Chapter 39
Luke
I think I’m finally ready to go back to work.
Kind of.
Maybe.
I don’t know.
I’ve had the thought more times than I can count since the day after Bennett’s funeral three weeks ago, especially since the soft opening for the coffee shop I still have yet to name is supposed to be in 72 hours.
I’m not letting myself spiral about it today though. Instead, I’m in my car, driving to Lenny’s, ready to tell Emmett I can take my shifts back from Ava, Mickey, or Cyrus—whoever has been taking them—and take a look at the progress the Lenny’s crew has put in at the coffee shop.
I don’t know how I’ll thank them all for picking up my slack. The coffee shop was supposed to be mine, my project, my responsibility, my something to be proud of.
But I would also be delusional to think that I could do it all alone, especially now.
I turn into the parking lot at Lenny’s, sending a quick text to Annie that I’ll most likely be here when she gets home from her rotation .
I’ve dropped the ball on supporting her through this tough year, and it can’t be easy for her to also be putting in some of her free time to tend to the coffee shop. I plan on digging myself out of this hole Bennett’s death threw me into and making sure she knows how thankful I am for her.
I’ve been a shell since coming home from the hospital. Sometimes I feel like a version of myself, and other times feeling I don’t even recognize myself.
Annie has been patient with me, and therapy has helped. More than I thought it would.
Dealing with the loss of a loved one is something so many people experience—and I thought, for some reason, there would be more answers to how you recover from it. I know it sounds silly, but I thought my therapist would give me ten steps to follow, and I’d be cured of my grief.
What I’ve actually learned is there is nothing special, no specific way to cope.
You just do it.
It sounds cliché, but I’ve found the only way is to just keep living, keeping up with the life around you that doesn’t slow down, and putting one foot in front of the other.
I’ve always heard people say time heals, but it doesn’t, not really.
And I know life will be good again, but it’ll be in a different way.
A way without my brother.
I knew life could be cruel. I saw it with the people I love the most—and lately it’s felt like life takes everything away but the pain.
Annie has helped too.
No.
She saved my life.
It might sound dramatic or silly, but I wouldn’t be getting through this without her.
I would have been drunk or high off my ass—looking for solace in alcohol, drugs, or sleeping pills, anything to help me forget—if I didn’t have her to remind me that life goes on.
She’s never once rushed me, never once told me what she thinks I needed to do, or made me feel like I was wrong in the way I chose to heal.
Instead, she let me lean on her completely, reminding me how strong she is.
When I have been a mess, a train wreck, she’s been here to clean it up.
“I can do this,” I say to myself. The thought of walking into Lenny’s isn’t feeling as scary as it did a week ago. “I can do this,” I repeat a little louder, gripping my steering wheel until I feel a pain in my wrist.
I shake my head, my blonde hair whipping against my cheek, reminding me I am in desperate need of a haircut. I spot one of Annie’s hair ties in one of the cup holders in my center console, deciding to use it to pull half of my hair back in a small bun, just to keep it out of my face.
Rubbing my sweaty palms on my jean-cladded thighs, I take in a deep breath and let out a long one, just like my therapist says I should do when I start to feel like the walls are closing in around me. Like the only place I can escape the pressure is in the darkness of my bedroom.
“I can do this,” I whisper one more time before opening the driver’s side door.
I step out, still not used to the crisp air.
I’ve left our apartment maybe twice since Bennett’s funeral, but time has flown by and suddenly it’s the first day of December. It feels like yesterday Caleb called me in the middle of the night.
I shake the thought away, needing to keep my head on straight if I want to do this. If I want to keep up with life around me, if I want to put one foot in front of the other—just like Bennett would want me to do.
Caleb didn’t have a choice but to keep moving, having to go back to work with my dad who carried on business as usual, no surprises there.
And that makes sense for Caleb.
He needed to throw himself back into work, get his mind off of it, like those sharks who need to keep moving or else they’ll suffocate.
He calls at least once a week, just like he did before Bennett died, and the conversation is always the same—he asks how I’m doing, and I say I’m fine. I ask him how he’s doing and he says he’s okay. We both know we’re lying to each other, but we both know saying anything else will hurt more.
Jack was given time off from work, deciding to take a leave of absence and spend time at his family’s cabin in a small town a few hours north. He drove up there the night of the funeral, stopping at Lenny’s for a beer and then packing up and leaving. He checks in with a text or two here and there, but he needs space.
I lost my brother; he lost his best friend.
I reach out to pull the door to Lenny’s open. The sun is about to set, the late-afternoon sunset catching me off-guard for a moment before remembering the long summer nights are long gone.
“Luke,” I hear when the door shuts behind me. A familiar gruff voice I’d recognize anywhere. Emmett’s long dark hair is pulled back in its usual topknot, dressed in one of his hundreds of black hoodies with the sleeves pulled up to expose his tatted skin.
“Emmett,” I echo, going to run a hand through my hair but remembering it’s pulled back in a hair tie. “I’m ready to get back to work. I’m grateful to you and the other bartenders for taking my shifts, but I’m ready to come back.”
Emmett doesn’t say anything, just slightly narrows his eyes and crosses his arms.
A few booths and high top tables are occupied, only one bartender needed for the week night shifts. My shifts were the night ones, Tuesdays through Thursdays, and I’m lucky Emmett hired our three bartenders at the end of the summer; otherwise, I don’t know how we would’ve kept this place open with just the two of us.
“I haven’t been covering your shifts,” he grumbles.
“Okay,” I answer, “I’ll be sure to thank Ava and the guys when I see them.”
“You have Annie to thank,” he replies, and my mouth forms a small O-shape in surprise.
Annie been covering my shifts?
There’s no way Emmett would’ve let her do that.
I wouldn’t have let her do that.
If I knew.
I think back to a conversation I had with her a few days after the funeral, her offering to coordinate all the final inspections, deliveries, and contractors at the coffee shop during the weeks leading up to the opening.
I hate that it’s a blur.
I hate that the last four weeks have been a blur.
“No, I– I didn’t—” I sputter out.
“She’s been handling everything next door too, barely letting us help out beside that fucking coffee bar. ”
“What?” I exhale, and I feel like the wind was knocked out of me. “She didn’t have to do that.”
“No shit,” he growls, but he seems madder at Annie than he does at me. “Drew told me she found her here one night last week, so I started taking your shifts. Also said that she’s been next door with any free time she has, only letting the girls help with the social media shit and decorating. I swear, that girl needs her fucking rest during these rotations, not spreading herself so thin she’ll snap in half.”
I nod my head, processing his words.
Honestly, I couldn’t tell you what Annie’s been up to the past month. I’ve just assumed she was busy with her rotations and sharing the responsibilities of the coffee shop with the rest of our friends.
We’ve barely spent time together, talked to one another—we haven’t laughed or smiled together in weeks.
I haven’t even thanked her, held her, kissed her.
Why the hell haven’t I kissed her?
I look up to find Emmett looking at me, but it’s not a look I’m used to. I thought he’d give me one of his looks that makes me feel like I’ve disappointed a father figure, which I very well deserve after letting Annie run herself into the ground, but I’ve never seen this look before.
There’s a semblance of understanding, of sadness, and it makes my eyes water.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” he says slowly, nodding his head to the chair in front of him at the bar, so I pull out the chair and sit. “I’m not going to ask how you’re doing or if you’re okay because we both know you’ll lie and say you’re fine,” he starts.
I’m not used to him talking this much without Drew around.
When I don’t say anything, he continues. “I know what it’s like to lose a sibling, and I’m not telling you this to take away whatever you’re feeling about Bennett. Me losing my sister isn’t the same as you losing your brother; I know that. But, what I also know is how the emotions that come with losing someone you love are confusing and painful as fuck.”
I nod my head, though my throat feels dry and pressure continues to build behind my eyes.
“There’s the sadness and anger about it being them instead of you, about them not deserving what happened to them. There’s the guilt that comes with that too, along with the guilt that comes with the time you need to grieve.”
It’s like he’s taking all the thoughts I’ve had spinning around in my head for weeks and laying them all out in front of me, making them feel manageable.
I’ve talked about all of this in therapy, but this feels more personal, more real, more raw. It’s different coming from a friend who has been through it.
Emmett continues. “My therapist once told me to think of my grief about losing Lennon as a balloon inside a box with a button. The balloon will change in size depending on the day, sometimes hitting that button, and sometimes not. That button is my grief—sometimes it’s being pressed over and over again, and the day feels impossible to get through. Sometimes, the balloon never touches it.”
The visual hits me right in the chest, helping me understand this overwhelming grief that seems to have a chokehold on me. Picturing it this way doesn’t make it go away, but it makes it less scary.
“And I’m not going to give you that bullshit of ‘time heals all wounds’ or whatever the saying is,” Emmett adds, his tone of distaste over the expression making me laugh despite the seriousness of this conversation. “But you reach a point where thinking of them hurts a little less than it did before.”
“I thought time healed every wound until I lost him,” I say, swiping my fingers across my cheek where a tear ran loose. “It’s like time just makes you forget, but I don’t want to forget him.”
Emmett nods his head. “Lennon died when I was 18, and I’m at the point where I’ve almost lived more of my life without her than with her, and I can’t tell you that it gets easier.” A sad smile forms on Emmett’s face. “I do what I can to honor her. This place and my daughter are things I wish I could’ve shared with her, but I try to tell myself she’s still here, just differently.”
More words I didn’t know I needed to hear.
“Bennett’s birthday is December 14th, about two weeks from today.” It may seem like a random thought to share in the midst of this conversation, but Emmett seems to know exactly why I said it.
He gives me a smile I’ve only seen directed at Lenny or Drew. One that makes me smile too. “Looks like you have two weeks to finish the place up,” he says, and I’m out of the chair and heading towards the door, pausing before pushing it open.
Turning around to look back at my friend. “Thanks, Emmett,” I say, and he gives me a small nod.
Emmett’s right. I have two weeks to pick up where Annie left off—and I need to see her tonight. Really see her. Not just feel her climb into bed with me when I don’t even know what time it is.
I need to tell her that this place wouldn’t be what it is without her—both because she reminded me that I deserved to make my own path, the whole reason this coffee shop is a reality to begin with, but also because she didn’t let it fall apart when I was.
I pull my keys from my pocket, quickly finding the key to open up the door, my body going into shock when I turn on the lights and see all the progress I missed these past four weeks.
As I walk through the space, across the black and white tiled floor, I can see how much work and love my friends and Annie put into it.
The sky-blue walls are decorated with vibrant, mismatched art pieces and lush greenery, and the industrial lighting casts a gentle glow over the coffee bar. The equipment that’s been in boxes for weeks is laid out across the bar next to all the stacks of different types of pastel-colored mugs and glassware.
I can almost smell the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the scent of baked goods; I can almost feel a warm, inviting ambiance; I can almost see the different people sitting at the tables lining the place, working, talking, sipping their coffee, reading the books they bought next door.
It’s perfect.
It’s mine.
And I couldn’t have done it without my Annie girl.