“I have pain; you have pain. I’m pretty sure they’ll somehow cancel each other out.”
That’s nowhere near being true, but I find myself laughing. She peers up at me, a tender smile on her face as her eyes search mine.
“I know I didn’t make sense, and I know I should tell you the whole story. And it’s not that I don’t want to tell you how he?—”
“It made sense, and you don’t need to tell me anything,” she reassures me. “Grief is funny,” she repeats my words from a while ago and squeezes my hand. “And really weird.”
“Do you…do you want to talk about your mom?” I ask, remembering what she said not too long ago about which version of her to miss or what she should miss about her.
She shrugs and her nail digs a little deeper into my skin, but I don’t mind it.
“I feel guilty,” she starts and kicks her feet under the water. “For not missing the version of her I had. Guilty for wishing I could’ve gotten a different version of her. Guilty because she worked hard to make me be her, and now I can’t step foot in a place that’s named after her. I feel guilty because I want to hate her, but I can’t. I feel guilty because I’m mad she left everything under my name. Now I have it all and I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know what to do with my life, and I feel guilty because how dare she fucking die.” Her voice breaks and a guttural groan rips from the back of her throat. “I know that sounds so messed up. I know I’m a shitty daughter for feeling this way. It’s not like she planned to die.” She slouches, releasing a dejected and empty sigh. “I’m sorry. This is why I don’t like talking.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I pull her into a hug and she lets me. “Share your pain with me. Let yourself feel.”
“I haven’t been numb in a while. I look forward to things…”
“Yeah?” I breathe easily. “What kind of things?”
She nods. “Things like…waking up with you in the mornings. Sharing coffee with you. Talking to you. Being with you. You,” she shyly says, and I smile.
“I feel the same way. I look forward to all things consisting of you.”
She bites her lip as if she were trying to conceal her smile, but it’s so big, I see it.
“Pen told me about Monica’s offer. You should think about it. I’ll go with you if you need me to go.”
“Your sister really doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut,” she humorously says.
“In her defense, I was asking her about you.”
She quietly laughs. “You think I should take it?”
“I think you should do what makes you happy. You already do swimming lessons, and I know you enjoy those.” But I can tell this isn’t enough for her. She craves more; she just doesn’t want to put herself back in a place that’ll remind her of her mom. “Do this because you want to, not because you have to fulfill something that your mom would’ve wanted.”
She takes in my words but stays quiet. I seize up, wondering if I messed up by saying that, but she wraps her arms around my neck and breathes out like she’s relieved.
“Do you want to talk about the email you’ve been putting off?”
I don’t mean to squeeze her a little tighter, but she doesn’t complain or push me away. “Knowing he’s not here to watch me do it. Knowing he won’t get to do it.” I admit, “I don’t feel like I deserve it.”
“I get that, but you do deserve it. Don’t let your mind trick you into feeling you’re not worthy of it because I know no one deserves it more than you.”
I want to disagree, but she speaks up.
“You deserve good things, Daniel. All and every good thing, you deserve.” She breathes out a poignant sigh. “I hate I’m sorrys wholeheartedly. Anytime I hear them, my skin itches. It’s all I heard when Mom passed,” she whispers in my ear with a gripping pain, I feel every tremor in her voice choke my soul. “So I shouldn’t say this because maybe you’ll hate it too, but I’m so sorry.” She shakily breathes, voice catching in her throat. “I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’m sorry I can’t take your pain away. If I could, I would.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and hold her. If she knew about the dark fog, it’d make her feel worse.
I need to be happy for her. I can do that. I can be happy.
“It’s okay.” I cup her jaw and tip her head back. I hate myself as I see her red-rimmed eyes and the tears that cascade down her cheeks. “I’ll be fine.” I smile, hoping it’s big enough, bright enough, just enough she doesn’t worry. “I promise.” I wipe away the tears and kiss her lips. “Don’t be sad. I’m okay. I promise. Come on, let’s keep the lesson going. I really want you to come tomorrow.” I kiss her one last time and pull her for another hug. “I’m fine.”
48
JOSEFINE
I feel happy.
