“Why? I don’t get it. Why did you bother arranging the funeral if you already had these?”
I know Callan’s tics and idiosyncrasies like the back of my own hand. The memory of them has been buried, though, misplaced under years and years of other people’s quirks and character traits. When I see Callan’s mouth curve up into the beginnings of a smile, I’m fixated by the familiarity of it. It’s a beautiful, painful slap in the face. “I know you think it would be easier to walk away from all of this and never look back, Coralie,” he says. “But you need closure. You need to know that this thing is finished once and for all. The only way you’re going to get that is if you see him buried, watch the dirt pile in on top of his grave, so you know he’s never going to be coming back.”
I’d beg to differ, but I’m so good at running away. Hightailing it is my first reaction when things feel like they’re becoming unmanageable. Avoiding my fear is definitely not the best way of handling them, I know. I’ve been told so a thousand times by my therapist. I have to start listening. I have to start facing my demons head on. “You’re right,” I say quietly. “I’m just not a strong person, Callan. I’m not someone who can raise their chin and brace for the impact. I’ve taken too many hits for that. I know how much harder it is to get up each time.”
Callan runs his free hand along the corner of one of the cardboard boxes, sitting on top of Jo’s kitchen table. I wonder…. Is this where she told him she was dying, too? Somehow, I don’t think it was. I climbed out of his bed and left him sleeping that morning. I can picture Jo silently entering his room and lying herself down next to him on his bed, stroking his hair, smiling at him sadly while she waited for him to rouse from sleep. She used to look at him in this way that would stun me—like she was reliving the day she gave birth to him and was meeting him for the very first time, her miracle baby.
I would try and watch other parents with their children, to see if all mothers and fathers loved their kids as fiercely, but I never saw it in their faces. I decided that maybe it was just a communication of love that passed between people behind closed doors, and that I was lucky enough, blessed enough to be able to witness between Jo and the boy I loved.
“You’re way stronger than you think,” Callan says. His eyes seem darker inside, fluctuating from warm chocolate to almost black. I used to know how he was feeling based on the hue of his irises; the darker they were, the more intense he was about whatever he was studying at the time. Usually me.
“If I were strong, I’d have stayed.”
There’s a warning light in Callan’s eyes. “It hurt more than anything in the world when you left, bluebird. But through my anger and my pain, I knew why you did it. Years of hiding things from your friends. From the school.” He shakes his head. “From me. And then losing the baby…”
What the fuck? I stagger away from him, my back hitting the kitchen counter. What the hell is he doing, talking about the baby? He shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t even be thinking about it. I feel hollow, yet filled with ice water at the same time. How can he say those words out loud without flinching? How can he even bear to remember that? “Don’t,” I say. “Please, dear god, don’t.”
“Coralie—”
“Callan, I mean it”
“Jesus, Coralie, it was twelve years ago. We were children ourselves. I think we should be able to discuss this without blowing up at each other.”
I shake my head so hard it feels like my brain is rattling around inside my skull. “You don’t understand. You can’t.” This is it. This is the one thing I can’t talk to him about. If I do, I’ll say something that I shouldn’t. I say something wrong, and he’ll know that I lied. God, I have to get the fuck out of here right fucking now.
Anger replaces the frustration in Callan’s eyes. He clenches his jaw, huffing heavily down his nose. “Why? Because losing our baby didn’t hurt me too? Because I’m a guy? Because I didn’t fucking grieve?”
“No. No, it’s just…it’s different for me. You didn’t go through it. You didn’t feel it end.”
“Like hell I didn’t,” he snaps. “I felt it keenly. I held you in my arms at the school when you told me, and I felt you die a little too. That hurt more than I could comprehend at the time.”