“No,” said Ophelia as she covered her head with the duvet and scooted further into her two-week-old bed cocoon.
Jolie ripped the duvet off, and a rush of cool air on Ophelia’s bare legs felt like tiny pin pricks across her skin.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” yelled Ophelia as she sat up in bed, wrath radiating from her. “Seriously. What the actual fuck is wrong with you? Go home and leave me alone!”
“No! You are getting your mopey ass up and going for a run with me.” Jolie placed her hands on her hips as if to convey authority.
“Jo, I’ve had enough of you.” Ophelia got out of bed, walked straight up to Jolie, and got in her face. “Stopcoming over,” Ophelia began in a stern voice. “Stoptelling me how to grieve. Andstoptrying to make me do shit. I lost one ofthemost important people in my life, so for fuck’s sake, give me some time. And shouldn’t you be a tiny bit upset too? I mean… I know you weren’t that close to Mawmaw, but you could at leastactlike you’re sad.”
Jolie stumbled back at her last words. “I am fucking sad, you bitch. I just don’t need to waste away like you.”
“It’s been two weeks! Mawmaw wasmurdered! Are you that heartless?”
“Yeah. I am, and you’re pathetic.”
“Get out. Get out!” With Ophelia’s last word, all of her energy drained from her body. She sulked back to bed and pulled the covers over her head, not waiting to see if Jolie left. She didn’t care about her bitchy sister right now. She couldn’t eventhink anymore. That was the most thinking and talking she’d done in two weeks.
“No! No! You don’t get to go back to bed. Absolutely not.”
Ophelia could hear Jolie stomping toward her, but she ignored it and retreated internally.
“Fight me!” Jolie moved onto Ophelia’s bed and began shaking her over the covers. “Fight me, damnit! Yell at me! I hate myself. Yell at me. Yell at me!”
Jolie was still shaking Ophelia, desperately trying to get a reaction from her, but Ophelia was done, so she shoved her sister off her, and Jolie landed with a thud on the bedroom floor. Ophelia hoped the fall hurt her.
There was a beat of silence before a gut-wrenching yell erupted from Jolie that sent a lightning of panic through Ophelia. She sat up and looked at her sister sitting on the ground.
“Why can’t you do this with me?” Jolie sobbed. “I don’t want to feel the pain. Why? Why can’t you just be my older sister and distract me? I don’t want this.” Jolie clutched her chest.
Ophelia recognized what was happening. It’s what happened to Ophelia weeks ago. It’s what Jolie had clearly been avoiding— the irrevocable splitting of one’s heart. The drop of one’s stomach like unwelcomed turbulence on a plane. A sucker punch to the chest. Bricks being placed on one’s shoulders, a block at a time, but the supply is endless.
Ophelia knew it intimately.
Ophelia got up and pulled her sister into her bed cocoon, and they both cried until sleep pulled them under.
During Ophelia’sfirst week back to work, her colleagues seemed as if they had forgotten how to talk to her, but Ophelia felt the same. Those everyday interactions were veiled in grief. It was as if they could see her grief like a dead animal she carriedaround on her back. No onereallywanted to talk to her. The dead animal smelled, and they were probably worried that she’d ask them to carry it for her for a while.
Then there was a pain in her chest that started during her first week back to work. At first, she attributed it to heartbreak or heartburn from her poor diet. But it continued to grow day by day and gnawed on her incessantly. When it grew pronounced, her instincts told her it was her magic bubbling up, wanting to be used.
But Ophelia liked the chest pain like she liked the pain from her grief. She wasn’t going to walk away from it like nothing ever happened. She couldn’t act like Jolie did, as if everyone should move on and not feel it. Deep down, she felt responsible for her grandmother’s death. Holding on to the discomfort was the least she could do for her grandmother.
And by late Friday afternoon, Ophelia called it quits and laid horizontal in her bed rotting and rubbing at the pain in her chest when a knock sounded at the door. She didn’t move. Jolie and Jade both had keys and would barge inside on their own anyway.
The knock continued. Ophelia grumbled and lifted her heavy body as she moved to open the door.
“Girl, you look like some kind of fresh hell,” said Avery, pushing past her into the kitchen.
“Thanks,” she mumbled. Ophelia eyed a large container Avery was carrying. “What is that?”
“This,” said Avery, holding up what was clearly a small crate, “is your new cat.” He beamed brightly as he shoved the crate at Ophelia to take.
Ophelia didn’t move to grab the crate, and silence followed as she stared at his eager face.
“Come on, now,” said Avery, moving the crate closer to her. “Go ahead and take a look.”
“But I like dogs,” she said lamely.
“Well, now you like cats.”
