“And Natalie?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you either way, whether it’s me you decide to love or not.”
The urge to shout to him that I think I already do is strong, but it’s too late. He’s already driving away, leaving me devastated and confused.
48
THE EARTH CRIES TOO
Howling by Noah Kahan
Natalie
I knockon Bella’s door, waiting for her to give me the go-ahead and come in or get lost. Either one, I would respect.
“Come in.” Bella’s voice is like velvet now, inviting and welcoming. Her room is the opposite of how mine was a teenager. Mine was empty of color, simple, with a combination of neutrals and minimalist decorations. My mom didn’t allow for posters or anything too flashy. Bella’s has bright colors and looks like girlie-pop everything exploded. For someone who hates dressing in pink and glitter, this room looks like the opposite. Favorite movie posters are everywhere, vinyls, CDs hanging from the ceiling, pink bed sheets, a pink desk chair, glitter, fluffy pillows, Squishmallows galore. It brings me so much joy, seeing she’s so comfortable in her skin that she’s able to be her true self everywhere, even if it’s contradicting.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, sitting by her feet. She lowers the book her nose was buried in and sets it on the table.
“No.”
“Do you want to talk?”
“No,” she replies. “Yes,” she confirms. Bella usually needs time, and then she wants to talk it out.
“He didn’t know,” I say, straight to the point. “I also didn’t know.”
“I figured. I’m sorry I reacted like that. It was just too much.”
“I get it. It was. I was surprised too.” What are the chances the kid Holden connected with like that was Cody? What are the chances that, of all the people in the world, he became friends with me? Or whatever it is that we are.
“You guys never talked about Dad?” she asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“We did. We just never talked about how he died.”
Her eyes open wide. “Why?”
“The most important thing about your dad is not how he died, Belles. He was so much more than that day.”
“But it feels like our whole life changed that day.” She drops her head on her pillow.
“It did. But that day doesn’t erase the years of good memories. The football games, the swinging outside, the trips we took, the dinners and breakfasts at home, the bedtime stories, none of that. So when I talk about him, I don’t start with how he died. I start with how he lived.”
“That’s fine, I guess.” She pulls the pillow from under her, covering her face and screaming into it. “I’m just mad.”
“At who?”
“I don’t know. Life.”
I nod. “I’m mad at life sometimes too, but I remember it’s okay to feel mad, sad, angry, disappointed, hurt. Live in the feeling and then try to find some happiness again. There’s so much to be grateful for, so much to be happy for. Even if, for now, you sit in anger.”
She lets my words sink in. “Is Coach Clay mad at me?”
“What? No! He’s worried about you, that’s all. He wants to make sure you know the truth, that he would never trick you like that.”
“Deep down, I know that. I’ll make sure to tell him.”
