If Only You Hurt

Chapter 16

Walking out of Laney’s room, I pull out my phone and order an Uber. I don’t go through the house and say my goodbyes. I have a feeling I’m shit company right now, and I honestly feel so blindsided that I just need to get away. The moment I step through that front door, I’m met with the frigid winter cold. Each step away from her feels like the ice is seeping deeper into my heart.

I didn’t want to walk away, but I also couldn’t take a full breath while I was standing so close to her. The one person who gave my body life turned out to be the one to pull the life out of me with one confession.

I knew Laney was holding onto something; I knew there was something in her that needed to be let out. However, I never imagined this was what she had to tell me. I never thought this was the crater that had lodged itself between us, keeping the two of us from taking the next step. I was completely thrown by her confession, and I need time to break down what all this means. I have never felt this way toward the person I called my closest friend.

Laney has held my heart since the moment I could form memories. I’m not mad that she had to process the miscarriage. I’m not upset she had to come to terms with what she witnessed that day, watching her friend die in her arms.

What guts me is all the time since then. She could have said something. I can’t even say I knew there was something this big in her heart because who am I to know how she’s going to cope with a fucking mass shooting. My therapist always said that each victim who survives such a trauma deals with it differently. It was my job to give her space, to let her decide the pace at which she wanted to take each step forward.

I’d like to think I did that for her. I gave her so much fucking breathing room, and she couldn’t even, not once, give me a bit of the reality she was living with. It wasn’t just a piece of her that was lost that day. It was a piece of me too. That’s the part that hurts most. I felt like I was an outsider looking in, trying to understand my best friend as she absorbed the shock of what occurred to her in that school. Top that with the fact that my love for her runs deep, and I made it my mission to help her through the trauma.

I saw her pain as mine, but not literally. I did not even think for one second she was pregnant. All I remember from my call with her that morning was the fact that I wanted to tell her I wanted forever with her beyond our friends-with-benefits relationship that was going on at that time. I wanted to explore our lives being together as a couple. My thoughts were singular. I never thought what she might want to talk to me about was a pregnancy.

I look over toward my sister’s place, knowing all I would have to do is walk over there and tell her everything. Becca could sit me down and give me her two cents on what she thinks of all this. I could figure my shit out and hopefully go straight back to Laney, and we could move forward.

But that’s the thing: I don’t want to go back that quickly. She needed eleven years to process how to tell me, then I need a fucking minute. She got more than a decade, and I deserve some time too.

Does this change my love for Laney? No. I still love her. I love her to the point I’d lay myself on the line to see her happiness shine. Loving her was a balm to my heart, but right now loving her feels like a vice around my heart. It feels like it”s suffocating me because I”m so fucking pissed yet so damn hung up on her, that I feel conflicted on how to move from this precipice I”m currently at.

The thing that stings lies in the fact that she disregarded my feelings for her own. She put her own thoughts first. She didn’t put my needs, my emotional well-being, anywhere in her grief. I don’t need her to put me first, especially during one of the hardest times of her life. But it feels like I was literally last. I fucking gave her all the emotional breathing room possible, and she couldn’t give me just a bit of this pain she carried?

People don”t put enough weight on the need to feel pain when that discomfort is warranted. I was raised by a mother that taught me that pain is part of life. It”s something we have no control over, yet it”s something that allows for growth and perspective.

Losing a child, even if she lost that baby at an early stage of pregnancy, still is a loss. Maybe, even knowing about that child, wouldn”t change where Laney and I are today, it would have allowed for reflection and growth. Laney made a choice for both of us and for that, I”m resentful at this moment. I can”t help feeling this way and I”m allowing myself this space to feel everything that’s bubbling up with this news.

The Uber shows up, and I’m quick to open the door and sit myself inside the heated interior. The driver tries to initiate conversation, but he must sense my mood and lets it go after a few failed attempts with my curt answers.

For the remainder of the drive up to my mom’s place upstate, I close my eyes, and I see those emerald eyes staring back at me. The problem is, my emotions carry me in completely opposite directions: I feel my heart ache to hold her again, yet I feel a twinge of pain as I think about this huge weight she’s carried while I lived life unaware.

She needed time, I get that. She needed to process, understandably so. But so many questions hit me at once: Why not share this loss of our child with me? Why act as if this was her burden, her pain, to carry alone? When did I ever give her the impression I wasn’t part of her team?

Those questions are the foundation of why I had to leave. How do I move forward with trust being at our center when she couldn’t even trust me with such a huge piece of her grief?

For all these years, I’ve grieved the life Laney could have had if she hadn’t been at that school at that time. In the beginning, I constantly went through the what-ifs of Laney’s pain, but at the core of that pain, I imagined her loss was that of her friend.

Now, I am grasping at the fact that the shooting signified more than just loss of life for those students. It signified more than the loss of future happiness for those who lived through it and grieved their friends and loved ones. I am now having to come to terms with the fact that I not only lost a part of Laney that day, I lost a part of us.

So many different feelings pass through my mind, and they are on constant replay. I continue to lay my head back on the headrest and keep my eyes closed. This drive will give me the time to sit with this information and figure out how I move forward.

The moment I feel the car slowing down, I open my eyes and realize I had, indeed, fallen asleep. The news Laney shared drained me, and I must have needed that time to rest my mind.

Once I’m dropped off, I look up to see my mom’s door open, and her head pop out. I see a smile spread across her face, and it feels a lot like Becca’s welcoming expression. They both look a lot alike, and it feels like coming home no matter what age I am.

I make my way up the pathway to her door, and the moment I reach her, I throw my bag down and pull my mother into my arms. The second I embrace her, my mom must sense I’m in pain and holds me in her arms, even though I tower over her.

We pull apart, and as soon as she sees my expression, I think a part of her breaks a bit. Without asking anything, she turns and opens the door a little more, welcoming me in without any questions or clarification.

The house is quiet, and as if she can read my mind, my mother says, “Rick and Olive went to grab some food from the store. I think Shane is on his way too, trying to outrun the storm that’s headed this way.”

I nod, the frog lodged in my throat, making it hard to form words right now.

I place my bag in the foyer and follow my mom into the kitchen. Even though I didn’t grow up in this house, no matter where my mom goes, I feel like I belong. She has this presence, this welcoming heart, that wraps me up when I feel like I’m plummeting.

“Why don’t I make us some tea, and then we can sit down, and you can tell me what’s bothering you.” It’s not a question but a statement. I nod again, my words still not at the forefront of my lips.

My mom busies herself, and soon she’s at the small kitchen table, looking at me, and it feels like all my secrets are safe with this woman. Being raised solely by her, I feel a bond with my mother that is exponentially different from Becca’s experience, yet not in any way better. We just formed a different relationship.

Becca allowed my mother to lean on her while she mourned the death of our father, while I got to be a kid my entire life without feeling the weight of my father’s loss. Sure, he wasn’t around, but he also was not someone I ever got to know. His absence was felt throughout all the movements between my mother and sister, but for me, life carried on and never felt like it was lacking. And that’s thanks to my mother. She was always a pillar of strength in a way that helped me through all stages of my life. So, I only see her as a stable force in my life and right now, I need to lean on her more than ever.

I see the worry lines etched across my mom’s face, but much like me, she gives me the space to figure out my thoughts before I say them. I’ve never been a reactionary person. I pride myself in the ability to hold in my first reaction and allow myself the room to process what’s happening around me. Much like earlier, I wanted to explode and tell Laney how selfish she was at that moment, but I held back. I kept my hurtful words to myself and thought through what I should say. I’ve found that by keeping my reactions minimal, I keep from causing more pain. I learned that from my mom.

“Laney, um, she, she—” I pinch the bridge of my nose, the headache I felt in the back of my head when the confession first came out starting to reel its ugly head. I take a calming breath in, and when I let it out, I word-vomit everything, “She was pregnant that day of the shooting. She was pregnant with my child, our child. And she didn’t tell me. She didn’t ever mention she was pregnant prior, nor did she tell me she lost the baby that day while the shooting occurred.”

It feels just as painful saying it as it did hearing it from Laney hours ago. I feel my chest tighten, and the tears pool in my eyes. I don’t even try to hide it, and I allow the tears to fall. I’m heartbroken. Sure, the pain stems from the life lost, but most of all, the pain resides deep inside because I realize I wasn’t a priority for Laney, even as she healed.

I put her first; I made sure she was seen and heard, but her actions proved in an instant that my feelings came last. Not even that they came second, but that I was not at all at the forefront of her mind as over a decade passed from the moment she found out about the life we made to the moment she told me she lost that precious life.

“I feel betrayed by the one person I’ve ever fully loved in that way. Laney is my everything, and in an instant, she showed me I’m nothing. That’s how this feels, at least. It truly feels like a betrayal.

“And it’s hard for me to accept that I’ve been over here, trying to mend this bridge for her, a bridge I thought I had nothing to do with, only to find out that a big part of the reason that bridge is so fucking messed up has something to do with me. Like I was in an uphill battle, I didn’t realize I would never climb over.”

I am playing with a part of the wood on the table that seems to have a bit of an indent, avoiding my mother’s gaze. I finally look up to see my mother’s expression mimics mine. It’s pained, but she’s also crying with me. My pain is her pain, I realize.

She continues to sit with me, our tears the only expression between us, until she finally says something in return. “I have gone a long time in my life knowing what loss felt like. A loss of a spouse. A loss of the possibilities but I can’t imagine the loss Laney has felt. And now I watch you feel that same kind of loss, and I have no clue how it feels.

“But I can tell you this, Grant. Loss, no matter when you hear about it, is still loss. Laney went through something horrific. No matter how you slice it, she’s experienced something most of us hope to never witness. She sat in that room, knowing her friends were being killed, knowing one of those friends saved her instead of himself, yet she’s found a way to move forward. Add in the fact that she had life growing inside her, something she had just discovered, only to have that ripped away from her. I just, uh, my heart hurts for her.”

I nod because I agree. The loss Laney experienced was too great for any heart to bear.

“I don’t say that to diminish your pain. I really don’t, sweetie. But it’s hard for me to look at this one-sidedly. I see both of your pains, and I feel them in such different ways. I can’t imagine the shock you felt at her confession. I bet it was a slap to the face in many ways, especially coming from someone as close as Laney.” My mother takes a breath to gather her thoughts to continue.

“But then my heart hurts knowing that she felt so alone with that pain only a mother can feel. The hormones that had been coursing through her body, and she felt like her only way to cope with it was to carry that with her, alone, without confiding even in the one person she loves most—you.”

That’s the thing about what Laney finally told me about that ill-fated day. It’s not that I’m angry to the point I won’t speak to her again. A part of me automatically forgave Laney the moment she let out this secret she had held so close to her heart for so long. That stems from the fact that I truly love her and my whole being hurt knowing she was in pain. But the other part of why I need this time away stems from the fact that I felt hurt that she hadn’t felt comfortable telling me. And in many ways, I wonder if she ever would have said a thing had I not broached the subject of wanting more with her.

My mom sits with me, allowing me space and freedom to feel my emotions. That’s the thing; my mom doesn’t hold judgment. She simply lets us feel, which is more than I can ask for. In a world full of so much stimulation, sometimes sitting with our emotions is the most important thing we can do to process how we feel.

“I don’t know how to look at her and not think that she didn’t see me as someone to tell. She didn’t feel like I was a safe place for her when that’s all she is for me.”

My mind is going in circles, constantly going back to that thought: I’m not her first choice, even when I should have been her only choice when confiding in the fact that she lost our baby that day. While I did what I could to show her where she stood in my life, her lack of expression leads me to feel like I wasn’t thought about at all in her decisions or her processing of the miscarriage.

“Have you thought about the fact that you were her only focus when it came to the baby and the loss it brought to her life, and ultimately yours?” My mom throws that question out there, and I am immediately confused.

“How so?” I ask because my mind is exhausted in trying to figure out the intricacies of the human brain.

“Grant, you start, and Laney ends. You’ve always been that way, even when you two were too tiny to fully form sentences. You molded into this unit, and I never saw a more perfect soulmate for someone. Even Shane, whom I will say fit your sister’s life better than anyone else ever did.” My mother rolls her eyes because she was never a huge fan of my sister’s ex-husband, Hudson, and the day they got divorced, it was like I saw my mother take a full breath of air again. “You and Laney were effortless. You were never careless with one another. Each decision always led to making the other happy.

“Never did I see you treat her recklessly, even with all the girlfriends you had. In return, she never made you feel less than when she was in different relationships throughout the years. No matter what the two of you have been through, never has there been animosity or bickering. It’s always been a level of respect for the friendship and, ultimately, the relationship you two have worked so hard to maintain.” For some reason, the way my mother is speaking, it feels like all those times I thought we were hiding our feelings, my mother saw right through it.

“Grant, have you pondered the idea that her omission wasn’t a sign of disrespect but one to hopefully help you feel like life continued beautifully? Laney’s life changed that day years ago, but have you ever considered she didn’t want it to mute your own life? She sacrificed her own pain in order for you to feel like life didn’t rob you of something special as it had hers.

“She did something that may seem selfish in your eyes, or maybe feels like she lacked love in doing so toward you, but in reality, I think Laney came from a place of conservation for you. She made this unilateral decision to rid you of the possibility of hating that day more than you already did.”

My mom gives me a minute to process her words then continues.

“I will not sit here and act like I know Laney better than you, but I will say I know her well. I saw the way she looked at you. I saw the love she held in her gaze whenever her eyes darted in your direction. She’s never lacked love for you. And for some reason, I cannot think of her doing this without putting love first. The only thing is, her love is being expressed differently than you would have done it. Which is understandably hurtful for you. But it doesn’t make it ultimately wrong. Does that make any sense?”

I take in everything she’s said and try to see this from a different point of view. My thoughts start to dissect into other avenues of possibilities.

“Also, Grant, I know you and Laney thought you were all discrete, but pretty much everyone knew what you two were up to.”

My mom pats my hand that’s clenching the mug in front of me. My mouth drops open, and I almost get a word out when she continues.

“Oh, sweetheart, you and your sister think I’m not observant, but I am. I knew you were more than friends with Laney quite some time ago. I just kept my mouth shut because I didn’t want to freak you out. I know what love looks like. I saw it every day in the eyes of your father until the day he died. I saw it in Shane when he was young, and I see it today when he looks at your sister.

“I luckily get to see it directed at me with Rick now. I see love, Grant. Love isn’t what is lacking between you and Laney. Love isn’t what she lacked for you that day she lost the baby. She has always loved you. Her love is what kept her from divulging this secret. She loves you so much that she didn’t want you to hurt even more.”

“But her actions are currently hurting me now.” I leave it at that, feeling more like a child than the thirty-year-old man I am.

“Yeah, I know. It stings. It will sting. And maybe every time you think back on that day, a part of your heart will be permanently hurt, knowing that more was lost than you were ever given the privilege of knowing back then. But with pain comes growth.

“You know this. I’ve said this to you before when talking about how I coped with your father’s death. I’m not disregarding your feelings or the gravity of this lost life. I promise I’ve seen more deaths in my career as a nurse than I would ever wish upon anyone. I do have clarity with the pain, though. Love shines through during the darkest of times.”

“Yes, but I put so much of my needs to the side to make sure she was okay. She ignored my needs. She made a huge assumption about what was best for me, and it feels like she chose this because it was easier for her.”

My mom looks around her kitchen, biting into her lower lip, pensive as always.

“Grant, I hate to say this and sound insensitive, but I’m going to anyway. Miscarriage is such a personal thing. And sometimes, it’s not about what other people need. It’s just about what the person who literally lost the child is feeling. It’s perceived as selfish, but in all honesty, it’s self-preserving in so many ways. Laney needed to have some control in her life when everything else was chaos.”

I take in what my mom just said, and I am starting to understand things a little clearer when she puts it that way.

“When Laney was in that hospital in Wyoming, you brought to her life a touch of beauty when things were ugly everywhere else. She needed love. She needed comfort. She needed care. And you didn’t hesitate. Any chance you got, you were there for her. Even if you couldn’t physically be there, you made sure she had what she needed to put one foot in front of the other. That’s love, Grant. But what she did to you is love too. It’s painful, but love is agonizing too. That’s the other side of love, sweetie.”

It’s so true. Love is messy, something the Hollywood movies don’t always depict. In the life of social media, we are constantly fed this version of love that’s flawless. But love is raw, and it’s full of cracks. It’s full of moments where you’re standing at a crossroads, and the only person that can navigate the path is you.

Laney was standing at that crossroads, and I see now that she was making the best decision she could to ensure she would make it out of that pit of darkness whole again. She will no longer live life the way she once did, full of brightness and openness. On that day, the shooters took her ability to see the world as flawless and showed its underbelly.

Life went from calm to chaos in a way we all see in spurts. She got her views changed within seconds. She saw the ugliness that is carried in humanity within an instant, and she will never fully recover. I’ve known this, but I haven’t really grasped the fact that her day in Wyoming is cemented in each part of her future.

My eyes feel heavy, and I’m tired of crying.

“I appreciate you listening to me. I can always count on you to hold my heart with love. I appreciate you never holding judgment.”

My mom smiles, standing from her seat and wrapping her arms around me she whispers, “Grant, my role isn’t to judge. It’s to serve as your guidance. It’s to be the person to introduce you to love in the realest form. That’s a mother. I’m not your judge and jury. I will always be your mother. One that cares deeply for both my kids in a way that takes over my mind daily.”

She cups my cheeks, her love a warmth I feel deep into my soul.

“One day, Grant, you will be gifted a child. One day, you will get to hold that child in your arms, and you, too, will be at a crossroads. You will be standing, wondering how to move left or right. And you have to judge your movements with instincts. There’s never going to be the right path versus the wrong. It’s about the best path for that situation.

“Remember that when you feel yourself leaning toward resentment and anger with Laney. She was at that fork in the road, and she chose what she felt was best for her and, ultimately, what was best for you in her mind. It doesn’t feel that way right now, but it’s what the love she felt for you pushed her to do. She did it for you both, even if it feels like a self-centered decision. You were always on her mind. That I can guarantee.”

She wipes the lone tear that escapes my eye, and I lean into her hand. I kiss the inside of her palm. I smile up at her, and it feels like things will start moving in the right direction.

I hear a commotion at the front door, and the door opens, and life is breathing into the house once again with my niece, Rick, and Shane walking inside. My mom quickly wipes under her eyes and winks at me. I know that everything we discussed, my mom will keep to herself. She’s a vault when she needs to be, and I feel like a heavy part of what I carried on my back has been let go.

“Grace, we stocked up for the storm of the century. Got all the essentials—hot chocolate, marshmallows, Nutella, bread, eggs, flour, and anything else that we can use to whip up something on a whim.”

My mom chuckles. Rick has the biggest sweet tooth, so it’s no surprise he went for all the high-carbohydrate snacks to keep him entertained during this upcoming storm.

“Hey, Nana. Thanks for letting me stay here while I wait this storm out. It’s sort of scary to be in that apartment with the power flickering. Last time, I slept with a bat next to my bed.”

“Olive, I’ve seen you try to hit a ball when we played softball with the twins. I wouldn’t say that a bat would have helped you in an emergency.” That’s Shane, and I hear my niece gasp at her father’s words.

“Excuse me, I am very good under pressure, I’ll have you know.” She’s huffing into the kitchen and startles when she sees me sitting at the table upon her entrance.

“Hey, Liv. How are you?” I stand up and take Olive into my arms.

My niece is seven years younger than me, and we have more of a sibling relationship than an uncle and niece dynamic. I mean, she’s closer in age to me than my own sister, so there’s that.

“Hey, Uncle G. I wasn’t expecting you.” She isn’t as short as her mother, but she’s still smaller than me. She stands up on her tippy toes and kisses my cheek. I pull the bag of groceries out of her arms and bring them to the counter. Rick walks in with a few more bags, Shane trailing behind him with more.

“Geez, did you purchase the entire store?” I chuckle. I’ve been traveling so much that I haven’t been home on the East Coast for some time to weather a storm in recent years.

“Well, you know I like to be prepared.” Rick pats his belly, and I see my mom rolling her eyes behind him. This man is all love. He has embraced all of us as his own.

“I think you may have overdone it with the random snacks, but I think with an extra mouth to feed, we will need some more food anyway. Grant, grab a bag, let’s get this stuff put away.”

I move toward Shane and give him a hug. I will admit the moment I heard my sister mention his name, a warm welcome was the furthest thing I was planning for him. But Shane, Olive’s dad, was wronged in a way I know he will never recover from.

He did break up with my sister before he ever knew she was pregnant and went twenty-five years before discovering he had a daughter with Becca. I can see each time he looks over at my niece, a part of him hurts knowing he lost all those years with her. Although I will give him credit, he’s showing up now, and I know he’s here to stay.

Once we get everything put away, we all head upstairs to get ourselves comfortable before we play our first round of Rummikub. This game can get vicious, especially if Becca’s involved. Luckily, the group that’s here tonight won’t be screaming nastiness from across the table. My sister isn’t competitive in most things, except for this game. She is full of comebacks and loves to push everyone’s buttons. A tame game of Rummikub works fine for me after the long-ass day I’ve just experienced.

Once I’m showered, and in some comfortable flannel pants and a warm long-sleeved pajama top, I pull out my phone, turning it on after I shut it off when I started the drive up to my mom’s earlier today.

Multiple messages appear, some from Ellie, some from Becca, and one from Laney. I click on Laney’s first before filtering the others.

Bean

I’m sorry for only thinking of my own feelings years ago. I promise it didn’t come from a place of malice. I really didn’t want to hurt you more, and I needed to feel some sense of control with everything that had happened. I love you, Grant. Please forgive me.

My mom was right. She was trying to keep her world in a state of some sort of control during everything that had happened. I think I still need some time to process it, but I know that my heart still belongs to her.

I look over the rest of the texts, making sure nothing urgent is happening.

Becca

Is everything okay with you and Laney? She’s been extra quiet this afternoon in her room. Ellie reached out earlier, asking if I knew what had happened. Are you okay?

Then, I find a text from Ellie expressing similar sentiments.

Ellie

Is everything alright, Grant? You seemed to have left suddenly, and Laney has been distant all afternoon. Please let me know if something happened that I need to intervene.

I decide to respond solely to Laney.

I love you, Laney. I just need some space. I came up to my mom’s and will weather the storm here. I’ll be in touch. Also, my sister and yours are worried about you. Maybe let them know you’re okay. I don’t want to overstep and tell them something you’re not ready to tell them. Please be safe in this weather. I think the city is going to get hit hard too.

Laney loved the comment, but I don’t see the three dots line the screen, signifying she’s typing. I wait an extra moment to see if something pops up, but nothing comes through.

I take the time to respond similarly to both my sister and Ellie, explaining that I needed some space and to ask Laney what’s going on. I feel like it’s cryptic, but also, I really don’t want to tell them something Laney”s not ready to divulge. It’s then I really take in how private this is.

I allow my mother’s words to wash over me again, the fact that Laney’s actions came from a place of love. I am starting to realize that, but I still can’t help the sting that overcomes me when I think about how long Laney took to divulge this important piece of information.