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“I intend to. On my bed. Where you’re sleeping.”
“You’re too tall for your couch. Stop being stubborn!” She sits up when I toss her onto the mattress.
“I’ll fold myself in half.” She isn’t amused, judging by her glare. “You aren’t sleeping on my couch. Do you want to share the bed? I promise not to seduce you.”
“Is that what you think happened before?” she taunts with a smirk.
She’s so fun to tease. I never get tired of it. “Look, it’s nothing to be ashamed about. I’m very irresistible.”
“Get in the bed, dumbass.”
I’m not going to let anything happen between us again but having her beside me in bed all night isn’t something I’m going to pass up either. “Fine, but no hogging the covers.”
Calli changes into a pair of pajama shorts and a thin shirt. With her hair down around her shoulders, she’s too beautiful to look at. We settle into my bed, and she looks over at me, yawning.
“Your dad is hilarious. And your mom is so sweet.”
“They’re the best. I’ve really missed them.”
She was surprised earlier when Mom mentioned that they hadn't seen me in person for almost two years, so the next question isn’t unexpected. “They don’t live that far away. Why don’t you visit them more often or invite them here?”
“I told you. It’s better if people don’t get too close to me.”
She leans up on her elbow, and her incredulous look makes me instantly self-conscious. “Even your family?”
I reach over to click off the lamp and lie down beside her. Some things are easier to discuss in the dark. “Have you ever lost someone you loved?” I know her mother passed but it doesn’t sound like they were close at all. “Not a breakup, but a death? Where you know you’ll never see them again.”
“No.”
“You don’t understand. I didn’t either. I thought I did when Melody died until I attended a grief support group. What I felt was guilt not grief, and it was nothing compared to what the others were going through. The ones who lost wives, husbands, children. It was brutal. Lee…Lee lost his wife and there are still times I worry he won’t survive it.”
Her voice is soft, and I hate the pity that permeates it when she asks, “You don’t want anyone to love you?”
“It wouldn’t be right. I may not be…lasting.”
She’s quiet for a moment before she sits up and looks down at me, her face mostly hidden in the shadows. “You love so manythings that aren’t lasting. Your bees and animals and the forest. Everything has an end. That doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be loved.”
“I don’t want anyone to grieve me.”
Her next question catches me off guard and I’m not sure how I feel about it. “Have you ever been to therapy?”
“No, the grief group was my first attempt at anything like that and I only went twice.”
She slides her hand into mine, interlacing our fingers. “I’m not judging you or trying to hurt you by saying this, but I think you need to talk to someone. They can help you put things into perspective and look at them in a different way. Making your family miss you now so they may not miss you as much later if they outlive you…that’s not a healthy reaction to the trauma you went through. I know you’re afraid of hurting others after Melody. That kindness and compassion is such a wonderful part of who you are, but you’re letting fear make you a martyr. That’s not going to spare your family or anyone else who cares about you. I can’t stand to see you hurting yourself like this. You don’t deserve it, Arlow.”
Therapy isn’t going to change what I saw in that room. The total devastation, all the faces filled with nothing but torment, the desolate look in Lee’s eyes when we met. “I’m not trying to punish myself.”
Her hand remains in mine as she lays her head on the pillow. “Are you sure about that? Because I’ve been there, with the whole self-loathing thing. I didn’t want to talk to anyone either, but it was the best thing I’ve ever done. Therapy helped me a lot.”
How could she ever hate herself? I roll over to face her and brush the hair off her forehead. “Will you tell me what you needed help with?”
“I was struggling with anxiety and that’s what sent me to a therapist. My hope was to learn how to deal with it. You maynot know this, but I’m actually a bunch of coping mechanisms disguised as a person,” she jokes, flashing a quick smile.
She averts her gaze and absently plays with my hand as she talks. “But I had a lot more going on than I realized. My mother was abusive. Some of it was physical, but mostly it was mental, emotional. She hated me and my brother and she didn’t do it quietly. All because she despised my dad, and we didn’t. Our last name became an insult to throw at us.
“For as long as I can remember, she used suicide threats to control us. Anytime we crossed her, we never knew whether it’d be the belt, her threatening to eat a bottle of pills, a rant about how we were pieces of shit just like our dad, or all three. The suicide threats didn’t work once I turned twelve or so. Eventually I understood she didn’t mean it but sometimes I hoped she did. I got away as early as I could, but it messed me up more than I realized. She was such an awful person and I inherited some of that.”
“No.” The word spills out of my mouth as I pull her into my arms, but she cuts off my argument.
