28
Riptide
Mitch
The unseasonably mild weather, along with the thick cloud cover and gray sky, is like nature’s way of mocking me and my mood. As if it knows what’s happening deep in my heart in this small cemetery north of the sea.
With heavy pressure on my shoulders, I walk through the surprisingly large crowd, my chin down, my hands tucked into the pockets of my suit pants. Eyes land on me, followed by hushed whispers, and this is yet another time I wish I was nobody. Just another face in a crowd.
Ahead, I spot a fiery mane in a sea of drab, muted colors, and it’s like a bright spark in the dead of night. Even though seeing Maxine creates a desire to rush to her side, to take her into my arms and inhale her scent, knowing it will numb this oppressive ache in my body, I ignore her.
Since the service, she seems to be deliberately avoiding looking at me, and the reason is enough for me to hate myself.
Joanne and Hunter are with her. They chat with my mom for a bit, which leaves me unsettled and bothered, then hug and leave.
Mom looks up and catches me staring. Her eyes are so sad and full of conflict that it stings, even from across the lawn. She offers me a small smile, and I take a second before dropping my tense shoulders and making my way over.
I take her into my arms and kiss the top of her head. “How are you holding up?”
“Better than the weather,” she replies with a muted laugh, then shivers. I hug her tighter and catch Joanne hugging her kids before getting into her car and driving away.
“I can’t believe she had the nerve to show her face here.”
“Chi-Chi,” Mom says softly, but with no less warning. She weaves her tiny arms under my coat and around my waist, pressing her cheek to my chest. “Let it go. The anger. It’s ancient history now.”
“That may be, but she didn’t need to come to Dad’s funeral.”
“I think she did.” She looks up at me, her brown eyes kind. “She came to say goodbye. And to speak her piece. As I have. It’s what grownups do.”
I’ve known Joanne as long as I’ve known Maxine and Hunter.
Before her affair with my dad, she was someone I considered family.
But maybe Mom’s right. With him gone, leaving us all in the same confused puddle of dysfunction, the resentment I hold toward her seems petty and not worth holding onto anymore.
In the end, who loved who, when it all fell apart, and who did the breaking doesn’t make a difference. I get that now.
Knowing she wouldn’t dare ask for a hug, but needs one, I draw Mom back, crushing her against me. “No matter what, Mom, he loved you more.”
“We loved each other.” She looks up again, and even though her smile doesn’t reach her tear-filled eyes, it’s there. “He adored you, Mitchell. You need to believe me. He didn’t hold any anger about the two of you drifting apart.”
She rests her hand against my cheek, giving it an affectionate tap, then glances over her shoulder and nods toward Maxine, who’s glaring at the mound of dirt over Dad’s grave.
“When you two were kids, I could always tell when you fought.” She looks back at me and arches an eyebrow. “Guess some things haven’t changed.”
“Not sure what you’re talking about,” I reply, pursing my lips.
“She cares for you, Chi-Chi. More than you might realize. Whatever happened between the two of you, fix it. Don’t let her slip away.”
I hang my head, remembering how Maxine said I’d broken her heart. She didn’t admit it, but the idea that she’d also been in love with me back then makes my skin prickle with horrible disappointment.
We’ve wasted so much time, and now that ship has sailed.
With one last kiss on my cheek, Mom leaves my side and welcomes condolences from some friends. Filled with anxiety, I glance around and step away from the lingering mourners, finding a quiet bench to sit on.
A few minutes later, the sound of a branch cracking behind me warns that I’m no longer alone. I find it almost impossible to lift my head, but I do.
Buried in a thick black sweater that is easily one size too big, Maxine looks so small. Her face is bare, without makeup, and when she tucks her chin into the collar of the sweater, the dark fabric brings out her milky white skin and freckles. She’s so stunning, it makes my heart ache.
“Can we talk?” Her question comes out in a whisper, lacking any emotion, and it rips me apart inside. We haven’t spoken since my bedroom days ago, and though I bet she has loads to say, I’m not quite sure I want to hear it.
I raise my eyes to hers, squinting them slightly. “And you think now’s a good time?”
“This is the best place to say what I need to.”
She tugs at the ends of her sleeves, her nervousness reaching deep into my chest. Or is there another reason for this strain behind my ribs and the short breaths I’m taking?
“Mitchell?”
Normally, I love when she uses my full name, but this time it’s so filled with uncertainty that it almost sounds unkind and impersonal.
“I’m not up for this conversation right now, Max.”
“I understand,” she replies. “But it doesn’t have to be a conversation. Like Bill said, ‘Even if they don’t want to hear it, make them listen’. And I need you to listen.”
The raw truth burns in her eyes.
Twisting my tongue around in my mouth, I look away, then shrug. I dread what she wants to say and worry it’ll be like last time, but I don’t leave.
Whatever it is, no matter how much it might hurt, something tells me I need to hear it.
Max
Dirt. Cold, damp dirt.
Bill is lying under it. A man who was like a second father to me, but was also the catalyst that tore my family, as well as Mitch and me, apart.
I thought I was over it. That after all this time, I was ready to forgive. And maybe it’s the cemetery bringing it out of me, but I’m so upset, I feel like I’m in someone else’s skin and my head is about to split into pieces.
Exactly like my heart did in Mitchell’s bedroom.
During the burial, out of the corner of my eye, I watched him staring at the coffin, felt him right next to me even though he was far away.
I hoped it was the same for him, that he could feel me supporting him in the only way I could.
But instead, all I felt from his side of the lawn was resentment.
The low, undulating bitterness that’s kept him from looking at or speaking to me all morning.
Still, knowing that we’re going through this together, even if apart, provides me a sense of comfort.
Then again, I could be clutching at straws, desperate to cling to whatever smidgen of affection there might still be between us.
To know that what happened in his bedroom, more importantly, what he said to me and how I chickened out, wasn’t the last of us.
My mother gives me a hug, then leaves with Hunter, who walks her to her car.
I’m still so upset that she showed up today, but she insisted.
It’s not my place to deny her the right to pay her respects.
But what’s even more surprising than her showing her face here is Robyn’s unexpected civility.
I’m not sure I could have handled that situation with such grace.
Then again, that’s what makes Robyn who she is.
I don’t need to see Mitch to know he’s close. I sense him hovering in my periphery. But without the shelter of the other mourners who’ve all trickled away, I’m exposed and very cold.
When I woke this morning, the dark clouds turned into a miserable rain that also brought a northerly wind. Though the rain stopped an hour ago, it forgot to take the cold along with it.
I take a chance and approach him to talk. He keeps his arms crossed, his hurt obvious. But when he doesn’t walk away, I grasp at the chance he’s giving me, holding onto it even as my stomach lurches up into my throat.
“I’m sorry, Mitch. Sorrier than you’ll ever know.
For everything.” I sit beside him, desperate to hold his hand, but tuck mine into the sleeves of my sweater instead.
“When you said what you said, I couldn’t handle it.
It was too much. Because for so long I adored you.
Almost like you were this unattainable thing.
And let’s face it—you were. So, when I saw you with Jessa, it was all just a confirmation that I wasn’t what you wanted.
That you’d never see me the same way. That I’d never have you. ”
He grimaces, tilting his head. “Max, you were there in the tent. I wanted you. Didn’t you feel how much I wanted you?”
“No, I get it. But I was sixteen,” I offer with a shrug. “Anyway, I’m getting off track here. Plus, I’m freezing my tits off, so…”
I glance toward the mound of dirt and cringe, but when I look back at Mitch, I see the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, and my heart feels whole again.
“The point is, I’ve realized over the last couple of weeks that this isn’t about my guilt for lying, or hating Jessa, or being angry at you for leaving.
And this isn’t about how I reacted when I was a kid.
This is about me not being able to deal with how much I feel for you. How much I’ve always felt for you.”
I stick my thumb through my sleeve, and without realizing it, I’ve stretched out a hole.
“It destroyed me when I fucked it all up between us. Whether it was our friendship or whatever we had. I never hated you; I hated myself for ruining what might have been. For not even trying to fight for you. You’ve always held this enormous place in my heart, and I should have fought for you.
But now I see that we’ll never have that chance again.
” I inhale deeply and raise my gaze to him, then roll my shoulders back.
“And knowing that I loved you, but not enough to tell you will always be one of my biggest regrets.”
He watches me for a few minutes before shifting his gaze away. “I don’t get it. Why did you tear me down when I opened my heart to you?”
I laugh dryly. “Imagine knowing the person you’ve adored almost your entire life feels the same way about you. There’s no way you wouldn’t freak out a little. Everything hit me hard. I just… wasn’t ready.”
Slowly, he draws his gaze back to mine, his eyes brimming with tears. “So, what are we doing here? Because every second I’ve been back, I’ve been falling harder for you. I won’t keep doing it if there’s no point.”
“For now, we need to take our time. Let all this marinate.”
His brow furrows as he looks at me like I’ve gone crazy. “Marinate?
“We’re caught up in this storm of sadness and hurt, and our feelings aren’t reliable.”
“You think I don’t feel what I feel? That it’s not real?” He sniffles, wrinkling his nose. “I’ve said I love you before, to others. But I’ve only ever meant it when I said it to you.”
For years, I dreamed of hearing those words from him.
Like a tidal wave, the regret that he never said them sooner crushes me.
That neither of us realized how stupid we were being.
More than anything, I’m furious with myself for falling so deeply in love with my best friend that I can’t see or think straight.
“I don’t doubt you love me. And I love you. We’ve always loved each other. But the timing’s off.”
Mitchell slides his hand across the bench as if to risk a touch, but settles it on my arm instead. The heat of his hand permeates through my thick sweater, and my insides crumble like a torn-down wall until I feel like I’m falling.
When we were younger, Mitch used to be there to catch me.
Not this time.
“I gotta go.” And with a kiss on my temple, so soft and so light, it’s almost as unnoticeable as the gentle sea breeze sneaking through the tombstones, he’s gone.
For a few minutes, probably longer, I sit without moving.
He’s genuinely gone this time. I know it, like I knew it all those years ago.
It’s like a giant wave settling on top of me, one that won’t let me swim away and that grabs me from below. If I go into the ocean, if I swim out too far, I’ll get carried out to sea.
Mitch is the riptide that wraps around my legs. That drags and pulls until I can’t breathe, and I’m lost in a world of water, sand, and torment.
I frown. That’s not quite right.
With Mitch, it isn’t torture. I’m not struggling for air or needing breath. I’m searching for the opposite. For the sweetness of the water rushing into my lungs, for the surrender.
My love for Mitch knows no rationality, no common sense. It never did.
I could drown within him and not mind it one bit.