can’t believe how much she looks like her brothers and you find it both endearing and adorable, this tight-knit family. “You’re welcome! Are you one of Josh’s friends?”
“Actually, she’s with me,” Jake interrupts, handing your drink to you in a hi-ball stamped tumbler, three ice cubes floating atop. You offer a flustered smile and thank him as you take a long sip, an attempt to quell your exhilaration as you watch him open another beer. “Do you like the tunes?” Ronnie asks, and you nod, but regardless she grabs your free hand and pulls you to the living room. “Because if you don’t, you can pick!” She offers with a smile, her voice getting louder as she nears the speakers that are framing a laptop on a fold-out table. “This is the family account, but ignore the boring stuff and go through this playlist here!” She yells.
You laugh and give her a nod as you take another swig. Jake had made the drink quite weak and you’re thankful for his mindfulness but you definitely did not come to meet strangers while you were completely sober.
Ronnie pulls up the playlist she was speaking of and urges you to go through it, you squint a tad as you read through the songs and hum inaudibly before settling on Lady Grinning Soul by David Bowie.
As the romantic piano intro flutters through the speakers, you take a long drink and finish off your glass. It was mostly Coke anyways. Humming before Ronnie bumps your shoulder with hers, “I love this song,” and you smile in response to her approval as Bowie’s vocals saunter into the song. “Come on, I need a refill.”
She’ll come, she’ll go
She’ll lay belief on you
Skin sweet with musky oil
The lady from another grinning soul
She follows you as you lead the way back into the kitchen, surprised to find it void of twin brothers. You let Ronnie fix your drink, requesting it stronger and receiving it, along with two shot glasses lined up. “Vodka?” She asks, holding up a half-empty bottle of Smirnoff. You shake your head, “Do you have Tequila?” She nods happily, filling the glasses before toasting a cheer, and you both swallow down the liquid fire.
Veronica is a lovely girl, so friendly and inviting - like her brothers and you’re overwhelmed with happiness that you’ve genuinely made a friend here tonight. If nothing else.
You make small talk over the diner and she explains that she works there periodically over Summer break in between studying and travelling. She had just recently been to Mykonos during a leap year she had taken, and the brief mention of it has you imagining the warmth and the sun. You forgo any mention of happenings in your life recently, but tell the story of you moving away from the city and into the quaint town, and she seems very invested in your storytelling before she’s called away by the same girl she was with before you met.
“Sorry,” she chuckles, as she follows her friend out the room. “Make sure you don’t leave without giving me your number!”
You chuckle and wave and finish off your drink. Setting your glass down and wiping the excess condensation off on your pants. As you make your way through the home, you definitely feel a buzz and it makes you feel like you have butterflies in your belly. You feel light and airy and as you come across a screen door that leads to an outside porch area, the sight of fairy lights along the gutter entrances you as you step outside. You hear yourself make an audible sound of awe as you hug your jacket to your frame. A slight chill creeping up the loose-fitting sleeves of your faux-leather jacket.
You close your eyes and take a deep inhale, picking up the scent of tobacco on the end and opening your eyes to look around. It doesn’t take long for you to spot Jake, standing with his arms leant forward over the frame of the porch. You walk over to him with audible steps over the wooden deck, as he lifts his head, exhaling smoke tendrils and returning your gaze.
“There you are,” he says playfully, you hum. “Here I am,” you quip. “Your Sister kindly allowed me the reins over the music, we were having a lot of fun and she may have coaxed me into some shots.”
He smirks and shakes his head, “That sounds like her,” he takes a long drag before continuing, “I’m happy to hear you’re getting along with her,” he says before exhaling a puff that blows directly into your face, causing you to let out a cough. “Sorry,” he waves, attempting to get the smoke away from your direction. “I can put it out, if you like,” he offers and you hold your hand up, “No, I don’t mind.”
He nods before bringing the cigarette to his lips again, holding your gaze as he inhales deeply. You furrow your brows for a moment before looking away, returning your gaze to him before clearing your throat. “Can-” You pause before collecting your thoughts. He arches a brow in question, anticipating your next words. “Can I take a drag?” You ask quietly.
Jake doesn’t know what he was expecting you to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. He nods and watches curiously as he hands you the cigarette, you pinch it between your thumb and forefinger. You reposition it between your index and middle finger and relax your hand, feeling the smoke wash over your face as you bring it to your lips, momentarily taking note of its dampness and inhaling quickly.
You attempt a deep inhale upon first try and end up spluttering out a series of shallow coughs, turning your head in the other direction as Jake steps closer to you, seemingly worried. “You okay?” He asks, watching your face as you wet your lips and nod. “Once more, I can do better,” you assure him and he lets out an amused breath.
You inhale once again, allowing the thick warmth to fill your chest. The cherry of the tip illuminates your face along with the warm-white fairy lights and Jake admires the way your cheeks hollow to carve out your cheekbones and taut jaw. The romantically dimmed silhouette of your face as you exhale, much more smoothly through a smile, he feels drunk. “Cool,” you grin.
He watches you as you return the cigarette to him, your fingers brushing so briefly, you forget to document with internal dialogue. Your tongue feels fuzzy as you watch him take a last drag before extinguishing it under his boot. “How was it?” He asks curiously, folding his hands loosely as he mirrors your position, leaning over the wooden beam. “New, different.” You hum, “There are so many things I haven’t done in my life. So many things I’ve yet to accomplish,” you speak into the darkness, admitting as you turn to find Jake’s gaze. “I know I’m young and it feels cliché to say out loud, but I just feel like experiencing such a big loss in my life has made me realize how short life truly is.”
Jake nods, “I can get that, I don’t think it’s cliché at all. I think it’s natural.” You appreciate how supportive he is, the feeling of truly being heard, listened to, is one that you don’t take for granted. It feels surreal and it makes you want to continue being heard.
“I can’t ride a bike,” you admit out of nowhere, and you huff as you let it out. “I’m actually really embarrassed about it,” you confess and watch Jake out of the corner of your eye. “Why does it embarrass you?”
You swallow at the question as you collect your thoughts. “..Well, I suppose it’s the idea that learning to ride a bike is something that you do as a child. And for me to not know how to do so as an adult, somehow translates to having failed to achieve an important milestone as a normal person.”
You hear Jake let out a contemplative hum before there’s a moment of silence, the muted bass coming from inside, doing nothing to drown out your innermost thoughts.
“You are so much more than a normal person,” Jake says, calling your name before he continues. “I think you’re extraordinary,” he confesses as he turns his head in your direction. You’re facing forward but you can feel his gaze and it makes you swallow thickly, a wave of heat flowing through your body. From head to toe, God, you feel on display.
“You’re in your head,” he notes quietly, turning his body toward you. “You’re thinking too much.”
'Caught you’- you feel as though he’s saying. You inhale sharply and let your eyes close as you let out a sigh, “How do I stop being in my head?”
You hear him shuffle closer to you, and you feel his cold fingers gently tuck your hair behind your ear. “By being in the moment.” A whisper. His warm breath fans over your face and you can smell the tobacco spice on his tongue. It feels nice to be so close to someone, physically, it’s such a rarity these days that you feel warmer just by the proximity.
For a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but when you open your eyes, you find he’s just staring back at you, as if he’s waiting for you to join him in the present.
You can’t tell where the brown of his iris and the black of his pupil meet. His eyes, they make you feel safe. His entire being feels like the physical embodiment of encouragement, patience, comfort. You lift your tingling arms and slide your hands around his waist. Your fingers meet behind his back, under his denim jacket and you rest your head on his shoulder. He embraces you and the butterflies that hadn’t had a moment of rest from their constant fluttering, pick up speed and spread through to your smoked lungs. He sweeps your hair across your shoulder and rests his head there, his hand rubbing back and forth along the outside of your jacket. Oh, how you wish you could get closer to him.
You can feel his heartbeat through where your chests are pressed and it makes you want to sleep like this, you could definitely sleep like this. So blissful. You listen to the sounds of his breathing and the muted music coming from inside, you press your cold nose into his shoulder and turn your head. He lets out a sigh as he feels your icy nose briefly touch his neck and you pull back, loosely settling your hands on his sides. He sweeps your hair behind your ear once again and you can’t contain your smile, he watches it spread across your lips, wide and bright. “Happy Birthday.”
He looks away bashfully, nodding. “Thank you,” he rasps, clearing his throat. It’s your turn to sweep his hair behind his ear and he watches you with a curious gaze. The corner of his mouth twitching as though he wants to say something.
You’re interrupted by the sound of the screen door being pushed open with force, “It’s time for cake!” Josh appears and reappears so suddenly, you imagine you must look like a deer in headlights. Jake curses under his breath and the situation amuses you to no end. Their sibling dynamic truly seems as though it was pulled right out of a children’s movie.
“We don’t have to go in, if you don’t want,” Jake offers and you shake your head. “This is your night, and besides - I would love to sing happy birthday to you.”
He smiles at this, a beautiful wide smile and you admire the pink tinge to his cheeks. What a beautiful boy.