Page 33 of Love in Pieces

Another cry and I’m transported back to the day after we found out my brother Cole died. Rose was in the bathroom doing the same thing. I hid my head under my pillow like a child as Mom tried to comfort her through the locked bathroom door. Eventually, she unlocked it, allowing Mom to just sit with her in the sadness. They cried together, and I cried on my bed, listening to the faint sniffles and whines. Dad tried to comfort me, but I pushed him away. I wanted to be alone. To cry alone. And honestly, punch my pillows as hard as I could, secretly wishing they were both something harder and maybe even Cole himself. Maybe that’s part of the reason Dad’s been so distant because I kept pushing him away. No. He should have been there. He should have tried harder. And he should be here now. He’s supposed to be the adult in this relationship.

I wonder if Abby would rather be alone right now, or if I should go check on her. Earlier she wanted my company, but maybe she wants solitude right now. I sigh, contemplating my next move. I place the frozen pizza on the stovetop and move to the bathroom door. I raise my knuckles to knock but hesitate. I need to at least offer to help, whatever that may look like.

I knock softly on the bathroom door, and follow it with a soft “Abby?” She doesn’t answer but I hear the sobbing pause for a second before it continues. “Abby, are you okay?” Stupid question, dumbass. She’s in there crying. But to my surprise, she answers me.

Through her sobs she responds with a simple “No,” but it sounds like a plea for help.

Going against everything I’ve been taught, I turn the handle, letting myself into the dense fog of the bathroom. The light above the shower reveals her silhouette sitting on the floor of the tub through the frosty curtain.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I turn the water off and wrap a towel around her. She hugs her legs, her forehead resting on her knees. She’s shaking, her back occasionally rising with quick sudden bursts to fill her lungs. Small moans escape her lips as deep guttural cries rip from her chest.

I sit on the edge of the tub, resting a hand on her back. Her black hair has already soaked the back of the towel, so I quickly run to grab a new one and encourage her to get out of the tub. She’s still in the same spot when I return so I hold a hand out, waiting for her to take hold. She stands up with the soaked towel wrapped around her torso. She hesitates before gripping my hand tightly and steps out of the tub. I offer the new towel to replace the wet one and turn around, giving her some space.

Her hand wraps around my stomach to grab a fist full of my shirt, which forces me to spin around. Her head meets my chest as the sobs continue. Her damp hair seeps into the fibers of my shirt. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her tight to me, letting her cry for as long as she needs. Minutes pass before she pulls away, but the redness of her face tells me just how much pain she’s in. She looks at the mirror across from her, staring at her reflection. She searches for me in the reflection, meets my eyes, and holds them. Hers show how deep her sorrow goes, and at the same time, they beg for help.

As much as I don’t want to leave her alone in here, I interrupt the silence. “Why don’t you get dressed? I haven’t put the pizza in yet, so I’ll go do that real quick. I can wait outside the door until you’re done.”

“Okay.” She lets go with a long breath.

Closing the door behind me feels like the hardest thing I’ve done all day. I quickly place the pizza in the oven, set a timer on my phone, and move back to the bathroom. I lean my back against the wall next to the door. Hearing her moving around eases my mind a little, knowing she’s not still staring in the mirror. When she reappears, she’s dressed in a pair of black flowy shorts and a black band tee. Her hair remains messy and tangled, but the makeup that was running down her face has been wiped away.

“Where’s your brush?” I ask calmly.

“In my bag.” She tips her head toward my room.

“I’ll be right back.” She nods and watches me disappear to grab it. When I return with the black hairbrush in hand, she’s in the same spot where I left her. I offer a hand, and she takes it graciously. I lead her to the living room and encourage her to sit on the ottoman.

Without questioning it, she takes a seat in the middle of the gray cushion sitting crisscross. I place myself behind her on the couch and begin brushing her hair, working from the ends to the roots. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s calming, sedative almost, as the repeated motions seem to soothe her racing pulse. Her breathing evens out. She even stops picking at her fingers and chooses to sit on her hands instead. I’ll take that as a win.

When my phone alarm goes off, I curse myself for giving me a reason to leave this serene moment. But I can’t let the pizza burn. So, I set the brush down next to her and go get the pizza out of the oven. She breaks the silence as I set the pan on a hot pad.

“Where did you learn to brush long hair? Or hair in general, I guess,” she asks, watching me intently.

“My sister. She used to have really long hair. When my brother died, I used to help her in situations like this. Her depression got so bad that getting out of bed at the time was an accomplishment, so I would offer to brush her hair to keep it from getting too tangled.” I can feel her eyes staring at me, but I can’t bring myself to meet hers.

“Oh,” she pauses, and she looks deep in thought as I approach her again. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s been a year. I’ve had some time to process,” I say as I slide back in behind her.

“How did he die?” she asks. She shifts on the ottoman, letting her feet hang off the edge, her toes barely touching the floor. She keeps her eyes forward, staring at the blank wall ahead of her. “Only if you want to answer. You don’t have to.”

I guide the brush gently through her hair again as I put the words together. “It was a uh ...” I start but hesitate as the words I haven’t spoken in almost a year stall on my tongue. “He was drunk, and driving, and hit a light pole at an absurdly high rate of speed.” I pause to take a deep breath. Abby doesn’t speak but she takes a deep breath with me. “Some say it was suicide, others say it was an accident. I don’t know which one I believe, but I haven’t had an ounce of alcohol in almost a year.”

“Were you close?”

“Yeah. Cole, Rose, and I are only a year apart. We grew up very close. We used to go to parties together all the time even though we were all underage. I used to be a huge partier, but when Cole died it changed our whole family. So now I’m a sober bartending college kid.” I smile at my own joke.

I hear a chuckle from her and it eases my nerves. Running the brush through her damp hair a few more times, I pull it back to settle behind her shoulders. “Thanks,” she says when I hand the brush back to her.

“Of course.” I stand to go cut the pizza and grab us a few pieces. She takes her plate and moves to sit next to me on the couch, scooting closer until a feathery touch of her thigh next to mine paired with that smile forces my pulse into next year. I cover my lap with my plate, the sweats I’m wearing not providing me any help.Not the time, dude.“You want to watch anything in particular?” I ask, grabbing the TV remote in hopes of distracting myself.

“I’m good with anything though bad reality TV is my guilty pleasure.” She laughs through a mouth full of pizza.

“Really?” I ask, a bit surprised, but hearing her laugh, even a small one, makes my heart jump. It’s the best sound I’ve heard from her all weekend. I turn the TV on and search for something to watch, landing on a show about a bunch of people living together on a beach. “How’s this?”

“Perfect.”

As the night grows darker, we finish our pizza and sink further into the couch. She shifted to lying her head on my lap, her legs now tucked into her stomach, hugging the knitted blanket that covers everything but her head.

---