4. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Maci
A round noon, Randi and Liv leave, having been at Nana’s since the night before without sleep.
“I’m going to try and rest. I’ll be back in the morning. If you all need me, just call.” Randi hugs me on her way out.
Liv squeezes my arm as she follows. “See you tomorrow.”
Within moments, anxiety spirals through me. My skin feels tight and my eyes flit between Stephanie and Alan.
“I’m going to rest.” I don’t spare a backward glance.
I throw myself back on the bed, exhausted and angry. So fucking angry. I don’t want to deal with Stephanie and her husband right now. I don’t want to think about a will and what it means. I don’t want to entertain the town when they hear the news; bless them for being so thoughtful. I just need to be alone.
Several messages wait in the group chat, responses to my middle of the night texts.
Leah:
OMG. I’m so sorry! Do you need me to come over?
Are you in town?
OMG. Are Stephanie and Alan in town? They have to be right? You definitely need me to come over. Text me when you get this.
I respond with the basics.
Me:
I’m getting by. It will be a miracle if I don’t commit murder before this is all said and done. I’ll hold back for Nana.
Maybe.
I close my eyes. Nana would’ve patted my leg and told me to pull myself up by my bootstraps and get on with it. My anger reignites, now directed at myself, for allowing my emotions to get the better of me.
Vibrations on the bed draw my attention to my phone.
Leah:
Let me know when the service is and I’ll be there. Sooner if needed but I know how you are.
Izzy:
I’m so sorry honey! I hate that I’m so far away!
Me:
There’s no reason for you to be sorry.
There’s also no reason for you not to enjoy Hawaii. Take lots of photos!
I follow up with the memorial service details.
Needing to expend some mental energy, I swipe a pen and notepad from the drawer of the bedside table, leaving my phone behind and heading onto the front porch. The wooden swing creaks under my weight once I settle. At least I can move my legs while I sit.
I maintain a constant rhythm, lulling my heart into a false sense of peace. The squirrels scavenge around the trees, no idea of the heartbreak going on nearby. Do squirrels mourn the dead? My mind conjures a tiny squirrel memorial in the middle of an asphalt road, but it’s immediately squashed—intentionally and unintentionally—when I realize that would result in more deaths.
A warm wind washes over my skin and I lean my head against the top rail of the swing, shutting my eyes. A long, heavy exhale follows the wind. One day, I won’t feel shattered inside.
When the feeling of wanting to jump out of my own skin passes, I lift my head and stare down at the notepad. I have no idea what I’m doing. How do you express a lifetime of love in a few sentences? I don’t know how to write a eulogy. I’ve never even been to a funeral.
I know why Liv suggested me. She and Randi would never be able to get through a speech. Stephanie would come across too cold. I’m the one who needs to pull it together.
I jot down a few notes to act as a guide. My emotions are all over right now and getting sidetracked isn’t appropriate, so it will still feel authentic. I take the paper with scribbles to my room where the little yellow bear stares at me from the pillows. A small smile pulls at my lips and I’m suddenly inspired.
Feeling completely caged in after funeral prep, I decide to stop by the grocery store for a few staples. A short drive through town may help clear my head.
Everything looks exactly as it was a few months ago. The old library, which was turned into a cute café about thirty years ago, has its front entrance propped open, encouraging passersby to stop in. All of the best restaurants are hole-in-the-wall places owned by local families, with rickety ceiling fans, outdated fluorescent lighting, and not nearly enough parking on their caliche lots. The majority of which are Bar-B-Que or taco joints. Nostalgia alone makes the food better in those unassuming places.
Traffic slows to a crawl at the new high school, just inside the city limits. Only recently has Bull Creek been big enough for two. Now they can boast an in-city rivalry.
Football is an expected staple in any Texas town. The next best thing here is the annual Christmas festival. Every Christmas season, the town organizes a three-day event which hosts carolers in period attire, a Polar Express ride made of fifty gallon drums, and the largest hot chocolate bar ever. Everything is bigger in Texas, right?
Best of all, faux snow is pumped into the skies each night of the event. The irony being that in Texas, you are just as likely to be sweating to death in December as you are to be iced in.
The picturesque streets embody a quaint Christmas town and the residents fully embrace it. Halloween never had a chance here. Not that anyone asked for my opinion, but the architecture of the historic German buildings is also perfect for creepy decor. Their loss.
Nana has always loved living here and I’ve always wanted to be closer to her again. Yet, small town life feels so oppressive. Intrusive. Unlike Austin, I have a memory from some point or another in almost all of the buildings on the main roads. I just can’t decide if that’s comforting or not .
I’ve been to the grocery store here with and without Nana a countless number of times, but I’m still surprised by the memories the aisles hold. In the produce section, I recall being taught how to choose the best cantaloupe and avocado around age ten. My eyes well with tears and I attempt to blink them away, rubbing my cheeks furiously to catch the ones managing to escape. Thankfully, no one else is loitering around apples and bananas so my impromptu cry fest goes unnoticed.
Get your shit together. You’re crying over fruits and vegetables.
Determined not to completely lose my shit, I hurry through the rest of the store, grabbing must-haves for a few days, and head back to Nana’s house.
The lights are on when I return. I rush through unpacking my grocery haul to avoid dealing with Stephanie or Alan. In my room, I switch on the small bedside lamp. The books from Nana’s room are on the bed, not far from my well-loved Pooh bear, who appears in need of some additional stuffing. I flop onto the bed and pull his faded body into one arm, playing with the hem of his shirt absently. “You look like you could use some additional honey, my friend,” I tell him quietly.
Pooh has called these pillows home since Nana took Liv and me to the happiest place on Earth when we were six or seven years old. We rode every ride our tiny bodies were allowed on, ate way too much ice cream, stayed up well into the night to watch the famous fireworks show, and did it all again the very next day. On the second day, while we took refuge from the brutal Florida heat in a souvenir shop, I found Pooh and was not willing to negotiate on the matter.
A tear rolls down my cheek and drops into my ear. I shift onto my side and wipe more away, but it’s no use. The dam has broken. I clutch Pooh as tightly as I can and let the waves of sorrow I’ve kept at bay consume me. My heart aches deeply for the most loving person I’ve ever known and the loss that has altered my entire make-up already.