Page 97 of Back To You

I think I’m finally ready to go back to work.

Kind of.

Maybe.

I don’t know.

I’ve had the thought more times than I can count since the day after Bennett’s funeral three weeks ago, especially since the soft opening for the coffee shop I still have yet to name is supposed to be in 72 hours.

I’m not letting myself spiral about it today though. Instead, I’m in my car, driving to Lenny’s, ready to tell Emmett I can take my shifts back from Ava, Mickey, or Cyrus—whoever has been taking them—and take a look at the progress the Lenny’s crew has put in at the coffee shop.

I don’t know how I’ll thank them all for picking up my slack. The coffee shop was supposed to be mine, my project, my responsibility, mysomethingto be proud of.

But I would also be delusional to think that I could do it all alone, especially now.

I turn into the parking lot at Lenny’s, sending a quick text to Annie that I’ll most likely be here when she gets home from her rotation.

I’ve dropped the ball on supporting her through this tough year, and it can’t be easy for her to also be putting in some of her free time to tend to the coffee shop. I plan on digging myself out of this hole Bennett’s death threw me into and making sure she knows how thankful I am for her.

I’ve been a shell since coming home from the hospital. Sometimes I feel like a version of myself, and other times feeling I don’t even recognize myself.

Annie has been patient with me, and therapy has helped. More than I thought it would.

Dealing with the loss of a loved one is something so many people experience—and I thought, for some reason, there would be more answers to how you recover from it. I know it sounds silly, but I thought my therapist would give me ten steps to follow, and I’d be cured of my grief.

What I’ve actually learned is there is nothing special, no specific way to cope.

You just do it.

It sounds cliché, but I’ve found the only way is to just keep living, keeping up with the life around you that doesn’t slow down, and putting one foot in front of the other.

I’ve always heard people say time heals, but it doesn’t, not really.

And I know life will be good again, but it’ll be in a different way.

A way without my brother.

I knew life could be cruel. I saw it with the people I love the most—and lately it’s felt like life takes everything away but the pain.

Annie has helped too.

No.

She saved my life.

It might sound dramatic or silly, but I wouldn’t be getting through this without her.

I would have been drunk or high off my ass—looking for solace in alcohol, drugs, or sleeping pills, anything to help me forget—if I didn’t have her to remind me that life goes on.

She’s never once rushed me, never once told me what she thinks I needed to do, or made me feel like I was wrong in the way I chose to heal.

Instead, she let me lean on her completely, reminding me how strong she is.

When I have been a mess, a train wreck, she’s been here to clean it up.

“I can do this,” I say to myself. The thought of walking into Lenny’s isn’t feeling as scary as it did a week ago. “I can do this,” I repeat a little louder, gripping my steering wheel until I feel a pain in my wrist.

I shake my head, my blonde hair whipping against my cheek, reminding me I am in desperate need of a haircut. I spot one of Annie’s hair ties in one of the cup holders in my center console, deciding to use it to pull half of my hair back in a small bun, just to keep it out of my face.

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