Chapter 48
THE EARTH CRIES TOO
Howling by Noah Kahan
Natalie
I knock on Bella’s door, waiting for her to give me the go-ahead and come in or get lost. Either one, I would respect.
“Come in.” Bella’s voice is like velvet now, inviting and welcoming.
Her room is the opposite of how mine was a teenager.
Mine was empty of color, simple, with a combination of neutrals and minimalist decorations.
My mom didn’t allow for posters or anything too flashy.
Bella’s has bright colors and looks like girlie-pop everything exploded.
For someone who hates dressing in pink and glitter, this room looks like the opposite.
Favorite movie posters are everywhere, vinyls, CDs hanging from the ceiling, pink bed sheets, a pink desk chair, glitter, fluffy pillows, Squishmallows galore.
It brings me so much joy, seeing she’s so comfortable in her skin that she’s able to be her true self everywhere, even if it’s contradicting.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, sitting by her feet. She lowers the book her nose was buried in and sets it on the table.
“No.”
“Do you want to talk?”
“No,” she replies. “Yes,” she confirms. Bella usually needs time, and then she wants to talk it out.
“He didn’t know,” I say, straight to the point. “I also didn’t know.”
“I figured. I’m sorry I reacted like that. It was just too much.”
“I get it. It was. I was surprised too.” What are the chances the kid Holden connected with like that was Cody? What are the chances that, of all the people in the world, he became friends with me? Or whatever it is that we are.
“You guys never talked about Dad?” she asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“We did. We just never talked about how he died.”
Her eyes open wide. “Why?”
“The most important thing about your dad is not how he died, Belles. He was so much more than that day.”
“But it feels like our whole life changed that day.” She drops her head on her pillow.
“It did. But that day doesn’t erase the years of good memories. The football games, the swinging outside, the trips we took, the dinners and breakfasts at home, the bedtime stories, none of that. So when I talk about him, I don’t start with how he died. I start with how he lived.”
“That’s fine, I guess.” She pulls the pillow from under her, covering her face and screaming into it. “I’m just mad.”
“At who?”
“I don’t know. Life.”
I nod. “I’m mad at life sometimes too, but I remember it’s okay to feel mad, sad, angry, disappointed, hurt. Live in the feeling and then try to find some happiness again. There’s so much to be grateful for, so much to be happy for. Even if, for now, you sit in anger.”
She lets my words sink in. “Is Coach Clay mad at me?”
“What? No! He’s worried about you, that’s all. He wants to make sure you know the truth, that he would never trick you like that.”
“Deep down, I know that. I’ll make sure to tell him.”
“I bet he’d like that.”
“Do I need to stop the therapy group?” This girl is firing all the questions tonight, but I’m thankful for it, especially if it means she decided to share all her concerns with me.
“That’s up to you. And you don’t have to decide now. Just let me know once you know, okay?”
“Thanks for listening, Mom.”
“Anytime, my girl. Anytime.”
Since I opened The Blooming Wine, there’s never been a day I wished I could call out, not go in. There have been days when I didn’t feel like getting up and dealing with some portion of the store, but I’ve never felt like not going at all. Until today.
Yesterday was an emotional disaster. I barely slept, and in the middle of the night, a crying Bella missing her dad crawled into my bed.
The weeks leading up to his angel-versary are always hard on her, and this year isn’t any different.
We talked, and she was able to just cry it out.
I held her like I used to do when she was tiny, and she finally fell back asleep.
She’s still sleeping on my bed, joined by Vero, who came in this morning.
My sleepy girls will stay here with Livie, who graciously agreed to babysit again.
There’s no way I can send them to school like this.
She and Alex are going through a lot, and I think she needs my girls as much as they need their Tia Livie.
“Call me if you need anything, okay?” I hug Livie, and she squeezes me tighter. “You’ll get through this, okay? Whatever the outcome might be, you can get through this.”
“Thanks, Nat. Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall apart in your arms this morning. I left the house, and Alex was still asleep. I’ve been avoiding telling him I’m not pregnant, and it’s getting to the point where I’m avoiding him altogether.”
“Do you want advice or listening ears?” It’s something I learned from Nellie. Sometimes, we want to hear one or the other.
“Advice,” she says, her dark eyes lacking that usual spark.
“Lean on him, friend. You chose him to be your partner for a reason. This journey is hard, but it’s harder if you’re taking it on your own. Share both the highs and the lows with him. That’s what a relationship is for, right?”
She nods. “See you later, Nat. Love you.”
“Love you! There are snacks and food in the fridge.”
I leave my house, driving carefully in the rain, repeating the words I just told Livie to myself: share the highs and the lows, lean on him, this journey is hard, share it with him.
What if this whole time, I’ve been terrified of letting Holden in all the way because I’ve been afraid of burdening him with my grief, of faking my happiness all the time, worried he won’t be able to handle the sadness, when I should be letting him in because of it?
Because he knows what it’s like. Because partners don’t want perfect.
They want chances, they want communication, they want all the pieces we have to give—to share.
Why do I keep pushing Holden away? Why do I keep playing this unbalanced game where he’s giving me all he has and I’m too afraid to leap?
But what if I fall?
The road might as well be shallow pools by the amount of water that has accumulated since the rain started a few days ago.
Good thing I have rainboots always handy.
My lemon print rainboots were a gift from Cara after she became obsessed with the lemon-lime theme in my house.
It makes me feel like I’m five years old, going to jump in puddles.
They bring me an insurmountable amount of joy, and I always appreciate them.
I usually appreciate the rain too—the cleansing it brings, the reminder that even the Earth cries. Except, as I stand outside The Blooming Wine, I really wish I wasn’t seeing what’s in front of me. As I open the door, I don’t have to turn on the light to confirm what I saw through the window.
It’s raining.
Inside the store.
What in the actual fuck?
I step inside, water splashing with every step I take. I do the only thing I can before breaking down: I call for help.