Page 62 of It Couldn't Be You
She nodded.
“Should I call him or send him a message?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “I think so. I mean, you probably shouldn’t show up at his house or start hanging out…but one of your sweet messages will probably go a long way.”
We didn’t say anything for a while longer.
Then, after some time, I said, “What do I say?”
She opened her mouth confidently, then paused. She didn’t say anything. Finally she said, “I don’t know. I don’t think there are perfect words in this moment.”
And before we could brainstorm a response, we were at her house. While she collected her things, she asked if I wanted to come in for a while. I saw that janky old truck parked out front and told her that I was too tired, but thanks anyway.
I got to my apartment and took a long hot shower and wrote messages to Jordan in my mind. I wrapped myself up in my favorite blue towel and then lay on my bed.
I wasn’t sure how to be Jordan’s ex or how to have him as my ex. For two full years, he was my boyfriend and one of the closest people in my life. He was top of the line for two years. My first call. He was someone I kissed on the mouth, someone I said “I miss you” to when we were apart, and someone who brought me soup when I was sick. Someone whose family called me their own. Nana had called me her favorite little writer. How to operate as anything other than that Emma felt fake.
If we rewound a couple of months, I wouldn’t even be in my apartment right now. I would be at his house. I wouldn’t be sending pathetic messages. I would be on the phone with him. I would be at his side. I would be mourning Nana with him. I would be hugging his mom close, sharing stories. I would be telling them, “She always put my stories on her fridge under a magnet.”
I started crying. Tears falling from my eyes. I didn’t message him. I called. He didn’t answer, so I left a rambling, but honest, voicemail, telling him all the things I should’ve said when he first called.
Ididn’t listen to any music as I drove to the church the day of the funeral. I wore a black chiffon dress with lacy sleeves. My hair was tied into a knot at my neck. I parked my car and looked up at the sky through the window. The sky, which had been gray for weeks, was suddenly electric blue. The sun was so bright it was making me hot underneath my dress. I unbuckled slowly, searching the parking lot for Katie’s car or my parent’s. I spotted my mom and dad and let out a big breath.
During the service, a pastor spoke to us about life and legacy. Later, one of Jordan’s uncles gave a eulogy that made people laugh and also made them cry in that bittersweet way funerals of the elderly, of people who had a good and fair amount of days, can be.
I kept thinking about the time I was seventeen years old, and my mom and dad were going to the funeral of an old friend of theirs. I was eating a sandwich at the kitchen table. Mom and Dad were by the door, buttoning up their coats, when Mom sighed and said, “So it begins, the older you get, the more funerals you attend.”
“Well, that’s a little morbid, hon,” my dad said, but he still laughed.
The service ended, so we all rose to give our condolences and leave the building and resume, what, normal life? Knowing full well that his family wouldn’t be resuming normal life. They would be grasping at how to enter this new life, this different life.
I really wanted to see Jordan and his family. I wanted to give them hugs, to somehow send a message through my face and my touch that I loved them, that I cared, that I saw—that I was sorry.
I saw them huddled by the door, people giving kind words and touches as they exited the building. My parents and I got into line as a little three-person unit. We whispered about the eulogy, about things we were surprised to learn about Nana. As we got closer to the family, the line moving along, I noticed an extra person was standing with the family the entire time as if claiming themselves as a member.
Sophia. There she stood—in a black A-line dress and another glossy ponytail—with Jordan’s family. She was being hugged along with all of them like she was one of them. I was completely confused. How long had it been since I was at her father’s repair shop? A few weeks? The line moved closer and closer.
I turned to my mom, locked eyes, and nodded my head toward Sophia. Mom glanced in that direction but shot me a puzzled look. She didn’t recognize Sophia as Jordan’s ex, as Jordan’s biggest heartbreak and longtime girlfriend before his two-year blip with me. Was I now a blip?
I imagined him whispering, “I wished Emma was you the entire time,” in her ear. I shook my head. I had no idea what was going on and no right to that information. My dad pointed out how cold it was in the chapel. I nodded in agreement. Mom said it was probably how close we were to the door.
It was almost my turn in the hug line. I looked at the family, and Sophia was standing by Jordan’s side solemnly, consistently wrapping her arms around him, giving his mother a comforting arm rub, whispering things into Jordan’s ear and his sister’s. I had a little bit of an idea of what was going on.
It made sense, I admitted to myself. And he needed comfort, and she seemed to be doing a really good job at providing it. Plus, I thought of my two years, knowing Nana and being loved by her in comparison to the entirety of middle school and high school that Sophia had. Sophiagrew upwith Nana.
I was suddenly next in line. My body felt numb. My feet were shuffling me toward these people who had once felt so familiar to me. Now we were sharing formalities. I could see their pink cheeks, hear their sniffles, and I knew how big this loss was. Yet the familiarity was gone. I was another in the hug line. I wasn’t on the sidelines any longer.
I had spent my Saturday afternoons cheering on their cousins at baseball games. I knew their holiday cookie recipe. I knew their food allergies. I knew the family stories, but I wasn’t invited to their house after the service. I was fading out of their lives, bleeding into the borders then gone.
I said, “I am just so sorry,” to his mother, and she squeezed my hand. I saw Jordan, and tears fell from my cheeks as we embraced.
“Emma.” His voice was rocky and broken.
I whispered, “I loved her.”
He said, “I know.”
We went in for a second hug, and I said, “I love you,” and he said it back.
