“Let him know he’s lucky to have you,” she quipped lightly. And it was just the right tone. Just the right thing to say.
“He won’t listen to me, unfortunately.” The cat in question sauntered into the room, jumping up on the couch and sitting on the pillow.
“I’m sorry about your brother,” she said after a beat.
“Me too,” I replied quietly.
“I lost my dad.” I wasn’t expecting her truths.
I appreciated her giving them to me.
“I’m sorry.” It was the only thing to say. Inadequate.
We had both experienced loss. It was strange having that sort of connection with someone.
“I feel angry when I think about him being gone. My sister almost died as well.” Hannah let out a noisy breath. “She might as well have. She suffered a traumatic brain injury. Now she has seizures. She’s a paraplegic. She will never be able to live on her own.”
I could feel her sadness and I wished we weren’t talking on the phone. I wanted to be there. With her. Hearing her story. Giving her mine.
“I didn’t mean to take over your grief. I’m sorry. I only wanted you to know that you’re not alone. That I understand. And that cat is damned lucky to have you.” She chuckled. Easy after the weight of her confession.
“Tell me about your sister. What’s she like?”
“I don’t really talk about Charlotte,” Hannah said quietly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s in my nature to dig. Tell me to fuck off. I’d understand.” I felt like a jerk. A nosy jerk.
“No. It’s okay,” she responded quickly. “Charlotte was…Well, she was annoying.”
I laughed. “Dillon was too.”
“It must be a younger sibling thing. She used to take my favorite earrings and hide them in her room. She’d squirrel away my scarves, headbands, you name it. And when I found her stash, she’d cry and make me feel bad for even confronting her about it. She could play the guilt card like no one else. Still can, actually.” Hannah spoke slowly, as if not sure she should be sharing.
“Dillon used to try and tag along with my friends and me. He would try and play basketball with us at the park and he’d always beat us, which was really humiliating, I might add.” I chuckled, remembering. “And when I told him to get lost, he’d tell my mother and I would be forced to spend time with him.” I glanced at the framed photograph on my mantel. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty, though, isn’t it? Because now I’d give anything to have him following after me with his shit-eating grin.”
It hurt. A lot. Talking about Dillon always did. But it also felt…good. Something inside my chest loosened and I knew it was because I had been able to share my memories with someone who would understand.
“Charlotte was an amazing gymnast. She would compete in competitions. Win most of them. I never told her how much I enjoyed watching her because I didn’t want her to get a massive ego. Maybe I should tell her that now. Or is it too late?” Hannah asked, sounding sad.
Tigger crawled onto my lap, startling me. He never demonstrated any sort of affection. Tentatively I began to stroke his back. He started to purr.
“It’s not too late for you, Hannah. You should tell Charlotte all the things you never did before. Trust me on that one,” I told her quietly. The cat bumped my hand with his head, almost as if needing the comfort as much as I did.
Neither of us said anything for a while. I could hear the sound of her breathing. Soft. Constant.
“Tell me more about Dillon.”
I smiled. This was painful. Amazing. “As I said, he was annoying like most younger brothers. But as he got older, he became pretty incredible. He was a teacher. He taught fifth-grade English. I used to give him so much crap about spending his life with his head in a book. He was going to get married. Even though I never liked Reagan, she made him happy.”
“What happened?” Hannah asked. My heart squeezed.
“Cancer. A brain tumor, actually. By the time they discovered it, it was too late. Three months later he died.” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat.
We were quiet again. The silence gave more comfort than words ever could.
“It’s hard, isn’t it? Being the one left to pick up the pieces,” she said after a beat.
“Yeah. It is. I’m not sure I know how to. Or…” I couldn’t finish. I felt guilty for even thinking it.
