Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Charlie
The minute hand on the clock ticks forward, marking the exact moment all our lives changed a year ago. Joey is sitting on top of the store counter, Jack is leaning against it with his arms crossed, and I’m sitting on a stool, resting my chin on my hand. Our eyes are laser-focused on the old-fashioned clock sitting on top of a small cabinet behind the counter, right next to an old picture of my parents from when they first opened the store.
Anyone who has ever lost someone they loved can confirm that the first year without them is the most difficult. It’s a rocky ride of trying new traditions, creating new memories, and navigating a new life without them. All the while, you’re carrying a deep, heavy sadness that sits in your chest like a rock, trying to make it from one day to the next, hoping that tomorrow will be the day when the weight begins to lift.
On the first anniversary of our parents’ death, we all decided to gather at their store, play a few of their favorite board games, eat their favorite foods, and reminisce about them. Marnie and Finn are joining us soon, but they wanted to give us some privacy first.
“Well, we did it,” Jack says to Joey and I. He lays a comforting hand on my shoulder and says, “Mom and Dad would be so, so proud of you. You know that, right? A year ago, you didn’t know the first thing about the store, but you’ve been kicking ass.”
I look up at him as he wipes away his tears on his blue flannel. Usually, I hate it when people say, “ Your parents would be so proud! ” But coming from Jack, those words mean the world.
Sniffling, I nod. “Yeah.” I swallow a lump of emotion lodged in my throat. Words fail me because this has been such a transformative year for all of us. In my head, I replay the sad, painful phone calls at 2 a.m. with Jack when he was having nightmares, or the moments of holding Joey on her bedroom floor as she sobs so hard that she can barely breathe.
Then there was me. Dealing with my grief with only myself to lean on because my siblings needed me to be their rock. They needed stability and saw that in me.
I didn’t plan on becoming the pillar of strength for my brother or sister.
It just happened over time.
Many nights, I would sit on the floor with Vera, all alone, and cry until I passed out with her as my pillow. That poor dog had crunchy, tear-stained fur for about six months.
I could never resent my siblings for relying on me for strength and comfort. At the end of the day, all we have is each other. If one of us falls, we catch them and pick them back up.
Joey hops off the counter and walks over to Jack, giving him a hug. The three of us, with glassy, red-rimmed eyes, side by side, look over at the photo of our smiling parents in a loving embrace. Standing there, we each make a silent promise to continue living a life that they would be proud of.
Even though we aren’t the same people we were a year ago, I like to think that we’ve all changed in positive ways. Because with grief comes transformation. Before, we were carefree and fearless. Now, we’re careful and fearful. We’ve transformed into wiser, stronger versions of ourselves. The shattered parts of us that died with our parents that night have now regenerated into something entirely different.
Those pieces that burned hot and fast in the inferno of grief will eventually regrow. It may take days, months or even years, but eventually, those pieces will sprout new growth. Pieces that can help aid you along in this winding journey. Pieces that give you an unyielding strength to weather any storm that you may endure.
A sense of understanding comes with the hurt and pain of grief. Sometimes, a person’s story finishes even though yours is still continuing.
And that’s okay.
It’s okay they’re not there for your entire story. What’s important are the countless memories you’ve shared with them that are now nestled between the chapters. Those memories will forever be dog-eared, like well-worn pages within a cherished book, patiently waiting for you to flip back and reread them over and over again.
The three of us stand in silence, with sniffles being the only noise in the room. Jack’s arms are crossed as he walks around, taking in all the lush greenery of the plants. Joey is wiping her eyes, holding the photo of our parents close to her chest. And I’m still sitting on the stool, breathing a sigh of relief. We made it through the first year.
All of us.
We’re all caught up in our own thoughts until the door flies open and two rambunctious dogs barrel inside. Our heads turn to see Finn and Marnie holding a stack of pizzas.
Jack gets down on Frank and Vera’s level and is immediately drawn to Frank. “Who’s this handsome guy?” he asks, giving the pup a thorough ear scratching.
“Oh. My name’s Finn.”
I’m not sure I can roll my eyes any harder at his lame attempt at a joke.
“You meant the dog . . . that’s Frank.” Finn quickly recovers. Marnie snorts from behind him.
I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. Thankfully Jack, being a father himself, understands Finn’s bad dad joke and chuckles.
Jack walks over to Finn, and they do the classic bro handshake, shaking hands and slapping each other on the back. “Is this the guy you’ve been talking about nonstop?”
Oh, that fucker .
I’m going to kill my brother. We all know what he’s saying isn’t true. He’s just trying to tease me after I taught Lucy when it’s appropriate to use swear words at school.
Sure, I’ve casually mentioned to my siblings a couple of times that Finn and I are dating. But they love to make a big deal out of things. Especially if they know it’ll make me squirm.
Finn looks over at me with a mischievous glint in his eye. I shake my head from side to side and run my thumb horizontally along my neck in a threat, giving him a clear message that if he so much as dips a pinky toe into Jack’s joke then he will not see another sunrise.
Joey walks over to Finn and introduces herself. She walks around him in a circle with her arms crossed, giving him a thorough head-to-toe examination. “Yup. This one will definitely work. He’ll keep the Thorne bloodline strong,” Joey remarks with a devilish glint in her eyes.
“Yeah, Finn definitely has good genes. He’ll make strong Thorne offspring. Tall. Nice hair. High tolerance for surly behavior.” Jack slowly glances at me, raising a single dark eyebrow. “Good job, Char.” He winks . Ugh.
Their strange comments about preserving our family’s bloodline fill me with embarrassment. Sometimes I wish I was an only child.
Inhaling deeply, I run my hands down my face in exasperation. Finn has a shit-eating grin on his face, and it’s obvious that my siblings already like him. Otherwise, they wouldn’t joke around like that.
As much as I hate to admit it, they’re good judges of characters, and this is a good sign.
They share a few brief words and laughs before we all sit down at the table that I set up inside the store. Finn and I are sitting next to each other, Jack is at the head of the table, and Marnie and Joey are side-by-side. I glance under the table, seeing Frank and Vera curled up together and spotting something in Frank’s mouth that is most definitely not his.
“I think this is yours,” I say to Jack, handing over his now damp, wool beanie.
A look of pure disbelief is written all over Jack’s face. “How the . . . the dog can’t see.”
Finn winces. “He’s got a strong sense of smell. That’s not even the worst thing he’s stolen.”
“Do I even want to know the worst thing he stole?” Jack questions.
“To avoid implicating you as an accomplice, I think it's best that I keep it between Frank and myself,” he replies in a sheepish tone.
Everyone at the table laughs. Jack nudges my knee under the table and shoots me another approving wink. Unlike my brother, my sister takes a less subtle approach. I glance over at Joey. She waggles her eyebrows and gives a quick thumbs up, followed by her feigning a swoon.
Out of the corner of my eye, I sneak a glance at Finn. He’s looking down, fixated on the cards of the game we’re playing. Knowing Finn, I’m certain he saw Joey’s reaction because he’s smirking, and the tips of his ears are flushed red.
After we finish the last board game, laughter and friendly banter fill the air of my parent’s store. This is exactly what they would want—to fill a mournful day with beautiful memories. With a satisfied sigh, I crack open a few cold beers and pass them around the table.
Long, lush green vines hang from the ceiling, trailing down all around us, while the warm glow of the store’s lights wraps us in a cozy atmosphere. Sitting back, I absorb the scene in front of me. Conversation flows easily between everyone. Marnie’s laughing at a wild travel story that Joey is sharing, Finn and Jack are talking about the terrible aim of stormtroopers, and Vera is lovingly licking Frank’s nose.
As much as I would never admit it aloud, it’s nice to have my favorite people all together—sharing laughs, swapping stories, and enjoying each other’s company. What was supposed to be a sad day has turned into a beautiful memory. One that I will cherish for the rest of my life. I’m so thankful to be surrounded by a group of people who care about me so much.
Right now, being fully immersed in the present, I’m deeply proud of how far I’ve come in a year. I now look at the future with optimism and hope. Healing isn’t a linear journey, but if I can battle a painful storm like grief, then I know I’m strong enough to handle anything.
A few hours pass and the conversation naturally begins to dwindle. Marnie and my siblings begin packing up to head out for the night.
“So, Finn, got any holiday plans?”
Finn perks up. “I’m visiting my parents for Christmas. My sister, nephew, and brother-in-law are coming to visit too.”
Joey gives a contemplative hum. “Huh. I wish I had parents,” she says nonchalantly, stifling a laugh.
“ Josephine Iris! ” My brother and I scold her in unison. My jaw nearly hits the ground. Leave it to my sister and her dark humor. I shake my head, staring at her unblinking.
This girl loves to say the most inappropriate things at the most inappropriate times just to get a rise out of people. It’s clear why she and Marnie get along so well. They both enable one another.
“Jesus Christ,” Jack mutters under his breath. Closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, Jack lets out a heavy sigh. He turns, looking at Finn with a sincere expression. “Finn, I’m so sorry. I think she inhaled too much glue as a child.”
Deciding I’ve had enough, I force everyone except Finn to leave. “Alright, everyone out! You’ve overstayed your welcome!” I assert, shooing them out with my hands.
We say our goodbyes and everyone finally leaves. When I lock the door, I turn and slump against it, completely exhausted from the long, emotional day. Now that I don’t have to put on a brave face for my siblings, I can finally let my guard down. Tears well in my eyes, because even though we filled today with good memories, the past still stings. Lingering above me like a heavy cloud.
I wish my parents could’ve met Finn. They would’ve adored him.
“I’m sorry I subjected you to all of this tonight.” I sniffle. “I know it’s a lot, and I promise?—”
Finn steps towards me, dipping his head down to meet my eyes. He respectfully interrupts me. “Charlie, stop apologizing. I know what you’re going through is painful, so let me be there for you, okay? You want to cry? I’ll bring you an endless supply of tissues. You want to scream? I’ll buy myself noise-canceling headphones. You want to share stories about your parents? I’ll cancel everything just to listen to you speak. It’s okay. You can lean on me. Let me be that person for you. ”
I lift my head to look at Finn. “Thank you for being you,” I whisper.
Death is a bitter pill to swallow. But it’s important to remind ourselves that parts of them still live within us every day. We find their presence at the most unexpected times in the most unexpected ways. It’s their way of letting us know they’re still with us.
Even if they’re not physically here.
Whether it’s their favorite song randomly playing when you least expect it.
The shiver of a cool breeze driving on a wide-open road during a long drive.
Or the company of a charismatic stranger and his blind dog who strolled into their beloved store on a cold, dark night.
A stranger that turned their daughter’s world upside down in just a few short months.
Finn pulls me into his arms, and I melt into his embrace, pressing my cheek against his warm chest, comforted by the steady rise and fall of his breathing. With his arms snug around me, he rests his chin on the top of my head. I nestle even closer to him, feeling his strong hold pull me in tighter against his body. The warmth and security emanating from him envelops me in peacefulness. It’s as if my mind and heart can finally take a deep breath after a long, tiresome year. His kiss quiets a million racing thoughts, his hugs dull the pain of the past, and his smile makes me feel beautiful from the inside out.
Finn is truly, wholeheartedly, the most special person in my life.
He’s irreplaceable in every way.