Isn’t it too soon? It’s not for me to judge anyone’s grief or how he’s processing his loss, but this feels too soon. I don’t say anything, but worry my lip between my teeth.
In a moment of rare intimacy these days, he drops a chaste kiss on my forehead. “I’m okay. This needs to happen. I’d rather take care of it now, take care of all of it now, than have to stretch this out over the coming months or longer.”
The sadness in his eyes shreds my heart like a block of cheese through a grater. Fuck. My poor guy.
He wipes a stray bead of sweat from his forehead. “Dad’s lawyer called while I was upstairs, too. Turns out.” He takes another slug from the container. “Dad bought Mom a cabin as a gift. Somewhere in the northeast Georgia Mountains.”
From the way he says it, Tate had no idea his parents were buying a cabin.
He tips his head. “This is a hidden gem for cabin lovers. You can explore the waterfalls, the vineyards, and the charming towns.” He’s reciting this like he read it from the internet, but his voice is empty, flat.
The gesture from his dad for his mom is so romantic that my already heavy heart sinks even further. I don’t ask what he’s going to do with the cabin, if he’s going to visit it, keep it, sell it, I just pull him into my arms and hold him.
“I’m okay.”
“You’ve said those two words so many times they don’t even sound like words anymore, Tate.”
“I need to tell myself I’m okay so I don’t fall apart.”
“Or... and hear me out here for a second. You could fall apart, and let your support network help pick you back up again.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
I nod, because I know it’s hard to trust people will be there to catch you when you fall.
“I didn’t know your dad coached Miracle League.”
Miracle League is a nonprofit organization that builds and operates baseball fields for children with disabilities. It’s been on my mind since the funeral. So many people came up to Tate to shake his hand and give their condolences, and they all seemed to know Zachary from different places.
“After the funeral, I feel like I didn’t really know my dad at all.” Tate brushes the back of his neck with his palm, his voice thick and heavy with emotion. “I spent so long thinking Dad’s whole life was defined by hockey until he was gone.”
Tate sucks in a shaky breath, blowing it out slowly before he talks again. “Hockey was all I ever knew growing up.” He shakes his head. “I had no idea he coached Miracle League, or that he enjoyed paint and sip classes with Mom, or that he was buying a fucking cabin in the mountains.” He sniffs before wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “How could I not even know my own father?”
I pat his arm. “You knew him well enough, Tate. Please don’t be so hard on yourself. And maybe your dad found a lot of those things after he stopped playing hockey. Look at you, you got injured and wondered what the heck life held for you if you couldn’t play hockey. There’s more to life, more toyouthanonlybeing a hockey player.”
“I’m not sure there is, but there should be.” He nods, resolve flickering in his eyes like he’s decided to investigate who he is. “I was thinking I could take over for Dad at Miracle League. I played tee-ball, how hard could it be?” His lopsided grin makes my heart flutter.
“You can do anything you want to do, Tate Myers.”
He stares at me for a long moment before tears slink down his cheeks. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Somehow I keep my own tears at bay.
He drops his forehead to mine. “I promise it won’t always be like this. I know I’m hard to be around right now. I know...”His chest heaves with successive heavy sobs as I cover his mouth with my fingertips.
“You’ve just survived a serious traumatic injury, then lost both your parents. Let’s not, okay? I mean, I appreciate the consideration and all, but I don’t need it. I am here for you, I love you, and I want to take away all your pain and keep it from you. But I can’t. So I’m just here. And nothing you say or do, no amount of silence, is going to drive me away from you. Okay?”
He nods but stays silent.
The doorbell rings, the clock tells me it’s dinner time, which means there’s a Raccoon at the door with food. Just as well someone’s bringing food to our door because otherwise, I can’t say either of us would think of ordering something, and God knows neither of us are in the mood to cook right now.
I should be taking care of Tate, but right now, the best I can do is shove cereal in front of him in the morning, leftovers from one of the previous night’s Raccoons’ dinner offerings for lunch, and then wait for a solid meal to appear between five and six thirty every night.
They’re early tonight.
When I pull the door open, Edith and Apollo are standing there with so many bags it looks like they’ve brought groceries.
Edith drops her bags and throws her arms around me, a sad smile on her face. “Hey, you.” She squeezes me so hard I feel it everywhere. “Are you hanging in there?”
