Chapter 33
33
Natalia
present
When I knock on the door, there’s no answer for a long time. No shuffling of feet, no sound of life from the other side. Until the lock slowly clicks and the knob turns gently, finally allowing me access.
I don’t know what to expect. Anger, sadness, laughter, craze, or nothing at all. All I know is that Hayden needs me. And I want nothing more than to be there for him.
He stands there, one hand braced along the doorframe and his head lowered so it hangs between his shoulders, his hair sticking out in different places from his fingers raking through it. His eyes don’t meet mine. They stay far off, looking at everything and nothing. He steps back, letting me follow instep as I close the door behind me. He still doesn’t look at me, but I watch as the tears pool along the rims of his eyes .
“Hayden?” I call softly. He doesn’t answer. So I bend my knees, lowering myself so I stand below him, forcing his eyes to meet mine. “Hayden,” I call again.
It’s then that he finally looks at me with sad eyes and a weak smile as if whispering the silent lie: I’m okay . When I don’t smile back, silently letting him know that he doesn’t have to be so stoic about his dad’s death, I finally see the pain relent. The betrayal that life just tossed at him with the heartbreak that he will never see his dad again.
His chin quivers as a tear spills down his cheek. His face twists and turns as the reality of his dad’s death crashes into him like a fresh wave, vicious and unapologetic.
When your world comes crashing down on you, you crumble with it. Nothing in your muscles or bones is enough to hold you together, so you submit to the weight of everything. That’s exactly what Hayden does. He crumbles, sinking into my arms as I feel the ripple of sobs tear through him. Our legs give out as we sink to the floor with his face buried into my shoulder. I wrap my arms around him as he clings to my waist.
And I cry with him. I cry knowing that he will never be able to see his dad and welcome him back into his life like he planned to. Knowing that I will never be able to ease this aching pain cutting through his heart. That there is nothing I can do to help him.
Every mark of pain that etches into his heart etches into my own. I feel the grief he let filter through his chest and into his soul as his cries ring through the silent apartment.
“Hayden…” I whisper through my own tears. “I’m so sorry.” My heart feels tight in my chest as I grieve alongside Hayden, not knowing what to do. What do I do? How can I fix this?
His hold on me grows tighter as he buries his face into my neck. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t plead or curse. He keeps crying as I continue to whisper “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” into his temple. And every time I say it, his hands move to a different part of my body, clawing at me to hold him close. To console him and comfort him. Because this is what he needs right now. Me, wrapping my arms around him and carrying the heaviness in his heart so that he doesn’t bear the weight of it on his own.
We sit there for I don’t know how long but eventually, Hayden’s cries die down, and we lean against the door with his head on my shoulder. I hold his hand in my lap, squeezing it every so often to let him know that I’m still here, still feeling everything that he’s feeling.
My best friend is losing a piece of himself. And the only thing I can do is hold his hand through it.
Hayden stares out the small window, neither square nor oval, watching the pearl of clouds settled over the horizon. I gently place my hand on his, now resting loosely on the armrest between us. When he feels the warmth of my hand, he slowly turns toward me. The glow of light streaming into the cabin softens his features and the pain in his eyes.
When our cries died down as we sat on the floor of his apartment, leaving us a tangle of limbs comforting each other, I helped him make travel arrangements. He called his mom, letting her know that he would be home in the morning. I emailed Mark to let him know I wouldn’t be in the office for the next couple of days. Family emergency.
Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? Hayden is family, becoming a fixture in my life that I consider kin and familiar.
Once we settled our itinerary, I went back to my apartment just after midnight and packed a small carry-on, adding the only modestly appropriate black outfit I have. Just in case. We met in front of the airport, silent and solemn, and I took Hayden’s hand and walked through La Guardia to go back home.
When I look at his face now, his tired features exhausted from the tears, he smiles weakly.
“Thank you for coming with me,” he whispers. Not “you didn’t have to come,” not “I can do this on my own.” Because it would be a lie. I do have to be here with him. If not for him, then for me. I can’t let my best friend walk into this alone.
“Of course,” I answer, my head resting against the seat.
When we land, we part. We both agreed it would be best that he go home alone, assess the situation with his mom and extended family, and I come over when things have settled. Or as settled as they could be.
So I take a cab home to my parents’ house.
When I walk through the doors of my childhood home, using the key that I never gave back to my parents, I’m hit in the chest with everything familiar and warm. The sounds and memories of me and my sisters listening to pop music, or my dad watching TV in his recliner and my mom incessantly scrapbooking or watering her plants.
My mom rounds the corner from the kitchen, her floral apron wrapped around her over her work clothes as she dries her hands on a thin dish towel.
“Natalia?” she asks. “What are you doing here?”
I don’t answer her. Instead, I drop my luggage at my feet and walk toward her, my feet heavy against the thick carpet. I wrap my arms around her neck and sink into her warmth. And I sob. I cry knowing that I can hold her in my arms. Knowing that her physical self is here, in front of me, worried that there’s something wrong with me.
“Nat, you’re scaring me. What happened?”
“I love you, Mommy,” I mumble into her hair.