Dead. I've heard these words twice before. 'Your Nonna is dead.' That was the first, but not the hardest, unexpected but not my worst one. Dead. 'Your father is dead.' That was the second and the hardest. I should've been prepared. We knew it was inevitable. I woke up at night worried that he died and I wasn't there, but I was there. Dad died in the ambulance with me by his side. Dead. 'Tall is dead.' He died without me, or Ben, or anyone who loves him. I should've made them take me to him—he didn't deserve to die alone. I could've lied and said I was his granddaughter, niece, someone who they'd let in. All the possibilities of how I could've duped them come to mind, but I didn't. I sat in a stupor and waited for someone to make it all better. I missed my chance. It's gone. Tall is gone. Tall is dead. Dead.

The room is a stage of a TV drama that's playing out on mute in front of me. I see Linda's lips move; I see Ben shaking in the chair across from me, his Mom by his side. Mike is up and waving his hands in front of Linda, Mr. Leonards sits slumped on the chair next to me. Angie is typing something on her phone. I move my head and the picture shifts like in a kaleidoscope. Linda is by Ben's side. Mr. Leonards is my Marguerite. Mike is crouching beside Angie. On my third round I'm dizzy and the people are a blur. 

Waves of nausea take hold and I jump up, hand to my mouth, and run out of the door. I spot the bathroom, shut the door behind me, and empty my stomach into the toilet. Coffee smelling bile is all that comes up. Its stench brings on another wave of nausea and then another. When the last one passes, I hoist myself up and wash my hands, my mouth, and my face in the sink, careful not to look into the mirror. Dull throbbing headache in the back of my head matches the beating of my heart. I shudder. 

What am I supposed to do now? I want to go to my room, crawl into my bed and fall into the oblivion where none of the tonight's events happened. Can I? Should I? I'm not the only one who lost someone dear. Every person in that room is impacted, hurting, but I don't want to go back there. Another wave of nausea comes at the thought of returning to that room and observing the grief take hold of them, turning their familiar faces into masks. I take out my phone. Ben has his family. Angie and Mike have each other. They'll be fine. I need to take care of myself. I pull up the group chat with Angie, Mike and Ben:

Angie: Where are you? Are you coming back?

I force my fingers to hit the right buttons, hit backspace more times than there are letters in my reply and stare at the words on the screen:

Me: i'm going home

I hit backspace fourteen times and put the phone away. No. I'm not running away this time. I'm not going to my room, I'm going back and be there for Ben, because I've been through this before and I can do it again. I sit down on the rim of the toilet and take a series of long breaths. The room spins less and the resolve to go back into the thicket of grief hasn't left me. It's time.

The room's quiet, and not because of my overwhelm, but because there's only one person there. Linda is sitting on one of the chairs, typing away on her phone. Two deep wrinkles separate her eyebrows and her face is stern, the ever-present smile gone, and I'm not sure I've ever seen her this serious.

"Where's everyone?" I ask.

She startles. When she sees me, it takes her a second to reply. "You're back? We thought we went home."

"I was in the bathroom."

"They waited, but you didn't return."

"Where are they?" I sit down next to her because I might have underestimated my level of non-dizziness.

"Marguerite and Max took Ben to see Tall and they'll take him to their place for tonight. They don't want to leave him alone. Angie and Mike went back home."

"Why are you here?" She's the last person I wanted to see, but I'm glad to know what's going on.

"Tall's been my friend too." She sounds real for the first time since I met her. No smile, no raspy breaths, just raw pain in her voice, the one I recognize almost too well. "I've known Tall for much longer than you. I met him my first day on the job at the library. He was kind to me. He was my friend first." And she cries. Her lips part to let out a whine and tears swell in her eyes. She's not acting or putting on air. I would've known if she did. 

My hand reaches out for her shoulder and when I touch it, she crumbles and puts her cheek on my hand, reaches forward and hugs me. A genuine, warm hug. I hold my breath, confused at how OK this feels. I don't want to push her away or say something rude to her. I feel, rather than hear, her sobs on my chest. Her quiet low whines pierce my sternum and let out the tears of my own. I'm glad to have her here, to not be alone, to share the devastation of this loss and to be heard, even when I utter no more words.

Minutes pass or an hour, and when neither of us has anything else to expel, when we've shared our tears and soaked them through each other's clothes, the moment comes to look at each other. I don't see a woman I despised or am jealous of anymore, but maybe a new friend, a possibility of a new friend in front of me. If both of us will it to be so.

"That was something," says Linda and I see her wavering between the Linda I've always known and the real Linda she exposed tonight. It's up to me, it's my move, what I say next—matters. That's where the paths diverge.

"That," I say, "was something indeed." I hug her with intent, with purpose, with an offer of friendship, and I wait. When the hug comes, when she returns it to me, I know I've gained a new friend. And, after loosing one in Tall, it is a gift I can not refuse.

***

The next two days are a blur. I go to work, and I'm glad I can walk there because operating machinery is not possible. I have no idea what time I go to bed on Wednesday, what I eat on Thursday, or wear on Friday. I have to keep teaching. I talked to Mom, and I have the evidence of my conversations with Ben, Mike and Angie on the group chat, but I the rest of the last sixty hours are a blank.

The group text is the main source of what's going on. Ben remained at his parents' place and that's where we all descend on him. Marguerite opens the door, her face has no trace of makeup, her silver bob pulled into a ponytail. I've never seen her with a ponytail or without makeup. Her eyes are dull and she motions for us to come in. 

Kora, in her car seat, enters first. Mike's carrying her sleeping form, careful not to shake it too much. Her pink lips and cute baby cheeks is the only face that isn't puffy or gray. Even Mike cried last night, although Angie made me swear I won't ever mention it in front of him.

The gray of our skin is a fitting reflection of the muddy swirl of emotions we've expressed in our texts.

Angie: I can't believe I'll never see him again.

Me: we haven't finished reading les miserables. not sure i can pick that book up ever again.

Ben: I notified Mr. Parsons, the lawyer who'll be the executor of his estate.

Mike: Who's going to organize his funeral?

The last question is the reason we're here this Saturday morning. According to Ben, his Mom is going to take on whatever needs to be done but he believes she's not in the right state of mind. Ben was supposed to be at his parents' place for them to keep an eye on him. The way he makes it sound, he's the one looking after them. And he's not exaggerating. Mike deposits the still sleeping Kora into one of the bedrooms, and we meet in the kitchen. Ben is the one who makes tea and coffee. He doesn't have Kora's rosy cheeks, but he looks normal. I expected him to be sad, or at least not very talkative, or for his eyes to show traces of tears, but while all of us are sad, Ben is the only one who's still himself.

"Mr. Parsons will mail the most recent version of Tall's will to me and the beneficiaries, but Tall's wishes about what to do with his remains were clear. He wanted to be cremated and for the ashes to be spread on the lake. I'll have to research the boats companies that offer that, and when we can book it, how many people can attend, and then we'll decide on the date." Ben's rattling the information, and I'm not sure when he had the time to do it all. It's been two days since Tall's death. I wasn't this prepared when Dad died and I had his will and I have talked to him about his wishes. I never even thought about broaching the subject with Tall.

"I can help with that." Angie volunteers. "Am and I can help with whatever." She throws me a glance over the rim of her coffee cup. Right. I haven't said a word since we came in half an hour ago.

"Yes. Sure." I give a series of small nods to show my willingness to help. I am willing. Not eager or interested, but willing. I can will myself into doing a lot of things, even the ones that bring back the days after Dad's death and the fumbling of getting his affairs in order. I did a horrible job taking care of things then. Maybe this is my chance to redeem myself. I'm the only one here who had to deal with a death of a loved one and everything that goes with it. I should be the support system for them all. Should is the operative word here. "I'll help." I say more to myself than to Angie or Ben.

"That'll make it easier." Ben refills his mom's cup. "I'll be flying to New York tomorrow morning. My meetings with Mo are Monday and Tuesday."

"You're still doing that?" Marguerite says my thoughts out loud.

"It's been arranged. I took time off work. There's nothing I need to be here for. I don't see a reason not to." Ben's right. There is no physical need for him to be in Chicago, but how can he think about something other than Tall's death. His absence. What's life going to be like without him. I would've asked him if we were alone, but I don't see the point in questioning him in front of everyone. And why should I? He's a grownup, and it's his future career that he's taking care of. Tall would've hated for Ben to not pursue something because he died.

"You didn't like the teacake?" Mike's the only one who demolished his. Mr. Leonards, Marguerite, Angie and I haven't touched ours. "All I could come up with from what Mom had in the pantry, but it tastes good." Ben moves the spoon my way. I look at the dessert in front of me. I'm not sure I've eaten anything more than crackers since my vomiting incident Wednesday night at the hospital. It's lunchtime but I have zero appetite and I'm afraid to try food, because another bout of vomiting in Ben's parents' place is not how I want this afternoon to go. "I had a late breakfast." I lie. I don't know why I lie. Propriety? Habit? "I'll take my piece home."

4.4.21

Happy Easter to those who celebrate today!

Not a very Eastery chapter: no resurrections, no bunnies, chicks or egg hunts. But it's a new beginning of sorts, a different life for the characters that will bring changes. Hopefully, for the better.

I will continue publishing new chapters this week as I finish them, so there should be more than  one update next week, fingers crossed.