I decide to take my leave when Jack and Granny begin to tackle the dishes. “I would offer to help, but I’m just feeling really tired,” I say apologetically. “I’m so sorry.”
“No need to be sorry, honey,” Granny says, waving her soapy, gloved hand in my direction. “Guests don’t do dishes. Off you get, thank you for joining us.”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” I holler over my shoulder, not giving Jack a chance to speak before I quickly exit the house. On paper, today was, by all accounts, a perfectly lovely day spent with the people I’m most thankful for.
So why doesn’t it feel like it?
I rush through my bedtime routine, determined to be asleep (or at least in a position to feign sleep)by the time Jack gets home. I stay still as a statue when I hear him come in, peeking through my door to see if I’m still awake. I can’t tell for sure, but part of me thinks he knows I’m faking it. A bigger part of me thinks he saw right through my “I’m okay” bullshit at dinner.
Even though it makes my face burn with shame, the only thing I can manage to be thankful for is the fact that he didn’t call me on it.
Chapter 24
Abby
Twenty Two Weeks
“Do you think it’ll feel any different?” I ask, my body pressed close to Aaron’s while Michael Bublé’s version of ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ plays over the speakers.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we’ve been together since kindergarten practically,” I say. “We’ve lived together for four years. Do you think anything will feel different now that we’re married? Even though nothing’s changing?”
“It already feels different to me,” he says softly. “I’ve called you a lot of things over the years, but my favorite by far is ‘wife’.”
“That’s still so crazy,” I giggle as he twirls me around. “You’re my husband now. Some days I still feel like the thirteen year old girl fumbling through our first kiss. And now we’re grown up enough to be married. Is that not crazy to you?”
“The only thing crazy about this is that I didn’t know it was possible to love you more than I already did,” he says, leaning me into a dip and kissing me deeply. “And the only thingI’m crazy about is you, Abigail Thompson. Forever and ever, amen.”
Those same words come through the record player speakers now, with Randy Travis singing me through my soul-wrenching sobs. Today is our wedding anniversary. But instead of ‘forever and ever, amen,’ we didn’t even get seven years.
When the record ends, I stay where I’m slumped on the floor, watching it spin silently. From the moment I opened my eyes this morning, I’ve felt like my grief has been trying to physically rip through my chest. I am so ready to be done with 'firsts'–first holidays, first birthdays, first anniversaries, firsteverythingswithout him.I can only hope that even if it never gets better, it’ll get easier.
That’s what I have to cling to, the same way I’m clinging to Aaron’s pillow like a lifeline. I don’t think December 5th will ever be a good day for me, but God I hope it’s not this painful forever.
Maybe I’ll just sleep through it every year.
I still don’t move when I hear the front door open, or when I hear the familiar sounds of Jack’s post-work routine. He takes a few steps down the hallway, and I hear him stop to backtrack.
“Abby? Are you okay?”
He hurries toward me, kneeling at my side where I lay curled into myself, unable to even turn my head to look at him.
“Talk to me, pretty girl,” he murmurs softly, sprawling on the floor in front of me where he can look into my eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, swollen and burning from the relentless crying. I can’t move–I can’t speak. I’m trapped in my own head, even as this wonderful man is trying to offer me a life raft in the middle of my endless sea of sorrow.
“That’s okay,” he says, still in a soft voice. “You don’t have to talk about it. Do you want me to stay here with you, or do you want to be alone?”
“Stay,” I whisper hoarsely. It’s the first time I’ve heard my voice today, using all my might to squeeze the words through my sandpaper throat. “Please.”
“Okay,” he says simply, taking my hand in his. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay here as long as you want me to.”
I close my eyes again, fresh tears following the rivulets left by the ones before. I don’t know exactly how long we lay there like that, but the next thing I know, I’m waking up in my bed. It’s pitch black outside, which means we either laid there for hours, or I’ve been asleep for just as long. Sitting up slowly, I rub my eyes like a toddler who’s been woken up by a nightmare. My head is pounding, my face feels hot and puffy, and my mouth is bone dry.
I swing my feet over the side of the bed, but instead of feeling the cold hardwood floor, something warm and squishy is there instead. Peering over my knees, I see Jack laying on his stomach, his normally sharp features softened in sleep.
I step gingerly over him and tiptoe to the kitchen as quietly as possible. Part of me wonders if I should wake him after all, if only so he can get off the floor and into an actual bed. It’s a simple gesture, staying with me even while I sleep. He must have moved me to my bed, and chose to watch over me even when it would have been perfectly reasonable to go to bed himself.
