The light drifts into his apartment and the rays bring out the golden flecks in his eyes. I wish I knew how to tell him how one look from him makes me feel. How the tenderness of his eyes make me feel at peace and comforted. How the stature of his body close to mine gives me so much safety and such a feeling of assurance.
He nods slowly. “I do.”
A low roar of thunder stirs both of us to focus on the window, not seeing any dark clouds, but knowing it’s probably coming.
“I loved hearing you play that guitar growing up. I remember you would just walk around the house strumming notes. I was in awe of you.” A faint smile spreads across his lips. “Just another thing that had all the girls swooning, huh?” I joke.
I can tell he’s reminiscing on those years too.
“Do you still play it?” My head tilts when I lean against the counter.
He exhales, his eyes closing briefly.
“I haven't in years. Used to… but now I just can’t.”
I nod slowly. “Can I show you something?” I ask, pulling myself up from the counter.
He nods and sits still like he’s waiting for me to pull out my phone or something along those lines, but when I start to move down the hall he follows.
“CeCe did this. I thought it was sweet and wanted to show you.”
The wooden frame that CeCe was holding earlier is back on the whiskey barrel in the corner of his bedroom, except this time there’s a tiny pink foam heart sitting next to it. It’s exactly like the ones that she handed out the other night around the dinner table.
“There was no prompting in this, by the way. She did it all on her own.”
“The pink foam heart,” he says softly, looking at the picture in the frame and letting himself smile for a change. “Did she ask about him?”
I shake my head no, seeing a sigh of relief leave his lips.
“It’s okay to talk about him, Chase.”
His hand pulls at the back of his neck and he sighs on a shaky breath.
“I know, it’s just… Never mind.”
My initial instinct is to comfort him. I can see the struggle in his features as he holds back. He’s not a hugger, not someone who gets close to people–but I am. I touch my fingers to the inside of his forearm, feeling the strength that he physically exudes, but knowing that beneath the surface, he’s soft and tender.
“Sometimes, it still feels like it happened yesterday and I guess that’s why I just don’t let myself think about it much or talk about him. It’s fucking hard.”
My chest constricts as I look at him. “I know. You were such a pillar of strength for your mom and Abby. Did you even let yourself grieve?”
He scoffs under his breath and it makes me feel like we shouldn’t be diving into this. Like I’m forcing him into a conversation he isn’t ready for, but when I open my mouth to apologize and change the subject, he cuts me off.
“I gave myself a day.” His eyes find mine, a soft brown and slightly glossy. “I cried. I threw things. I cursed up to the sky and ultimately drank myself into an oblivion. And you know what it did?”
I shake my head, feeling a lump form in my throat.
“Nothing. It didnothing. He was still gone and I was still left with this pain.” His throat clears and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I gave myself that day. And now I handle my grief on my own terms. I process it how and when it feels right to me.”
“Grief looks different for everyone. People handle it differently all over the world, but the bottom line is always the same. Knowing grief means we know love.”
He presses his lips together before he looks back down to the guitar and inches closer to it, gripping the top of it lightly. He’s looking at it as if he’s wanted to touch it for years.
“He loved this damn thing. I only started playing it because he loved it so much. He took an interest in my football and I just wanted to take an interest in something he loved too, you know? I was never very good, but it was enough to impress girls in high school.” His eyes shoot up to me and I roll mine. His minor skills definitely worked on me.
“I think I've only played once since he died. Every time I would go to pick it up, I'd hear him. I'd hear his two cents that I used to beg him to stop giving me, but now I'd do anything to have that back.”
My eyes well up thinking of Jack. God, I loved him. He was a second father to me in every definition of the word. When he passed away I felt so much sadness for Abby and Chase, but a sadness for me too. My parents traveled so much for work, andJack and Diane filled their shoes in so many ways when they were out of town. It doesn’t compare to how Abby and Chase miss him, but he was such a riot. His kindness and sense of humor were things I always appreciated growing up.
