"So how is it going?" Sami's voice is soft but steady, barely loud enough to be heard over the humming music playing overhead. It's on theme and festive, guitars and trumpets feeding off of one another in perfect harmony.
Conversations—happier, lighter ones, I'm sure—work to drown out the sounds of clinking forks and bustling servers. Vibrant colors buzz across the ethnic restaurant, bright reds and oranges vying for attention. Chips and salsa are nestled between us, almost untouched. I push the orange rice around my plate, frustrated at both my lack of appetite and the line of questioning I know I am about to endure.
"Fine, I guess. I'm on probation at work for calling off so much. Luckily I brought a union rep with me for my meeting with my manager, or I'm sure he would have tried to fire me," I mumble before taking a drink of my water.
"That's good, at least. I mean, I'm glad you didn't lose your job. How's work going?"
"It's really rough, honestly. Probably the hardest it's ever been for me. I don't feel like I'm all there. And it's kind of scary. For the first time ever, I'm wondering if I really want to do it anymore," I reveal, frowning to myself.
Sami polishes off her second taco, the doubled-corn tortillas breaking easily under her ravenous bite. She wipes her mouth, clearing the redness away before continuing, "Well... how are you really?"
Irritation, ugly and unrelenting, crawls up my spine at her persistent intrusiveness. I know she means well, but fuck. I don't... I don't want to talk about it, or anything really, I guess. I just don't know what else to say.
"Sami," I take a deep breath, "I love you, but please stop treating me like I'm a ticking time bomb. I know you're just trying to help, but I came to see you, not talk about this other stuff. I just... I honestly I don't want to go there."
"I know you don't, but isn't that the problem? You've never wanted to 'go there' and you've always needed to! How much longer do you go on without finally addressing it? I mean... how are you and Logan even getting on?" Her eyes are lit by fire and her brows are furrowed in concentration, passion and concern dominating her features.
My gaze casts downward, my uncertain eyes too timid to meet the intensity in hers. I take a deep breath, "We're trying, Sami. Everyday is a little different. We have brief windows where things almost feel... normal. Like when we're cooking dinner or getting ready for work. And then it's like we remember... we remember that things aren't normal and they never will be again. Guilt settles into us for even having a glimpse of normalcy—of happiness, and then we withdraw into ourselves all over again."
Sami nods, patiently taking in my words as she sips her soda. "Well it's been, what? Five-ish weeks since the funeral? I'd say that's all probably pretty normal, babe. It's probably going to take a very long time for anything to truly feel normal again. Just... just remember to try? Okay? Try to show him you're there for him in every way."
I roll my eyes at her words. "You think I'm not trying?" I scoff, "That's kind of offensive, Sami."
"Stop it. That's not how I meant it. I guess just... I'm trying to say that you guys might need to try other things to help you move forward. Maybe you both need more."
Her words are punctuated with sincerity, and regret bubbles within me for my defensive responses. I've been on the other side of grief, and I know that it's near impossible to pinpoint the right thing to say because—there is no such thing.
There is no such thing.
***
Light shines upon me as my face is met with frigid air. My eyes dance around each shelf and drawer, trying to examine the contents of the refrigerator while one hand holds the stainless steel handle.
Reusable shopping bags litter the kitchen counter, groceries spread about the island, waiting to be relocated to their ultimate destinations. Mindless hands make work of organizing the refrigerator's contents, panic consuming me as I try to locate the butter or the lettuce—and fail in doing so.
Hot tears fall from my face, frustration building as I realize I forgot two major ingredients during my shopping trip. All I wanted was to make Logan a nice meal for tonight. I wanted to surprise him, light candles, actually brush my hair... I just wanted to try. And in my walking zombie-like state I couldn't even buy all the right items at the store.
It's trivial and it's arguably meaningless but right now, it feels like I am the biggest failure in the whole world. Logan needs me and I can't even do something as simple as cook him a nice meal. I can't surprise him. I can't hold myself together for him. I can't be what he needs. Inadequacy pulses within me, thrashing against my skin before it starts to seep through my pores, pulling me down as it latches itself onto my being.
My hands cradle my face as I sink to the ground, my back against the cool stainless steel. I'm somewhat conscious of the fact that one side of the refrigerator door is open above me, but I can't bring myself to care. My chest heaves with each sob, my body's futile effort to shake off the frustrations and bewilderment within me.
Long moments pass as I allow myself to wallow, the refrigerator now beeping its discontent at its prolonged exposure to warm, open air. I stare at the ground with my head between my knees as I continue to cry, physically unable to move.
"Hey babe, I'm home—" Logan stops abruptly, undoubtedly digesting the disturbing sight before him. Food scattered around the kitchen, bags everywhere, an open refrigerator door, and a sobbing girlfriend on the floor. Who wouldn't want to come home to this?
He drops his bag and some mail on the table before heading towards me, and in a few quick steps I find myself pulled up from the ground and gathered in his arms. My head burrows in his chest, tears staining his dark blue button-down as his strong arms steady me, his hand tracing soothing lines down my back. He doesn't say anything, he just holds me until my persistent cries turn to faint, poignant sniffles.
"I just... I just wanted to make you dinner and I... I forgot to buy a couple things and I..." Each word barely escapes through my heavy sniffles, my body trembling as it tries to recover from its emotional meltdown.
"Sh, sh, it's okay," Logan coos, his tone soft and understanding, "It's okay," his lips find my forehead and linger there, his touch searing and comforting.
He gives me another moment before pulling back, a hand landing on my waist while the other palms my cheek, forcing my red, puffy eyes to concentrate on his hypnotizing green ones. I take a deep breath, aiming to center myself.
"I can run to the store and grab whatever we need. Or we can go together. Or you can go while I put this stuff away. Or we can make something entirely different. It's okay, I promise," the love in his eyes shines brightly, and the look he gives me fills me with such warmth and hope.
I nod slowly, absorbing the options. "We can go together," I murmur, knowing I'll feel better with him by my side.
He nods with my response, a small, timid half-smile gracing his handsome face. "Okay, let's take care of the kitchen and I'll put my stuff away and then we'll go, okay?"
He places another soft kiss to my forehead before turning away to start at the task at hand. Another deep breath escapes my mouth as I find new resolve to do what I can to complete my original idea—even if it's not a surprise anymore.
Items find their homes in the refrigerator and in the pantry as I make quick work of putting things away, reinvigorated by Logan's presence. He works steadily beside me, quiet but helpful. I'm bent over in the bottom-drawer freezer when I hear a loud, definitive inhalation. My ears perk up at the sound, and my movements stop in an effort to hear more clearly, but nothing follows the gasp. I finish placing the ice cream in the freezer and turn to face Logan.
He's standing behind the now-cleared kitchen island with papers in his hand, an opened envelope tossed haphazardly to the side. His brows are furrowed as his eyes scan the page, a pensive, distraught look pulling at his features. His chest heaves slightly and I can tell his breathing quickens with every movement of his eyes.
"Logan?" I question.
Quick steps lead me to his side, the paper low enough for me to take in its contents as Logan stands rigid and unmoving. The page is full of information, and my racing heart fights to keep still as it scans the page. A few words and phrases stand out to me, clearly a document from the insurance company. Explanation of Benefits... Mia Parker... Exceeded Deductible... Uncovered Services... Payment Plan...
The numbers on the page cause my eyes to go wide, although I'm not sure why. We're constantly told that a typical one-night stay at the hospital costs around $5,000, and that's a conservative estimate. I guess I... I guess I had never previously considered the notion that parents would be burdened with paying all of these hefty medical bills even after their child has died. What an awful, horrifying reminder to receive on a monthly basis. My eyes pull themselves from the paper and land on Logan, noting a few tears escaping from his shut eyes.
My arms wrap around his middle, recognizing it's my turn to try to provide some comfort. "Babe... it's okay, we'll take care of it. I can try calling to contest some of these coverage details, and I'm sure we have some savings—"
"—It's not the money. I don't care about money, I have some money. It's... she's gone, Lauren. She's gone," his last words are strangled, as if they had to cross through barbed-wire in his throat to escape. More tears fall from his eyes, his shoulders slumping under the heaviness of his loss. I squeeze him tighter, allowing him to melt into me.
Seeing him break down causes me to follow suit, and soon I'm not sure which one of us is bearing this weight. He trembles against me, and Sami's words dance in my head.
Maybe you both need more.
***
A/N:
We're nearing the end, guys! How are we feeling?
I must admit, even with everything going on I'm feeling pretty good right now, as I realized that in less than two weeks I will be done with my master's nursing program! Grad school was rough, guys. So blessed to know I made it through.
Any predictions?
Anyone have to deal with health insurance companies in the states? What a headache. Bills can be thousands upon thousands of dollars, which is insane considering our monthly premiums are already so high! Just another example of something needing to change, I think.
If you haven't noticed already, one of our favorite authors AmiTheDarkLady just became a Wattpad Star! Join me in congratulating my friend and mentor, Ami, for this wonderful accomplishment! So proud of you, babe. If by some random chance you haven't checked out her works, do yourself a favor and do so now. You won't be disappointed.
Thanks for reading my lovelies! ♥️
If you enjoyed this chapter, vote for it by clicking that tiny star at the bottom of the screen. I appreciate it!
—Elise