Chapter 9
Winter 2013
My sister comes down the stairs, and I’m in the kitchen coloring with her kids. My heart is racing in anticipation of hearing what Laney had to say about the offer to move to New York. I can feel the uptick in my pulse, and I just want to know if I can expect to see Laney here or not at some point in the near future. I miss my best friend. I miss seeing her smile. Most of all, I miss seeing life in her eyes.
The last time I was with her, she seemed empty. She barely spoke and simply sat quietly by my side. Oddly enough, it wasn’t that the interaction was uncomfortable but the fact that she still looked lost. The worst realization is that the version of Laney I have known all of my life seems to be a memory, and this person in her place will now have to conform to a new lifestyle.
I feel like she is never going to be the same, but that doesn’t mean she will never shine the way she used to. Even with so much of her light dimmed, my love for her remains. I feel even more love for her because the appreciation I feel for her still living in this world overwhelms me with gratitude.
I hear my sister’s footsteps as she enters the kitchen, and I put the crayon down and wait for her. The moment she looks over at me, the smile on her face tells me that Laney agreed to her proposition. I let out a breath, and tremendous relief washes over me.
I move the chair back, the noise causing Mallory and Jackson to cover their ears, and I walk over to Becca, my strides eating the distance between us quickly, and hug her. Without saying a word, I know that this is a step in a different direction and, hopefully, one that will pull my Laney back to the surface. But that’s the thing about love: no matter what version I get of her, I just want to see her again.
I want to feel her warmth in my hands. I want to feel her heart beating when I lay my head down on her chest. I cannot take a moment on this earth without her soul with me. She gives me life in a way that’s hard to describe. My next breath is dependent on her being here, and I will do everything in my power to show her that she is loved beyond all the pain the world tries to throw at her.
Eight days. That’s how long it takes to see Laney. She drove into the city with her sister. They made their way across a handful of states, and she’s finally here. I’m upstairs in the hallway, looking out the window of my sister’s brownstone, and I decide to wait in the room Laney will be staying in.
I hear my sister, Ellie, and Laney downstairs and I take a seat on the bed in Laney’s new room. What was once a reunion with laughter and screams is now muted, much like the version of Laney I have come to acknowledge is her at this point in life.
I hear my sister tell Laney that her room is upstairs and down the hall. Next, I hear soft footsteps moving up the stairs, slowly in what I imagine is Laney, taking in what is now her new home. The door opens slowly to reveal my beautiful girl. It’s at that moment I realize that this is not a sprint but a marathon, slow and steady, to show Laney I’m here to stay. I can’t fathom loving another human being the way I love her. But I think I have to take my time to get her to the point where she’ll accept my love in that way.
“Hi,” she says, almost in a whisper. I can’t describe her demeanor as shy like I’ve seen in the past when she felt bashful. It’s almost as if she’s hesitant to enjoy this moment because she now knows how fragile life is after experiencing something so tragic.
“Hey, Bean. I missed you.” I stand, rubbing my hands down my jeans, then slowly move closer to her.
I haven’t spoken to her since Christmas day. I texted her on New Year”s, but I only got a heart emoji as a response. That’s how it’s been between us since that day months ago, me putting everything on the line and her taking what she can handle. I get it, she’s hurting. It’s not my job to push but to nurture, and that’s exactly what I’ll do for as long as she’ll let me.
I get as close as I know she’s comfortable with and then open my arms out and watch as she slowly moves toward me and rests her cheek against my chest. I started seeing a therapist after the shooting, trying to wrap my head around how I can support the woman I love by whatever means possible to show her she is loved. In therapy, I learned to allow Laney the ability to make decisions about how she wants to move forward, not making her feel trapped or smothered.
The moment she rests her cheek against my chest, I envelop her in my arms and feel the warmth radiating off her body. Touching her, feeling life coursing through her body, is a feeling I will never get sick of. The fear I held while traveling back to the States after hearing of the shooting nearly broke me. I didn’t know what state I would find Laney in, and when I saw she was in one piece, I was grateful. I promised myself that no matter what, as long as she was okay, I could deal with the rest. I didn’t account for the fact that inside, she would be broken, but I was willing to put in the effort to help her navigate this new normal she was now living in.
Soon, I feel her body shake, and I know she’s crying. I feel her tears wet my shirt, and I know that she’s overwhelmed by so much. Something else I learned in my few sessions of therapy is that each day, each moment, holds a new piece of sorrow for her. That each happy moment will come with it a million moments of regret for feeling even a second of joy.
The fact that Laney survived means that she also carries the pain of that day in all her movements. Each joyous moment will be tainted in a way, and I have to be aware that there will be guilt walking side-by-side with beauty for her. It’s not my job to cover up what happened but to allow her the space to process each experience. And a huge thing to remember is not to allow her to feel shame. Her feelings are warranted and valid. So, in each step forward, as much as it pains me to see her like this, I have to accept that she needs time and safety to allow herself to come out of this shell she has put herself in.
Once she pulls herself away, she looks up at me, and I could swear I see a little more life coming through in her eyes. I think this move is exactly what she needed. I hope she embraces everything this city has to offer. I know living here brought me immense joy, feeling like I belonged in the hustle and bustle of this New York life.
“So, you drew the short straw and have to help me unpack?” She looks up at me, and I know she’s putting in some effort, trying to throw a joke out where possible.
“I guess so. My sister promised pizza, and that’s the only reason why I’m here.” I wink at her, and it feels like we can at least have these moments of simplicity in the middle of the chaos that I know she’s living with in her mind.
We make our way downstairs and grab a box. I tried to tell her I would carry everything while she unpacks, but she insisted she wanted to stay busy for as much of the day as possible. Ellie and Becca stay downstairs, keeping the kids occupied. Ellie brought Tyler, her son, to visit as well, so I know everyone is pretty busy downstairs.
Laney and I work in tandem, little being spoken but moving throughout the room easily. I’m familiar with how Laney likes the layout of her room, so I set up her bookshelf, along with hanging some new artwork above her desk. Laney hasn’t mentioned going back to school in any capacity at this time, so I don’t want to say anything along the lines of going back to her studies. I think she already felt lost regarding picking a major prior to everything that happened, so with how she has been feeling, I think putting a pause on that part of her life will not be a deterrent to finding ways to embrace life again.
“I think I’m going to call it a day,” Laney says as I’m placing the last handful of books on the shelf. I look over, and I can see the exhaustion in her eyes.
“Okay. Maybe a shower to freshen up? It might feel good after traveling so much.” I smile, hoping she knows I’m here to help her through it.
“Yeah, I think I’ll do that.” She grabs some clothes and walks into the adjoining restroom. I finish up a few little things around the room, then sit at the end of her bed, waiting for her to come out. I know Laney feels lost, but if she feels supported by me and those in this home, I think she will start to use that strength that I know she has to start taking steps in the right direction.
Soon, I hear the water shut off and movement on the other side of the restroom door. I sit there, my hands all of a sudden damp with sweat. My nerves are shot as I try to shift this friendship that is now taking strides down a new path.
We’ve busied ourselves since she arrived, and now we’re here without much to keep us occupied. Something that came naturally to us in the past feels slightly foreign as we navigate this time together. But the moment she opens that door, all my fears are put to rest.
Laney stands there with her red hair damp, dripping water onto her bare skin, the towel wrapped around her body. Her eyes are puffy, and I assume she cried while she sat under that stream of water. I sit there, waiting to see her next move.
In what I can only describe as the old Laney, she walks over, each step determined to wash away the pain, and she sits in my lap, and I instinctively wrap my arms around her. She puts her face in the crook of my neck, and I simply hold her. My sweet Bean, full of life but unsure how to live it now.
I put my hand on her head and whisper, “I”ve got you, Laney. I’ll step through fire to make sure you are safe. I love you.” And I kiss her exposed shoulder. She hugs me tighter, and right then, I know that we will be okay. As long as we have each other, we’ll be okay.