36. Penelope
Idon’t know how to help him.
Another week has passed, this one harder than the past six by an order of magnitude. I’d take six more months of Tate’s mouth being wired shut over a single moment of his parents being gone.
No one should have to bury a parent while still in college, but both at the same time... It’s just so unfair.
A wave of fresh tears threatens to spill down my cheeks. All I’ve done for the past seven days is cry.
Tomorrow brings with it December, and the slow climb into the holiday season. Places have already started with the holiday cheer, the decorations, the ads on the radio, there’s no escape.
The funeral was the most moving funeral I’ve ever attended. The Raccoons did an honor guard and lined the path into the church. Their support for Tate over the past week has been overwhelming.
Tate didn’t want to go back to the hockey house, or into the dorms, he didn’t want to stay with either of my parents, and for a hot minute he even said he didn’t want me to stay with him.
We compromised.
We’ve been staying in his room at his parents’ house.
Every night since his parents died, Oliver, Karlya, or one of his teammates have brought us dinner. It’s either been a handmade dish, or they’ve picked up something from somewhere, and delivered it to the house. Some nights, they’ve stayed and eaten with us, a relief pitcher for me, so to speak. Sometimes the three of us sit in silence and watch something on TV, others we play a board game, or I take a shower and a nap. Every day is different, but the support from his chosen family has been there regardless.
Picking out the caskets and music for the service was hard, but sitting in the pews and watching Tate’s eulogy damn near broke my heart. He fell apart, and Artemis and Raffi had to guide him down to sit next to me while Apollo finished reading what Tate had to say.
The image of him crumpling into my arms and sobbing with his whole body will remain etched in my core memories for as long as I live.
Tate’s grief is visceral, tangible, and consuming. It’s weaving its way into the fabric of his future and there’s nothing any of us can do to stop it.
Tate’s upstairs, he went up to shower, just as well, seeing as it’s been a few days. Eloise offered to come over for a few hours today but we’re back at school, Thanksgiving break is over, and I need to find a way to keep on track with my schoolwork.
I have no idea how. How are you supposed to just... go back to normal after something like this?
Dad’s called over every day to check on both of us. Mom’s called too, everyone feels helpless.
Tate’s doing his best. He missed a few days of class this week but he was back this morning, and this evening we agreed we’d work on our next assignments together. Not together, together but in each other’s company. He might even feel up to going out to Bitches Brew for an hour, but I won’t push it.
It’s the silence that’s killing me. My vibrant, sarcastic, quick-witted, chatty boyfriend is so quiet it’s creeping me out. He won’t play music, he won’t listen to music, he won’t pick up his guitar, he’s just... existing.
I get that he just lost his parents, but I don’t know how to help. We’ve done some work on his new and improved jaw. I’ve been helping him with his motor control to clean up his chewing and his speech. But it’s not enough.
There’s literally nothing I can do, I can’t bring his parents back, I can’t take away his pain, but every morning I wake up and frantically scroll through a mental list of ideas that might make things just the tiniest bit easier on him.
I come up empty, every time.
A rustle of plastic bags draws my attention away from the blank notebook in front of me. So much for getting the jump on this assignment, I’m so distracted, a typo on the page catches my eye. Apparently I spelled my own name with two ‘n’s. Doesn’t bode well for my homework.
Fuck. Tate comes through the door with arms laden. Large plastic trash bags in both hands, and a third one tucked under his arm. His hair’s unkempt, sweat patches around his collar and armpits, and a streak of dirt across his cheek.
He walks through the dining room, out the back door, and from the sounds of it, tosses the bags in the trunk of the car and slams it shut.
When he comes back in, he chugs what feels like half a gallon of milk straight from the container before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What are you up to? Need a hand?” Please say yes.
My stomach drops at the shake of his head.
“I’m good. I’m going through Mom and Dad’s clothes, loading them up in bags for Goodwill.”
Isn’t it too soon? It’s not for me to judge anyone’s grief or how he’s processing his loss, but this feels too soon. I don’t say anything, but worry my lip between my teeth.
In a moment of rare intimacy these days, he drops a chaste kiss on my forehead. “I’m okay. This needs to happen. I’d rather take care of it now, take care of all of it now, than have to stretch this out over the coming months or longer.”
The sadness in his eyes shreds my heart like a block of cheese through a grater. Fuck. My poor guy.
He wipes a stray bead of sweat from his forehead. “Dad’s lawyer called while I was upstairs, too. Turns out.” He takes another slug from the container. “Dad bought Mom a cabin as a gift. Somewhere in the northeast Georgia Mountains.”
From the way he says it, Tate had no idea his parents were buying a cabin.
He tips his head. “This is a hidden gem for cabin lovers. You can explore the waterfalls, the vineyards, and the charming towns.” He’s reciting this like he read it from the internet, but his voice is empty, flat.
The gesture from his dad for his mom is so romantic that my already heavy heart sinks even further. I don’t ask what he’s going to do with the cabin, if he’s going to visit it, keep it, sell it, I just pull him into my arms and hold him.
“I’m okay.”
“You’ve said those two words so many times they don’t even sound like words anymore, Tate.”
“I need to tell myself I’m okay so I don’t fall apart.”
“Or... and hear me out here for a second. You could fall apart, and let your support network help pick you back up again.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
I nod, because I know it’s hard to trust people will be there to catch you when you fall.
“I didn’t know your dad coached Miracle League.”
Miracle League is a nonprofit organization that builds and operates baseball fields for children with disabilities. It’s been on my mind since the funeral. So many people came up to Tate to shake his hand and give their condolences, and they all seemed to know Zachary from different places.
“After the funeral, I feel like I didn’t really know my dad at all.” Tate brushes the back of his neck with his palm, his voice thick and heavy with emotion. “I spent so long thinking Dad’s whole life was defined by hockey until he was gone.”
Tate sucks in a shaky breath, blowing it out slowly before he talks again. “Hockey was all I ever knew growing up.” He shakes his head. “I had no idea he coached Miracle League, or that he enjoyed paint and sip classes with Mom, or that he was buying a fucking cabin in the mountains.” He sniffs before wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “How could I not even know my own father?”
I pat his arm. “You knew him well enough, Tate. Please don’t be so hard on yourself. And maybe your dad found a lot of those things after he stopped playing hockey. Look at you, you got injured and wondered what the heck life held for you if you couldn’t play hockey. There’s more to life, more to you than only being a hockey player.”
“I’m not sure there is, but there should be.” He nods, resolve flickering in his eyes like he’s decided to investigate who he is. “I was thinking I could take over for Dad at Miracle League. I played tee-ball, how hard could it be?” His lopsided grin makes my heart flutter.
“You can do anything you want to do, Tate Myers.”
He stares at me for a long moment before tears slink down his cheeks. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Somehow I keep my own tears at bay.
He drops his forehead to mine. “I promise it won’t always be like this. I know I’m hard to be around right now. I know...” His chest heaves with successive heavy sobs as I cover his mouth with my fingertips.
“You’ve just survived a serious traumatic injury, then lost both your parents. Let’s not, okay? I mean, I appreciate the consideration and all, but I don’t need it. I am here for you, I love you, and I want to take away all your pain and keep it from you. But I can’t. So I’m just here. And nothing you say or do, no amount of silence, is going to drive me away from you. Okay?”
He nods but stays silent.
The doorbell rings, the clock tells me it’s dinner time, which means there’s a Raccoon at the door with food. Just as well someone’s bringing food to our door because otherwise, I can’t say either of us would think of ordering something, and God knows neither of us are in the mood to cook right now.
I should be taking care of Tate, but right now, the best I can do is shove cereal in front of him in the morning, leftovers from one of the previous night’s Raccoons’ dinner offerings for lunch, and then wait for a solid meal to appear between five and six thirty every night.
They’re early tonight.
When I pull the door open, Edith and Apollo are standing there with so many bags it looks like they’ve brought groceries.
Edith drops her bags and throws her arms around me, a sad smile on her face. “Hey, you.” She squeezes me so hard I feel it everywhere. “Are you hanging in there?”
I shake my head against her shoulder.
“We’ve got you.”
I believe her.
I usher the two of them in from the street, and into the dining room.
“I haven’t showered.” Tate declares while pulling plates and silverware out from cupboards and drawers. “I got distracted. Apollo, do you have time to stick around for a while after dinner? I need a little help upstairs.”
Apollo nods before he speaks, he’s pulling out tubs of food from the bags while Edith puts some things into the fridge from grocery bags. She’s got milk, eggs, cheese, butter, bacon, bread, and bagels.
Not only did they bring dinner, they brought a staples restock too.
Their thoughtfulness might be what sends me over the edge into hysteria but Tate speaks again and distracts me.
“I’m clearing out their closets and could use a hand.”
Edith and Apollo share a glance that confirms I’m not overreacting in thinking it’s too soon, but Apollo doesn’t miss a beat. “Whatever you need.”
Edith coming with Apollo was a welcome relief I didn’t know I needed, and when Artemis arrives at the door with dessert and the boys go to work upstairs, Edith convinces me to jump in the shower then go out with her. I have no idea where we’re going, but I need to step out from this space to catch my breath so I can be strong for Tate later. God knows he needs it.