prologue — I’m sorry for everything I’ve done (from the second I was born)
Wade refuses to open his eyes, his body shrinking in bed as reality hits him.
There’s something intrinsically wrong, something he always refuses to acknowledge in those first seconds. He waits for the sound of those tiny feet walking to wake him up, he waits for her sweet voice to ask him to come out of her bed. It never comes.
It’s then that he opens his eyes, when the waiting stretches itself infinitely.
One year ago today she died, and he’s still not able to tell what’s worse, waking up and realising all of it is true again, or getting ready to sleep and not going to her room to kiss her goodnight. And there’s no possibility of escaping that pain, it’s in these small and simple moments that he notices the heaviness of her absence. When he looks at her pink slippers close to the door, when he sees the stickers glued on Vanessa’s laptop — a mosaic of smiley faces, smurfs and Garfields. When he looks at Vanessa frozen in place after realising she had yet again fixed her breakfast and served at the table, and when he has to hold her while she cries before throwing the food away.
In the first three months he only slept on her bed and tried to will his body to die in his sleep, it never worked. He kept waking up, sometimes from nightmares, sometimes from peaceful dreams where she was with him. But every time he closed his eyes, her face was there.
In the fourth month when Vanessa came inside the room and laid behind him, things changed, it was what broke his stupor, took him out of the shell he was building around him. It was the first time she went inside the room after Melissa died — while it became a refuge for him, it was suffocating for her. And though he didn’t open his eyes when she got in, he could feel her hesitation, especially when her arms encircled his body.
At first, that was the only thing she did, embraced him and buried her head on the pillow, breathing so quietly that Wade wouldn’t be able to listen to her if his hearing wasn’t improved. He was not sleeping, instead stuck in that state where mind and body are relaxed, and he needed only to allow sleep to take over him. Somehow, Vanessa seemed to know that, because she waited until he was fully awake to finally speak.
“She’s not coming back, Wade.”
He stiffened, and still, pushed his body back against her chest.
“Get out of here. She’s not coming back any more.”
He didn’t move any more, didn’t have the strength to, but she kept holding him, gently. Slowly, and because she was so patient, he relaxed again — but he still stayed silent, shame washing over him as he finally admitted to himself that he had left her alone to deal with her pain. No matter how hard it was for him, he should never turn his back to the only person who could understand it. And even now, overwhelmed by grief, left alone for months, Vanessa could read his mind, no pushing him out of the bed, no harsh words, just the truth in a soft tone. When she caressed his arm one more time, Wade raised his hand to meet hers, entwining their fingers.
“Wade?” She called, and it took about five minutes for an answer to come.
“I am here.”
“She’s dead.” Vanessa said, and though her voice was firm and composed, Wade knew she had to practice saying that out loud before that moment, could almost see her repeating the words to find the right tone.
“I know.” Wade blurted out, voice too raw, a lump in his throat.
“You have to get up, Wade, she’s not…” Vanessa stopped, gave in a deep breath, “Melissa died.”
“I know.”
“You don’t need to go too…” she whispered, careful tone finally cracked, just the slight hint of sadness in her voice, but it was enough.
Wade turned his body and finally stared at her, an ocean of black hair adorned her face, a tired and unsure look in her eyes. She was wearing one of his shirts, nails bloodied and mouth dry. It felt like seeing her for the first time again — no, it felt like a different shade of the same emotion. Wade was never one for words, never knew how to describe his feelings, but he recognised that tug in his heart when seeing her face, that twist in his belly, different this time, but still sharp and strong. He was relieved at seeing her, it wasn’t free-falling and passion, it was stable and sure, and still, it knocked the air out of him. He reached out and pulled her into a hug, she melted in his arms.
After the funeral, he had left Melissa’s room only two times, and even then he could not look at Vanessa’s face, she reminded him too much of their daughter. Giving her that hug felt like overcoming a whole year of suffering, he knew it was just a small step, that the path was so much longer, and yet, he let himself have that victory. “The small things change everything” Dopinder had told him, a few days after losing his father, and Wade had never really given that much importance. It didn’t really make sense to him, when he had lost Vanessa for those unbearable months, nothing seemed small, everything was reason enough to cry. Now, years later, he thinks he finally understands, “every grief is different” Weasel had told him, and he was right. It’s almost always like this, he takes too long to understand and accept the simplest of things.
“I am sorry.” Wade whispered.
He felt how she somehow shrunk her body but didn’t get far from him, she was accepting it, he knew she was accepting his apologies. He held her even closer.
Right before they fell asleep, eyelids heavy and limbs tangled, he felt Vanessa’s hand coming to rest in his chest, right above his heart, only then she gave the sigh she always did when she was ready to sleep. It was what Wade needed to get up. The next day he was able to finally get out of bed, and slowly, the other days were easier to deal with. He would go to the kitchen and help Vanessa to cook something, would lay down on the couch with her, small things. But it changed everything.
While he was lying on the bed and wishing death would take him, he could only ask himself: how would life go on? How could life go on? And as he held Vanessa in his arms, he silenced the questions, gave them an answer.
Like this.
Vanessa opens the door and snaps him out of his memories.
“I’m fine,” he’s fast to say, too fast.
She gives him a one-sided smile, walking to the bed and kneeling down until she’s eye level with him.
“How are you truly feeling?” It helps that she has not an ounce of accusation in her tone.
“Lost?” He tries, but it doesn’t sound right. “Numb. I don’t know. I miss her, and it feels strange that it’s been a year.”
“Yeah,” she nods, “it feels… I know it’s only been a year, but I can’t stop thinking about how one day we’ll have lived more time without her than with her.”
They stay in silence for a few seconds, he holds a hand for her to hold and when she does, he closes his eyes again, kissing her knuckles.
“Anaesthetised. That’s better to describe it.” He says, finding a better word.
He can hear her thinking. “Yes, like we’re floating… or being pulled by the current.”
Wade nods against her hand, thankful that she can understand him. “Nessa?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
She kisses his hand.
Like this, he repeats mentally, this is how life will go on.