My pounding head torments me as I stare at marketing data on my computer screen, thanks to my meltdown last night with Cole. Not even data analysis is distracting me today, and I fucking love data analysis. I became the marketing specialist for the Nashville Sounds a few years ago and have loved the job ever since. Marketing is constantly changing, so it keeps me on my toes—something I especially appreciate these days. Right now, though, I want to bang my head against this computer screen and hope it both helps to rid me of the pain and figure out this data simultaneously.
I take a short break and walk to the break room to refill my coffee cup. Hoping the caffeine will kick in immediately and the day will pass by just as fast, I drag my ass back to my office and stare at more numbers.
I didn’t mean to break down last night in front of Cole, but he was there and I couldn’t hold back. I could barely sleep afterward, and I swear I smelled Josh’s cologne in our bedroom throughout the night. I breathe deeply to stop the dam from overflowing at work. This is the one place where I have been in control.
I rub my wedding ring with my thumb and sigh. My eyes move around, seeing nothing in particular, as I sit still as stone except for my thumb moving across the cool metal. Til death do us part. Death did part us. It tore us apart, burying one and leaving the other untouched, but just as dead. Hollow, that is how I feel, because the person I have spent years loving, being wholeheartedly myself with free of judgment, was taken from me. Taken by violence and pride. Taken by enemies protecting themselves from their enemies. In war, who is the real enemy?
I bite my lower lip in an attempt to hold in the final blow of emotions. Seeing that I only have an hour left at work, I call it an early day and leave. I’ve worked through enough lunches these last few months to make up for this hour. Sitting here will do nothing to help, so I go home ready to open a bottle of red and curl on the couch.
Two glasses of wine later, I lie on the couch in one Josh’s old t-shirts in a blubbering mess as I listen to Lee Brice’s “I Drive Your Truck.” I should have known when I decided to turn on the country music channel on the television that something along these lines would happen. I don’t care though. I’m going to cry freely for the man I lost, and I’ll be damned if anyone gets in the way of that.
Argh!
The doorbell rings at this exact moment. That’s either Olivia or Cole again.
I wipe under my eyes, smooth my hair back the best I can with a shaky hand, and lower the volume. I can’t find a tissue anywhere so I sniff and avoid my reflection in the mirror.
“Hey!” I feign happiness with a big smile plastered on my face.
“Thank fuck you aren’t an actress.”
I scowl at Cole, which causes him to laugh.
“Why are you here?”
“By the looks of it, you should be thanking me for being here.” He furrows his eyebrows as he observes me.
“I want to be alone.”
“Too bad. I drove all the way over here with a pint of ice cream. I’m coming in.”
“You drove a whole ten minutes?” I’m not in the mood for his good humor. I’m not in the mood for anyone’s good humor and cheer-me-up comfort food. Why don’t they get it?
Cole ignores my rude comment and waltzes into my house, growling when he hears Miranda Lambert’s “Over You” playing from my television. “Yeah, you should definitely thank me for showing up by the sound and looks of this place.” He skirts around the half-empty bottle of wine and my empty glass and grabs the remote, turning off the television.
“Not really.” I cross my arms. Josh’s scent invades my senses from his t-shirt, and I allow it to take me home. I close my eyes as one of our last memories together flashes behind my lids. We had breakfast for dinner and ate it in bed. It was our last breakfast in bed with a promise of many more when he returned. My breath falters, as my chest trembles with emotion. Tears pool behind my closed eyes, as I remember the laughter from that night and the tenderness in his touch.
No tears fall when I reopen my eyes, all trapped in my lashes, but Cole is watching me with sympathy that I don’t want. I rub my eyes, surely smearing my mascara even more, and grab my wine glass.
Would it be rude to finish off the bottle and not offer him any?
I walk into the kitchen and place the glass on the counter. My emotional high crashes, and I’m left with the after-effects. This high wasn’t worth the feeling I have now in my chest.
Emptiness. Numbness. Bitterness.
I stare at the backsplash, dazed. My mind blank, just seeing how the marble stone blends together in swirls of grays. I’m tired. For the first time in months, I want to sleep. Except, sometimes when I close my eyes, I hear Josh’s sleep talk about explosions and finding cover.
By the time I break the spell with the tile, Cole has grabbed two spoons and served each of us ice cream in a bowl.
“It’s kinda melted already.” He shrugs apologetically.
“I like it like that,” I deadpan and climb on a stool.
We eat it in silence, the low swooshing of the air conditioner the only sound surrounding us. Soon it will be too cool to have it on. I eat the cookies and cream sweetness, but I still feel void.
“We’re all going to Riot tomorrow night. You should come.”
I shake my head.
“Come on. It’ll be fun.” Cole taps his elbow to my arm.
“Thanks, but I’m not in the mood.”
“It’ll be good to get out of here for a while.”
“I like it here. This is my home. I’ll decide when I need to get out of here.” I snap at him.
“All right.” He stands and puts his bowl and spoon in the sink. “Whatever suits you.” He walks through my house and leaves, but not before turning the television back on. A silent message that my life is depressing.
I scrub my hands up and down my face and grab my phone. My notifications show too many ignored messages. I open my photo album and scroll through, finding the picture I’m looking for.
Josh and I on our honeymoon.
It’s my favorite picture. Tears threaten again, as my breath comes in and out, and I cover my face with my hands, my phone clacking against the counter. I squeeze my hands over my face, hoping it eases the pain, but tears fall regardless of the barrier I try to offer. My body rocks back and forth as I sob, the picture I was seeking as a savior betrayed me. I hiccup but don’t force myself to stop. Instead, drops of water land on the counter and bowl below me as I rest my elbows on the hard stone and hold my head with my hands, fingers gripping my hair. My body wracks with uncontrollable sobs. With each cry, a piece of me breaks apart. A piece of me vanishes.
A knock at the door startles me. That must be Cole again. I answer the door, trying my best to pretend I’m okay when clearly I’m not. I’m a mess today.
“Hey,” Olivia says and frowns when she sees me. “Oh, babe.” She pulls me in for a hug. I wrap my arms around her and cry into her shoulder. We stand like this for an endless amount of time—me crying and her rubbing a hand across my back in soothing circles.
I finally pull away and lead her in.
“I’ve been calling and sending messages. I’m worried, so I decided to just show up. I know you want to be alone, but we don’t do the silent treatment.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just been a few hard days.”
“Want to talk?” she asks.
I shake my head and sit on the sofa. “Want wine instead?”
“I always want wine.” She smiles genuinely and goes to the kitchen to grab the glasses. Thank God for best friends and silent understandings.
Olivia returns and hands me a wine glass. I gratefully take it. “Thanks.” I say after a hefty chug of the Cab.
“Anytime.”
We sit like this for a few minutes, each of us enjoying the wine and the other’s company. Olivia has been my best friend since we were young. Sometimes all I need is to sit by her in order to feel better.
“I love this song,” she says with closed eyes. “Blue Ain’t Your Color” by Keith Urban plays from the TV.
“It’s a good one,” I add.
“Talk to me,” Olivia says, opening her eyes and looking straight at me.
“I can’t.”
“Try?” Her wide eyes look at me with compassion. “I miss him, too.” She tries to hide the tears welling in her eyes. “I know it’s not the same, but I do.” I smile when she reaches for my hand.
“I have no words. I’m expressionless. My throat burns with emotions, but all I can do is cry and yell. I don’t deserve this.”
“You don’t. Look, I don’t have words to make this go away. No words will make it disappear. I’m not going to feed you bullshit sentiments about how this happened for a reason. Blah, blah, blah. I know that won’t help. But, I can offer you my friendship and love. I can offer you a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen when you find your voice.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s what we do. We got each other. Besties forever.”
I give her a small smile. I feel like shit for shutting her out and ignoring all the times she’s reached out to me.
“Everyone’s going out tomorrow night. I can come hang out here with you. I know you’re not up for a night at Riot, but we can watch a movie and drink sangria.”
“Nah. Go have fun. I’ll take a rain check on sangria night.” Sangria nights are our thing. Sweats or pajamas, a pitcher (or three) of sangria, and girl talk.
Just having Olivia here has helped me feel better. More relaxed. The emotional storm that was spiraling out of control has been contained for now. Nothing compares to the relationship between a girl and her best friend. Without her, I’m not sure I would have survived this loss—shutting her out and all.
I thank Olivia for stopping by and promise to respond to her calls and texts. Exhausted, I take a look at the mess around my house and sigh. I’ll clean in the morning.
Boom.
Clash.
Argh!
My fingers weave in my hair and tug hard. A loud yell escapes my lips, and my eyes land on the reason for the ruckus. An excruciating cry bubbles in my chest, slowly building as if adding to my pain. With another scream, the tornado within me explodes. It escapes angrily, as my body swooshes around my house, knocking things down as I come in contact with them. Glass shatters. Metal clacks against the tile. Cushions swoosh as they’re thrown through the air.
Uncontrollable and destructible fury burns within me until I melt into a pile of ashes on the cool tile. The water from my eyes extinguishes the burning heat as I sink further onto the floor. I curl into myself, fists hitting the hard surface.
I don’t know how long I stay like this for, but eventually I start to drift away, my mind numb and my heart slowing down. Before I completely fall asleep, I sit up. My head is pounding and my body is stiff from tension. I close my eyes for a few beats, and reassess the destruction around me when I reopen them.
I was okay a few days ago when Olivia came by. As okay as I could be in my situation. Today, I lost it. Something inside me triggered and I lost control. I tiptoe around the broken glass with my bare feet and grab the broken frame I launched across the living room.
I hug it to me, careless of shards of glass that could cut me. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper into the frame. “I’m such an asshole. Sorry.” I fight the urge to cry again. I pull the frame from my chest and stare at the picture of Josh and I. The glass scratched a bit of the gloss, but it’s still a beautiful picture of us. I shake off the excess glass, not even wincing when I get a small cut on my finger. The pain is welcomed.
After cleaning the mess, I sit cross-legged on the couch with a fresh glass of wine. Nothing will get rid of this headache, so I might as well fuel it with alcohol. Besides, I could use the disconnection alcohol offers. Another night of forgetting for a little while about the loss I’m grieving. Another night I sleep through most of it.
I groan as my alarm clock goes off. I place the pillow over my head, refusing to peel my eyes open, and wish it were the weekend. Of course, it’s only Tuesday, and I drank way too much wine last night . There’s no way this hangover headache will ease.
Fuck.
I get up, shower, and make a cup of coffee, hoping caffeine will at least make a dent in my mood. I’m not betting on it though. Last night was rough, and I’m feeling the after effects today.
I take my coffee to go and linger on the photo from last night. With a deep sigh, I leave to work, silently apologizing repeatedly for almost ruining one of our keepsakes.
Half way through the day, I have twelve text messages to read and respond to. I start with Olivia’s, telling her I’m okay but have had better days. I then reassure Cash that I am surviving, in which he responds with, you need to live not just survive.
I roll my eyes. Typical Cash.
Making my rounds, I reach the message from Catherine, Josh’s mom.
Catherine: Hi honey… I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing. Come by and see us sometime this week. We miss you.
With slow breaths, I read her message again. I haven’t seen them in a month. I promised I’d stay in touch and go visit often. They also lost their son. It would be good to see them. I think.
Lately, I feel as if I am regressing. As if with each passing day, I lose more of myself instead of regaining who I was. But, I’m never going to be who I used to be. I am marked with loss and stained with grief. A widow. How do I overcome that?
I type a quick response telling her I’d love to see them. Ultimately, they’re family.