Page 12 of Letters From a Broken Heart
I swipe at my eyes and release my hold on Easton. I'm tired of crying. I'm sick of being the broken woman no one wants to deal with.
We’re quiet as we munch on our food. Easton ordered entirely too much, but he got all of my favorites.
Easton’s phone pings on the coffee table. He picks up the device and lets out a long sigh as he reads the text. He tosses it back onto the table and drops his face into his hands. He’s so upset and he keeps clenching his jaw. It’s odd to see him react like this to a text.
“What’s going on? Who texted you?” I brush a piece of hair back and place my hand on his shoulder.
“My mom. She planned the funeral and wanted to let me know she expects me to speak at it.”
I know how much Easton hates speaking in front of a group of people. Every time he had to do it in middle school, he’d throw up and get sent home from school. Jack used to make fun of him for it, but I always felt bad for him. I hate being the center of attention too, but not that much.
My heart ached for the boy who wanted so badly to be more like his little brother, but he struggled with it.
Jack and Easton have always been polar opposites. Where Jack is outgoing, adventurous, and the center of attention, Easton is more reserved, calculated, and happy to blend into the background. The only thing they had in common were their looks and their last name.
“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?” I try to focus on him as tears fill my eyes once again.
I don’t want to go to the funeral. I don’t want to watch as they lower Jack’s ashes into the ground or see people crying over the man I loved being laid to rest. I feel like I’ve spent the last four months crying and I don’t want to anymore, but it’s so hard to control.
“Wanna make me dinner the night before?” He peeks through his fingers at me as a slow smile spreads across his lips.
“I guess? Why?” My brows furrow. Easton’s never once asked me to cook for him so it’s an odd request.
“The last time you made me dinner, I got food poisoning and was throwing up for days. That has to be preferable to speaking at the funeral.”
“Oh, shut up!” I swat at his chest, making him chuckle. “You’re so mean to me.”
“Nah, pretty girl. I'm just trying to make you smile a little more.” He snakes his arm around my waist and tugs me into his side. Hepresses a soft, lingering kiss to my temple and then rests his head against mine. “What am I supposed to say, Tay? Especially in front of so many people? I can't do this.”
“You can,” I whisper softly. I love being in his arms and feeling his warmth and scent surround me. “Just look directly at me. Talk to me and forget anyone else is around.”
“Should I picture you in your underwear too?”
“Probably not? That’s a little weird.” I wrinkle my nose and peek up at him, making him chuckle.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Tay-Tay.” This time he kisses the tip of my nose and it feels so much more intimate than it should. Like maybe he has feelings for me. Real ones.
I’d give almost anything to have Easton in my life as more than a friend. To have him walk through the door after a long day at work and come directly to me. To have him sweep me into his arms and kiss me until I'm breathless. To feel all of his love directed at me and no one else.
“When is the funeral?” I ask, clearing my throat. I need to stop thinking about Easton as anything more than my best friend.
“Friday morning.”
“Ok.”
“You don’t have to go, sweetheart. Everyone would understand if you don’t.” He runs his hand gently up and down my back.
“No, I have to. It’s just going to be hard.”
“You know you have me to lean on the entire time.” He squeezes me, making me feel a little less alone.
Since Jack died, I’ve been pushing everyone away. I rarely answer my parents’ calls, only talking to them enough to keep them off my back, and I ignore all of the other phone calls and texts from my friends. Every time they look at me, I see pity and sympathy. How do you get over the loss of your boyfriend when no one will let you forget it?
But Easton doesn’t do that to me. He checks on me to make sure I'm taking care of myself. He asks me about my pain and recovery. He doesn’t shy away from the topic of Jack like everyone else does. He makes me feel like I'm normal and how I'm dealing with my grief isn't anything to be embarrassed by… until a few days ago.
This week, he gave me the wake up call I needed. He kicked my butt into gear and made me realize I couldn’t live like this any longer.
“I know. It’s the only way I'm going to make it through the next few months. I don’t know what I’d do without you, East.”
