Page 124 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
After everyone left, I felt like I could breathe again. Aside from the emotional exhaustion a day like today brings, there's something to be said for the energy that goes into hosting a bunch of people and feeling like you have to be "on" the whole time.
The Doyle family had descended like a tornado—a loving one—but a tornado nonetheless. bringing casseroles, opinions, and enough noise to wake the dead. Tommy had insisted on moving furniture around "for better flow," Danny had given Macy a forty-minute dissertation on the proper way to throw a curveball, and Mom had decided to dig in on reorganizing Macy’s bedroom with her and telling Macy they would go shopping for some “wall art” the coming week. I loved them all fiercely, but damn if they didn't leave me feeling like I'd run a marathon.
Cleanup was a bitch, but after getting everyone out, and getting the house and yard cleaned up, we all vegged out in front of the TV for a bit and just sat in silence. The reverence of the day finally sat on our shoulders, Macy at the center of our thoughts.
I found myself watching her during those quiet moments. Her small frame disappeared into the corner of the couch, knees drawn to her chest, fingers loosely curled around the edge of Mom's old afghan—the pastel one with the uneven border she'd tried fixing countless times before giving up. Macy's eyelidsfluttered every few minutes, her breathing deepening before she'd catch herself with a tiny jerk of her chin. For the first time in weeks, her shoulders weren't hunched toward her ears.
Felicity had her feet tucked up under her, reading something on her phone while occasionally reaching over to smooth Macy's hair. Every few minutes, our eyes would meet across the room, and she'd give me that small smile—the one that saidwe're okay. After everything we'd been through, those moments of normalcy felt like gifts.
"I think I'm ready for bed," Macy had announced around nine, stretching and yawning dramatically.
"You sure? No second wind tonight?" I'd asked, knowing how she sometimes got a burst of energy right before bed.
"Nope. I'm beat. Today was... a lot." She'd looked between Felicity and me. "But good. It was good to have everyone here."
After helping her get settled upstairs—tucking the comforter just how she likes it with one corner folded back, placing her water glass within arm's reach, adjusting the nightlight until it cast just enough glow across the carpet—I'd come back down to find Felicity in the kitchen. Steam curled from her mug of tea, the string from the tea bag dangling over the side. I slid my arms around her waist, pressed my nose into her hair, and eyed the amber liquid. "Mmm," I murmured, reaching one hand toward the mug. "Is that chamomile?"
Her shoulders shook and eyes crinkled at the corners as she ducked forward, amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her mug. She twisted her body away, one elbow out to block me, she stuck her tongue out at me. "Get!" Her free hand flicked toward the counter. "Yours is over there, by the coffee pot. Already has honey in it."
My palm connected with the curve of her pajama shorts with a soft pat, and I reached around her for the steaming mug waiting on the counter—the blue one with the chip on the handle that I refused to throw away.
She'd leaned back against me, and I'd felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. "I love your family," she'd murmured. "Overwhelming, but wonderful."
"They love you. And Macy." I'd kissed the top of her head. "Though I think Tommy might have given himself a hernia moving that dining room table around."
"He means well."
"They all do. Sometimes I think they mean a little too well."
"Mmmmm. Well, be grateful we have them." Her voice vibrated against my chest, the words warm and sleepy.
I leaned into her, nuzzled my face against her temple where a few strands of hair had escaped her messy bun. The scent of her lavender shampoo mingled with the earthy aroma of chamomile. "I am. More grateful for you though."
As she turned, we both set our mugs down on the granite countertop with soft ceramic clicks. Her arms slid around my waist, fingers pressing into the small of my back through my worn t-shirt. I pulled her closer until I could feel her heartbeat against mine, our bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces worn smooth from years of finding their way back to each other. We stood there in the kitchen's dim light, holding onto each other with the quiet desperation of people who had nearly lost everything.
At bedtime, I locked up while Felicity made her way upstairs. I found myself looking around me, being thankful for all I haveand all the blessings that I'd been given. The house still smelled faintly of the various foods and the flowers that had littered the house.
Standing in the kitchen, I thought about how different this felt from just a few months ago. Then, the house had felt hollow even when all three of us were home. Now, even in the quiet aftermath of a crowd, it felt full. Complete.
Shaking my head, I ascended the stairs, checked on Macy, and headed to my bedroom.
Macy's room was dark except for the small nightlight. She was already fast asleep, Lamby clutched to her chest, her breathing deep and even. In sleep, she looked so young—too young to have been through what she'd experienced. But she was healing. We all were.
As I walked into our bedroom I stopped and stared at my amazing wife. She was propped up in front ofallour pillows—no pillow was safe when Felicity was around. Sitting up with her Kindle laid out in front of her, set on top ofmypillow, she looked incredibly content.
She was wearing one of my old college t-shirts, the fabric soft and thin from years of washing, and her hair was still pulled back in a messy bun that had even more strands escaping than there were when we were downstairs. This was my favorite version of her—relaxed, unguarded, completely herself.
However, after watching her for a second, she looked up at me and I could swear I'd heard the sound of a wrapper crinkling. I walked over to my wife, leaned down to kiss her and smelled it—chocolate. And at the back of her Kindle case, there was the tiniest corner of orange peeking out.
"Felicity. Love-of-My-Life. Owner-Of-My-Heart."
"Hmmm?" She tried to look innocent, but there was mischief in her eyes.
"Curious. Are you eating in bed?" I was trying so hard to hold back a smirk, but it was a feat in and of itself.
She blinked at me with exaggerated confusion. “Hmmm?” she repeated again, clearly waiting for whatever was in her mouth to melt away.
"I asked if you were eating in bed?" I pressed my lips together, the corners of my mouth twitching upward despite my best efforts to furrow my brow.
