Page 99 of Back To You

I nod my head, processing his words.

Honestly, I couldn’t tell you what Annie’s been up to the past month. I’ve just assumed she was busy with her rotations and sharing the responsibilities of the coffee shop with the rest of our friends.

We’ve barely spent time together, talked to one another—we haven’t laughed or smiled together in weeks.

I haven’t even thanked her, held her,kissedher.

Why the hell haven’t I kissed her?

I look up to find Emmett looking at me, but it’s not a look I’m used to. I thought he’d give me one of his looks that makes me feel like I’ve disappointed a father figure, which I very well deserve after letting Annie run herself into the ground, but I’ve never seenthislook before.

There’s a semblance of understanding, of sadness, and it makes my eyes water.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” he says slowly, nodding his head to the chair in front of him at the bar, so I pull out the chair and sit. “I’m not going to ask how you’re doing or if you’re okay because we both know you’ll lie and say you’re fine,” he starts.

I’m not used to him talking this much without Drew around.

When I don’t say anything, he continues. “I know what it’s like to lose a sibling, and I’m not telling you this to take away whatever you’re feeling about Bennett. Me losing my sister isn’t the same as you losing your brother; I know that. But, what I also know is how the emotions that come with losing someone you love are confusing and painful as fuck.”

I nod my head, though my throat feels dry and pressure continues to build behind my eyes.

“There’s the sadness and anger about it being them instead of you, about them not deserving what happened to them. There’s the guilt that comes with that too, along with the guilt that comes with the time you need to grieve.”

It’s like he’s taking all the thoughts I’ve had spinning around in my head for weeks and laying them all out in front of me, making them feel manageable.

I’ve talked about all of this in therapy, but this feels more personal, more real, more raw. It’s different coming from a friend who has been through it.

Emmett continues. “My therapist once told me to think of my grief about losing Lennon as a balloon inside a box with a button. The balloon will change in size depending on the day, sometimes hitting that button, and sometimes not. That button is my grief—sometimes it’s being pressed over and over again, and the day feels impossible to get through. Sometimes, the balloon never touches it.”

The visual hits me right in the chest, helping me understand this overwhelming grief that seems to have a chokehold on me. Picturing it this way doesn’t make it go away, but it makes it less scary.

“And I’m not going to give you that bullshit of ‘time heals all wounds’ or whatever the saying is,” Emmettadds, his tone of distaste over the expression making me laugh despite the seriousness of this conversation. “But you reach a point where thinking of them hurts a little less than it did before.”

“I thought time healed every wound until I lost him,” I say, swiping my fingers across my cheek where a tear ran loose. “It’s like time just makes you forget, but I don’t want to forget him.”

Emmett nods his head. “Lennon died when I was 18, and I’m at the point where I’ve almost lived more of my life without her than with her, and I can’t tell you that it gets easier.” A sad smile forms on Emmett’s face. “I do what I can to honor her. This place and my daughter are things I wish I could’ve shared with her, but I try to tell myself she’s still here, just differently.”

More words I didn’t know I needed to hear.

“Bennett’s birthday is December 14th, about two weeks from today.” It may seem like a random thought to share in the midst of this conversation, but Emmett seems to know exactly why I said it.

He gives me a smile I’ve only seen directed at Lenny or Drew. One that makes me smile too. “Looks like you have two weeks to finish the place up,” he says, and I’m out of the chair and heading towards the door, pausing before pushing it open.

Turning around to look back at my friend. “Thanks, Emmett,” I say, and he gives me a small nod.

Emmett’s right. I have two weeks to pick up where Annie left off—and I need to see her tonight.Reallysee her. Not just feel her climb into bed with me when I don’t even know what time it is.

I need to tell her that this place wouldn’t be what it is without her—both because she reminded me that I deserved to make my own path, the whole reason thiscoffee shop is a reality to begin with, but also because she didn’t let it fall apart when I was.

I pull my keys from my pocket, quickly finding the key to open up the door, my body going into shock when I turn on the lights and see all the progress I missed these past four weeks.

As I walk through the space, across the black and white tiled floor, I can see how much work and love my friends and Annie put into it.

The sky-blue walls are decorated with vibrant, mismatched art pieces and lush greenery, and the industrial lighting casts a gentle glow over the coffee bar. The equipment that’s been in boxes for weeks is laid out across the bar next to all the stacks of different types of pastel-colored mugs and glassware.

I can almost smell the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the scent of baked goods; I can almost feel a warm, inviting ambiance; I can almost see the different people sitting at the tables lining the place, working, talking, sipping their coffee, reading the books they bought next door.

It’s perfect.

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