“Blaire,” she hisses, “you’re making a scene.”
“And you’re still in Ben’s seat,” I snap at her. I shake my head and laugh under my breath. “You know, you tried to hide, it but it was always obvious how much you wanted him for yourself,” I say in the nastiest tone I can muster. I don’t know what’s come over me, but I suddenly want to hurt her. I want someone else to hurt the way I do, even if it’s for a different reason. “We both knew it. Ben made fun of you for it,” I lie. Ben would’ve never made fun of Casey for any reason.
Tears fill her eyes. “Blaire, what the hell is wrong with you? It’s a fucking chair. If you want me to move that badly, I will. All you had to do was ask.”
She’s visibly upset as she moves chairs, and I feel better, but only for a second. Then the reality of what I said and how I acted hits me, and I’m horrified. My mouth drops open and I shake my head.
“Casey,” I begin, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry. I … I have to go.”
I dash out of the café, even as they call my name. I get in my car and speed out of the lot before any of them can stop me.
I head straight home, and once I’m inside, I slam the door and drop my keys on the side table before running upstairs.
“Blaire?” my mom calls from the bottom of the stairs. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t answer her. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I close my bedroom door behind me and peel off the sweatshirt I’m wearing, tossing it haphazardly toward the laundry bin. I undo my jeans button and slide down the zipper, kicking them to the floor. I run to the dresser and pull the third drawer open to find Ben’s tshirts. I haven’t allowed myself to indulge in this since his death, but right now I need this. I pick up a shirt and slide it over my body before climbing into bed.
I cry into the pillows. I’m confused and still slightly angry. I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it’s a normal part of grief, or maybe I’m just crazy. Being crazy seems like the more plausible explanation. I hate feeling this way—where my emotions are one way one second, and another the next. I’m giving myself whiplash, so I can only begin to imagine the way the people around me feel. I hate that I’m doing this to them, but I can’t seem to control my emotions.
“Ben,” I sob. “I need you.”
I reach across the pillows.
Reaching.
Searching.
Hoping.
But he’s not there. My heart breaks over and over again each time I realize that I’m never going to see him again. Never hear him say my name. Hold me in his arms. I guess I thought we were invincible, but I never imagined losing him or anyone I loved this soon. Death was something that happened to old people, but that’s not always true. There are babies that die. It can happen to anyone, at any time, for any reason, and what I understand now is that no matter the circumstances, you’re never truly prepared to have someone die.
My bedroom door creaks open, but I don’t rise up to see who’s there. More than likely it’s my mom coming to check on me.
The person creeps to the side of the bed and then the bed dips with their added weight. Arms wrap around me and I smell familiar floral perfume.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice thick from tears.
“My best friend needed me,” Casey whispers. “I don’t know why you can never trust me to hold you together when you’re falling apart. You’d let Ben do it, but I was around long before him. I’m your best friend, Blaire, but sometimes you treat me like a stranger.”
“I’m sorry.” My body shakes. “I’m falling apart,” I admit, staring at the wall, “and I don’t know how to stop it. I feel like I’m watching a train speed into a car. I don’t know whether I’m the train or the car … maybe both,” I muse.
“Everyone falls apart now and then,” Casey assures me. “But something I’ve noticed, even in my profession, is that people are like puzzles. You may break apart, but there’s always someone that can put you back together.”
I roll over to face her and she lets me go. She cups her hands under her head and blinks, waiting for me to speak.
“I really am sorry for what I said,” I tell her, my gaze lowering in shame. “It was wrong of me, and also a lie. Ben never made fun of you. We never even talked about you having a crush.”
She winces. “I’m sorry if you ever picked up on anything. I mean, I guess I had a little crush on him, but I think everyone that met him did. He was such a nice person, and the way he loved you … I wanted that, but not with him. Never with him,” she vows. “You two were perfect for each other.”
A tear slides down my cheek. “I’m pregnant,” I tell her—saying it out loud fills me with so much joy. “Ben and I were trying to have a baby before … before he died,” I force the words out of my mouth.
Her face breaks into a grin, and tears shimmer in her eyes. “You’re having a baby?”