Page 81 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
Brad approached with the last bag. "Hey Caden. Can I talk to you for a minute?"
Caden looked between us, and, at my smile, he nodded. They stepped off to the side and I could hear them talking. Brad asked if he could still see Macy, take her to dinner or out for ice cream here and there. Caden promised to talk to Macy and let him know.
Macy came down the steps, carrying a few more things with her. She hugged Brad, and while she teared up a bit, she seemed okay, which was a relief.
The drive home was quiet. Macy sat in the backseat, staring out the window. Even with everything on her plate and all the emotions that today must have caused, she was still looking more relaxed than I'd seen her in weeks. But as the adrenaline from everything at Jessica's house started to wear off, I felt my earlier confusion settling back in.
I wanted to be grateful for everything we had—and I am. We're all safe, we're working things, life is still moving along. But I still had this nagging voice in my head that reminded me of what I had been through these last few years.
"You're thinking really loud over there," Caden said as we pulled into our driveway.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize. Talk to me. What's going on?"
I looked back at Macy, who was already unbuckling her seatbelt, eager to get her things settled in her room. "Later," I said. "When we're alone tonight."
At home, Macy went upstairs to unpack her belongings while Caden and I made lunch. I went and checked on her upstairs, to see how she was doing. She had arranged her stuffed animals on the windowsill and put her art supplies to the side of her dresser—just until we had a desk for her to put in the room.
I looked around her room, feeling a kind of loss in my soul. Caden and I had started trying at the very beginning of our marriage. If we'd had a baby then, they would be around five—around the same age Macy was when we got married. I pictureda little girl—she'd probably look a little like Macy did back then. Macy didn't have much of her mom's look—taking mostly after Caden.
Macy interrupted my thoughts, "this feels more like home now," she said, sitting on her bed with Lamby.
"Good," replied Caden who had just entered the room. He went to her, kissed the top of her head. "Because it is home."
I had a quick snapshot in my head of Caden holding our little girl and felt my heart crack a bit. I walked out of the room before I lost it, leaving them to their moment.
After dinner, and what had to be the thousandth time Macy has watched Moana, she went to bed early, exhausted from the emotional day. Caden and I were alone in the living room, and suddenly I found myself unable to figure out how to explain or even start the conversation I knew we needed to have.
"So," he said, settling beside me on the couch. "Talk to me."
I pulled my knees up to my chest, staring at my hands, trying to find the words through the silence. "I feel terrible about this, but... I'm struggling."
"With what?"
"With being grateful enough. With being happy enough. With not feeling selfish when I should just be thankful for what we have."
Caden frowned. "What do you mean?"
I took a deep breath. "Today, in Macy's room, I kept thinking about that damn purse." I stopped—trying to figure out how to say what I was feeling.
"Okay, first, I'd like to say that I'm happy you donated it—I honestly would not have wanted that purse anymore. Too many bad memories attached to it. So, I just want to put that out there."
"Okay," he said, drawing the word out.
I started to tear up—annoyed with myself that, sometimes when I can't get my frustrations out, I cry, not even meaning to! "So—yeah, I know it's stupid and petty, but I can't seem to help being resentful about it. I know she is a kid, and she didn't mean anything, but I hurt over this. It's stupid that I looked in the mirror on her closet and found myself thinking about how she probably modeled it for herself, she wore it, and got to use it—meanwhile I never even had the chance to touch it. I never even got within ten feet of it!"
I held up my hand, saying, "I get that it seems ridiculous, but I can't seem to hold back my feelings on the issue. We are finally in an okay place, and maybe the adrenaline of the last couple days has worn off or something. I don—"
"Felicity—"
"Wait. I'm not done," I said quickly. "I'm ashamed of feeling this way. The locket is absolutely beautiful, and it's thoughtful. It is exactly what I would have wanted you to give me without needing to be prompted. And, yes, that purse obviously had to go. But I don't know how to change my feelings. I don't know how to turn this part of me off that still feels like I lost something in the process—even after losing so much of my voice for the last few years." I rushed on, "which I know is not your fault. Nothing you did made me uncomfortable to say something to you about how I felt and yet, I couldn't bring myself to talk to you."
Caden was quiet. Waiting. Processing.
"I feel like it's wrong to feel this way," I continued in a whisper—needing to fill the silence. "But I can't change how I feel."
I didn’t know how to fix what still felt broken inside me. But for the first time, I wasn’t hiding it.
