41. Waverly
CHAPTER 41
WAVERLY
Fortunate:With death comes life. With sadness comes happiness. And with darkness comes light.
Unfortunate:With life comes death. With happiness comes sadness. And with light comes darkness.
There’s something remarkable about the morning after you finally sleep with someone who has been off limits for so long. The sun shines a little brighter, the birds sing a little louder, and life seems a lot shinier despite the shitty days.
We spent the night in his childhood bedroom. I’ve never been privy to seeing it before last night. Roman had already moved out of his parents’ house by the time I was introduced to Janine and Harold. Hell, I’ve never even seen Patrick’s room. He would always say, “It’s best to leave the past in the past.” Jesus, the more I look back at our relationship, the more I realize he was a complete douchebag.
I unlock the door to my apartment while Roman’s hands skate around my waist holding me close.
“I can’t pack an overnight bag if you don’t let me go,” I tease him, knowing full well I can do almost anything as long as he never lets go.
“I just can’t. You’ll have to deal with me touching you.” He nuzzles his face into my neck from behind, sending my nerves into overdrive. It turns out his love language is touch as well.
We’ll get along just fine.
He won’t push me away when I hug him. He won’t try to get out of cuddling. Not when we are cut from the same cloth.
I lean my head against him. “Nuzzle away then.” I smile knowing he’s loving this just as much as I do. I feel it against my back.
Last night, we barely slept. Unable to keep our hands—or our mouths—off each other. I’m tired, but the adrenaline of him in my space is ethereal.
I lock one hand on his, and the other holds the mail I picked up from outside. Tossing it on to the table, the first envelope is a letter. Same type of envelope as Tom’s, but different handwriting.
“Hmm…” I bite the inside of my cheek. Something inside of me tugs at my gut, and my body tenses.
Finally Roman comes up for air.
“Everything okay?” His grip on me loosens as he circles around and stands in front of me. He knows me better than I know myself sometimes…
August 7, 2024
Hello, Waverly,
Richard, here. We’ve never met, but I’m Tom’s old friend from the University of Oxford.
I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Tom passed away suddenly—early this morning from a stroke.
Six days ago.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Roman’s hand finds my back.
The day just got a little shadier. The birds are singing a little quieter. Life just got a little more dull.
“It’s Tom…he’s…gone. Stroke.” Tears waste no time streaming down my face. “I can’t…what’s the rest say?”
Roman begins reading the rest while I make my way to the kitchen to pour a double shot of Crown Royal with a shaky hand. His favorite.
I found a note in an envelope on his fridge. Maybe he felt the end was near for him, I’m not sure. But he asked me to send you a few things he wants you to have. The box should be arriving within the week.
Please know how sorry I am for your loss. Our loss, actually. He was a special man. A helper. A beacon of light in a dark world.
For your own closure, know that he passed suddenly, without too much pain. There was nothing more they could do.
I hope life treats you well. And just knowthat Tom will always be looking down on you. Let his words live on through you.
Take care now,
Richard
I swallow back the shot and pour another. Swallow and repeat.
“Kensi. Baby, come here.” Roman brings me into his chest, the warmth of his arms—so male, so bracing.
Uncontrollable sobs fly out of me. Tom was all the things Richard said he was. A special man. A helper. A beacon of light in a dark world. He helped me through the grieving process. His soft-spoken way of dealing with life’s unfortunate incidents.
“I’m so sorry, Kensi. So, so sorry.” He hoists me up and I wrap my legs around him until I feel my couch beneath me. I lie down, surrounded by the fluff and blankets I know all too well. It’s become my official grieving couch. Except this time is different. This time I’m not alone.
Roman kicks his shoes off and lays beside me, holding me close and letting me cry. For minutes, hours. I’m not really sure how long. I’m not even entirely sure what exactly I’m crying for?
Crying about the death of Tom? Patrick? Myself? Crying about the relief I feel that although life is unfairly unpredictable and death is impending, it’s also beautiful. Every time we lift ourselves up, commit to growing into a person who survived that heartache, it’s a beautiful thing .
One step at a time. One day at a time. Every day is a gift. And sometimes we’re forced to travel those days without our loved ones next to us. The pain doesn’t get better, it just gets easier.
The week drags. But I’m able to dive into the building plans for my new dog sanctuary. That’s what Tom would have wanted me to focus on. If all goes right, we’ll be able to shelter over forty dogs to start. There will be plans to grow in the future, but I want to work slowly and build up. Foyt Construction has left a small trailer behind with simple living essentials, and they were kind enough to give me a key so I can do some work.
A hard knock comes from the door, and I jump to my feet to open it.
“Hey, beautiful,” Roman kisses me before tilting his head to look at the sky. “Can you come with me for a while?” His dark eyes harbor a mischievous look that I’ve grown to love. Hell, I’ve always loved. He bites back a smile as I nod and he grabs my hand, allowing me a brief moment to close the door, leaving everything behind.
A few minutes later, we’re in his truck with the windows down playing The Weeknd’s House of Balloons album in the background. “Where are you taking me?” I raise a quizzical brow and pucker my lips, and he laughs in response. Silly faces have become our thing.
After he doesn’t answer, I tease, “You’re finally deciding to off me, aren’t you? And instead of telling me, you’re taking the easy way out.” The truck hits a few bumps, but his face of stone never falters. “I’ll have you know that my mom…She has a special set of skills.’” I try to recite Liam Neeson in Taken but fail drastically.
His hand falls into my lap and intertwines my fingers with his as we pull close to the beach. “Nah, if I murdered you, I’d have to go through the trouble to find someone just as talented as you are in the bedroom, and I just don’t have time to put in that effort,” he jokes with a wink and a sexy-ass smile.
I push his shoulder and give him a playful roll of my eyes. A light smile forms when I see a bunch of candles set up. Is he going to propose? He can’t…we’ve only officially been together a week. Well, we’ve never really talked about it, but I don’t count him being balls deep inside of me telling me “This is it for us” a declaration of undying love and devotion.
He kills the engine, and he turns to me. “I’m sorry we can’t get to the Philippines for Tom’s burial.” My brows pinch in confusion as he releases my hand and hurries around to open my door for me. I grab his extended hand, and he pulls me out of the truck and closer to the ocean where unlit sky lanterns sit on a blanket.
“I read that floating lanterns are like a guiding of souls. Spirits can carry on in the afterlife and can be remembered. I wanted floating lanterns, but that wouldn’t work with ocean waves.” The amount of tears that instantly fall down my face at a rapid pace is unmatched. This man thinks of everything. I throw my arms around him and cry. Cry for Tom. Cry for my stepdad. Cry for my grandparents. Just…cry. And he never lets me go.
“It’s perfect. Rome, thank you.”
A while later, after my tears have dried, Roman hands me a pen and a few slips of paper. “Write a little note to your loved ones and send them off.”
I offer him the biggest grin I can muster, which isn’t easy because I’m deep in my feelings right now.
Staring off into the stars, the only waves you can hear are from the water meeting the shoreline. The ocean is like glass. This night is perfect. So I start one for my grandfather…
Pappy,
We never had a proper goodbye, and I ache every day because of that. I hope my moments with you can be carried on with my own children. Rolling pumpkin balls down the alley. Long walks after lunch. Scratching off lottery tickets at the gas station. I miss sitting on the front porch watching thunderstorms with you. I miss you calling me “Bertha.” I miss swinging on the back porch just simply watching the birds. I hope I can be to my grandkids what you were to me. I love you.
-Bertha
Tears fall again as I roll the paper and tie it with a small piece of gold ribbon. Roman watches me, but not in a way that makes me feel like I’m doing it wrong. As if he is admiring how I’m grieving, growing, moving on. His hand finds my back, and he rubs in slow circles. The scent of his coconut and cinnamon shampoo hits me, and in that moment, it feels like home. I feel safe.
I grab another paper and start writing to my grandmother.
Nanny,
Our conversation before you left on Christmas Day was brief, but never once did I ever question if you loved me. I could hear in your voice you were tired. You were done. And to this day, I don’t think I’ve truly gotten over it. Visiting your house every day was the highlight of my childhood. I miss talking to you. I miss your letters and your random newspaper clippings. You always encouraged me to do things I loved, and I love you for that.
-Me
I write one to Tom, the man who lived in the mountain. I thank him for his patience, his kindness, and his constant words of encouragement and wisdom. I also apologize for taking up so much of his time with my angsty and dramatic life via letters while he was dealing with his own life stressors. I apologized for my selfishness, and thanked him for his selflessness. More than anything, I thanked him for saving my life.
Roman is now lying back on the blanket smack dab next to me, hands behind his head, staring at the stars. The warmth of his body is a constant reminder that I’m not alone.
I had one more letter I had to write, and I really didn’t want to write it…to my stepdad.
I know you won’t get this, but I hope you feel what I’m feeling while I’m writing this. It’s been overwhelming to know that the one person who would always answer my phone calls, who would never hesitate to talk me through a tough situation, or would just let me mentally spill my crap, is gone. You’re gone. It’s been a tough few years. The person who was always my ‘home base.’ A comfort of soft-spoken words on a shitty day, never to return. I had a dream about you…it felt so real. You told me you were proud of me and how you loved me like your own. You gave me hope in a time of my life when I felt like there was nowhere to go. The hug, it felt so real. There are so many things I can thank you for, and not enough time (or paper) to list them all. But thank you for showing me parts of the world that I otherwise may not have seen. Thank you for encouraging my creative and crazy adventures. Thank you for always just being there for me. I miss your hugs. I miss your laugh. I miss you sending me pictures of clowns because I hate them, and vintage trucks or penguins because I love them.
See you on the other side.
xo
My shoulders tremble as I bawl. Feeling breathless, my fingers shake as I try to tie the last of the ribbons around the rolled paper. Roman gently takes it out of my hand and ties it for me—his fingers moving like liquid—like he’s done this a thousand times. He props himself on his knees and pulls a paper out of his back pocket. It’s filled with creases, but it’s also tied in a ribbon.
I don’t want to be nosey, but I can’t help but wonder who he wrote a note to. As if he senses my question, one side of his mouth tilts up. He holds it out in his hand, tempting me to take it.
“Want to read it?”