Page 64 of Silver Linings
“You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not comfortable.”
I’m shaking my head at her before she even finishes the sentence. “No, it’s okay. I…I think Iwantto.” I think Ineedto.
She turns on her side, putting the hand I’m not holding under her head and giving me her undivided attention. I mimic her by flipping to my side, facing her and bringing us closer together. I get lost in her eyes, so open and warm and hypnotizing, like the riptide on the Tenerife Sea shoreline, pulling you in under its azure embrace.
“My siblings and I went on a hike one day a couple summers back. We discovered this trail we hadn’t done before and decided to make a day of it. We were halfway through when Maddox spotted a cliff diving spot.” My throat starts to thicken with each added detail, but I will myself to continue. “I tried—I tried to keep him from jumping, but Maddie was such a free spirit, and all the crazy things were so exciting to him. He was so…alive, all the time.”
Moisture pools in my eyes as I think about my brother, and Silver shifts so we’re only inches apart, bringing the hand under the pillow out to rest on my forearm. I look down at her hand and back up into her eyes, and she gives me a soft smile of encouragement to continue.
“He wouldn’t listen, of course. You couldn’t get him to do anything he didn’t want to do. It drove our father crazy, his favorite pastime.” The corner of my mouth quirks at the memory before quickly falling. “So, he jumped, and when I didn’t hear him come back up, I knew in my gut something was wrong. Laurel and I barreled down a mountain to get to the shoreline where he was floating, unmoving, in the water.”
Silver brushes an errant tear off my cheek.
“He was still alive at that point. I—” My throat feels unbelievably tight, like there are phantom hands around it, squeezing, choking me out with the intent to kill. “I hoisted him onto my shoulders to carry him as Laurel ran ahead to get ourcar from where we had it parked. We got him to the hospital, but his internal injuries were too severe, and he died a day later.”
Silver stares at me with tears in her own eyes. For me, for what happened to Maddox, and I think I love her a little bit in this moment. I could love her a lot with more time.
“Is that why you moved here?”
A slight nod of my head confirms her curiosity. “Sorry, it’s not your jilted lover theory.” I try to lighten the mood.
“Kind of relieved I was wrong, actually.” Silver gives me a shy smile. “So you came to New York…” she prompts.
“The silence was suffocating. We had lost this tremendous…light in our lives, snuffed out with one reckless decision that could have been stopped. I should have convinced him to not jump,” I say to myself.
“It’s not your fault, you know that right?”
Ignoring her comment, I brush a strand of hair back from her face. “My dad was never one for emotional…outbursts, is what he would call them, so we suffered in silence and never spoke about it beyond the funeral. Repressing every thought felt almost like relief at first, but eventually, it was like I was choking around every word I wanted to say but couldn’t.”
“What would you want them to know?” Her thumb strokes rhythmically against my forearm.
I take a deep breath. “That I’m sorry.” My voice breaks. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my baby brother safe. I hear his yell of excitement as he jumpedevery timeI lay down to go to sleep, and it keeps me up at night. I’d tell them I’m sorry I couldn’t stay, and Dad was right when he called me a coward that day. He’s right to blame me. Our family is shattered because I wasn’t strong enough—to stop him, to stay and take care of everyone, to fight through the anxiety clawing up my throat every time I open my eyes, wishing it had been me instead.”
“Hendrix…” She says my name so gently. Do I deserve gentleness? No, but I’m too selfish to turn it away when she cups my cheek, the touch settling the turbulence in my head.
“Can I share something with you too?” Her soft voice quivers slightly.
“Please.” Stark relief floods me when I had previously been feeling like a washrag wrung out and left to dry.
She takes a moment to gather her courage. “My dad died when I was eight. He, uh, had a stroke out of nowhere when he was only thirty-five. The doctors have no idea why it happened. He was the picture of health, but he was an anomaly.”
I know from experience that she doesn’t need condolences. Instead, I offer her the same silent support she offered me, tangling my leg between hers to give her something to ground herself to.
“My mom basically abandoned me after he died,” she says off-handedly.
My body stiffens at the idea of anyone walking away from her, but I refrain from saying anything, relaxing my muscles and hoping she didn’t notice.
“Dad was Mom’s whole world. She wassowrapped up in him, she couldn’t see anything else. I thought it was great when I was a kid, to be able to see my parents so in love when so many were getting divorced. But then he died, and my mom basically died with him. Carol James never wanted kids, not really. But Dad did. He wanted me more than anything in the world, and because he wanted a child, my mom convinced herself she did too. But then he died, and she said I looked too much like him, that it—” She pauses, and her eyes shift away from me. “That it hurt for her to look at me…so she dropped me off at Nan’s apartment and never came back. Brought a whole new meaning to sleepovers at grandma’s house.” The joke falls flat around us.
I scoot closer to her, putting my spare hand on her waist and rubbing my thumb back and forth in a soothing motion. She lets loose a contented sigh that I will echo through my mind for the next week.
“All that to say, you may have noticed I tend to keep people at an arm’s length.” She stares at me for confirmation, and I give a slight nod and kiss her forehead that’s now settled much closer to me. “I don’t like to get close to people, because in my experience, they always end up leaving. Dad died, Mom abandoned me, even Nan left for Florida. Only Kena remains, and I’m always waiting for that to change. I know my hang ups can’t hold people back, that’s not fair, but…I don’t know, a therapist once told me it was avoidant attachment, before I stopped going to appointments, another thing I couldn’t commit to,” she says with wry humor. “Basically, I’m broken, always waiting on a knife’s edge.” She looks away from me.
“You’re not,” I say firmly, not to assuage her belief, but because it’s true. Her dad didn’t choose to leave, but her momdid, and that left scars far deeper than I could fathom. It makes me want to hold on to her forever, to kiss all the pieces she thinks are broken and beyond repair until she realizes she may have a chip or two left by careless people, but she’s still perfect to me.
The look she throws at me says she doesn’t quite believe it, and I want to hunt down every person who ever made her think otherwise.
“Let me prove it then. Just don’t laugh because this is embarrassing to admit.” She grimaces, and I squeeze her hip in response. “Sometimes, I like to go to Central Park and read all the little plaques on the park benches. You know the ones people have dedicated to their loved ones? I don’t know, there’s something about them. I feel connected to people withouthavingto connect to anyone when I see their declarations of love to people I’ll never meet. These people had someone who lovedthem so much, they had to have it memorialized forever on a bar of steel for everyone to see. It makes me feel… I don’t know? Linked to my humanity in a way?”
