Fifteen Weeks
Griffin:Hey man, you busy?
Jack:About to leave work, what’s up?
Griffin:Nothing, I just feel like I haven’t seen you in awhile.
Griffin:Wanna grab a beer?
Jack:Sure, I’ll meet you at the bar
Griffin:Sounds good
Griffin is already sitting at a high top with two bottles of Shiner by the time I get there. He lifts up the bottle as a greeting, and I clink mine against his while I slide onto the barstool.
“Oh shit, wait, give me a minute,” I say, pulling my phone out of my back pocket. On the second ring, I hear Abby’s familiar voice, warmth flooding through me at the sound.
“Hi, Jack Robbit,” she says. “Are you on your way home?”
“Don’t call me that,” I reply automatically. “And actually no, I’m going to grab a drink with Griffin and be home in a couple hours. You going to be okay?”
“I’ll manage,” she sighs dramatically. “But bring home fries.”
“Yes ma’am,” I chuckle. “See you in a bit.”
Stowing my phone away again, I’m caught off guard to see a grim look on Griffin’s face when I look up at him.
“You okay, man?” I ask. “You look upset.”
“Listen, there’s something I want to talk to you about,” he says slowly, like he’s choosing his words very carefully. “But I don’t want you to think that I think you’re doing anything wrong.”
“I mean, last time I checked I’m not up to anything nefarious,” I say, bewildered. “What’s up?”
He takes a long drink of beer, steeling himself for whatever he’s about to drop on me. “I’m a little worried about you.”
“Why?”
“It’s just,” he hesitates. “I guess I’ll just say it–I’m worried about how much you’re taking on with helping Abby. You’ve never once talked about howyou’redoing with losing Aaron, and I think you might be avoiding it by throwing yourself into taking care of her.”
Anger boils in my stomach and up through my chest. What the hell is he talking about?
“I’m handling my shit in my own way,” I snap. “And what’s wrong with helping my best friend through the worst thing that’s ever happened to her? Mind you, she's also growing a literal person right now, on top of everything else.”
“Nothing is wrong with that, Jack, I already told you this isn’t a criticism. It’s just concern from a friend who knows youprobably better than anyone. Just give mesomethingman, I’m trying to understand here. You’ve left us in the dark since the day of the accident. I know you’re a stoic guy, but this is reclusive even for you.”
I don’t speak for several minutes, trying to gather my thoughts. I don’t know what there is to understand, I’m just making sure Abby’s taken care of, the way I think Aaron would want me to.
Something painful clenches in my core–when I think of Aaron these days, I think of him in terms of his relationship with Abby. Thinking about our friendship repeatedly rips the wound of his loss open, and if I cave into that feeling, I’m scared I might never come out.
“You and David have been my best friends since the day I moved here,” I say in a low voice. “You know that. But my friendship with Aaron, with his parents, with Abby–that was an entirely new kind of family for me. I don’t even know where to start in dealing with this kind of loss.”
I want to be angry at the pained look on his face. I want to accuse him of pitying me, and storm out of this bar right now. But I know my friend well enough to know it’s not pity or patronizing–it’s the face of a friend who carries your pain with you.
“It’s unimaginable,” he says softly. “And horrific. And you experienced it in a way that no one else did. And I’m so sorry for that.”
I nod, my throat tightening. This is exactly why I’ve avoided this conversation. Once that dam breaks, I’m terrified that I’ll be swept away.
“I don’t like to think about it.” My voice is hoarse, and I clear my throat, taking a sip of my drink before continuing. “Chief thinks I might have some PTSD, but that feels dramatic. I didn’t go to fucking war, I just lost a friend, that’s all.”
