Page 85 of I Love to Hate You
“Oh, we’re getting rid of this recliner altogether now?” she asks, jokingly. “Cool. Good thing I’m cleaning it off then.”
We laugh as she stands to help me with the couch and entertainment center, and after a few quick moves, the place looks new. Even when my mother was here, it was never set up this way, and I like that.
After the living room is complete, we spend a few minutes picking up debris from the hallway, but before I know it, I’m standing at the threshold of my father's room. It still reeks from the vomit left behind on the mattress, and the gun he was toying with that night is still there, ominously staring at us right where he left it.
“What do you want to do?” Sam asks, looking at me to make sure I’m okay with going in.
Tears fill my eyes as I stare in, remembering how many times I saw my father moving around in here.
“It’s going to be hard,” I tell Sam. “But this will also be the most cathartic thing I’ve ever done. My father was miserable after my mom died. He was never the same again, and the blame he forced me to carry made it to where we could never have a good father-daughter relationship. It’s depressing, but I also understand that it was his grief that consumed him. He lost the love of his life and never got over it. While I’ve never been a big believer in an afterlife, it feels good to think that he’s with her now. They’re together somewhere smiling down on me, and he’s sorry for how he acted in the time he spent on this earth without her. She forgives him, and I’ll forgive him, too. In the end, he got what he really wanted, which was to be with her again, so I’m not going to hold onto him down here. We’ll get rid of his clothes and belongings, because seeing it would only make me sad, as if he could come through the door and slip into his house shoes again. I’ll always have the pictures of us together as a family, and that’s all I’ll keep. Everything else can go. Okay?”
A tear streaks down my face as Sam smiles at me. “Okay, sweetie. Let’s do it.”
Over the span of two hours, Samantha and I clean up everything in my father's room, tossing virtually all of it into trash bags before using a treasure trove of cleaners to scrub the furniture and mattress down. As I clean it all out, I realize how symbolic it is to cleaning out the negativity my dad brought with him. I love him dearly, but my father was a weight attached to my foot, never allowing me to fly. He was verbally abusive and the number one oppressor in my life. While I will miss him dearly simply because he was my dad, and as much pain as it brings me to admit it, I know I’m better off without him. I’ll be happier and able to move on from the loss of my mother, too, because his blame made it incredibly difficult to heal from her passing. His death compounds it, and I’ll probably need therapy after it’s all said and done, but I feel freer than I have in a very long time. I’m lighter, and while I’ll cry for an unknown amount of time, the tears are cleansing, and I embrace them now.
After the last bag is taken out and we’re done with everything, the sun is going down when we sit on the couch. We’re exhausted, but it’s so good to have the place cleaned up and reorganized.
“Sam,” I say as I stare at a blank spot on the wall where a picture of my family used to be. “Thank you so much for being here. I couldn't have done this without you. Seriously, Iwould nothave done this without you.”
“It’s no problem,” she says kindly. “You’re my homegirl, and I’ve got your back. Although, I’m sure Kendrick would've helped if you’d called him.”
I sigh. “Yeah, I’m sure he would’ve, because he was blowing my phone up for the first twenty-four hours after he left the hospital. He finally stopped when he realized I wasn’t going to respond last night.”
“You know he told me what happened, right?”
“Yeah, I figured.”
“It’s not my business, and we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to,” she says cautiously. “But do you really think he left your dad to die on purpose?” I glare at her playfully, and she scoots away from me. “Don’t snap at me. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”
I chuckle. “It’s fine, Sam. I don't know what I think about what Kendrick did. All I know is that my dad was here and Kendrick had the chance to save him. I haven't let myself think about it much past that. He could've helped him, but didn’t.”
“Admittedly, I only have Kendrick’s side to go off of here, but he said your dad pointed a gun at him. The same gun that was on the bed when we walked in. Would you try to save someone who just pointed a loaded gun atyourchest?” When I don't respond, she continues. “All I’m saying is think about who Kendrick is for a minute. He’s crazy about you, girl. I’d kill to have a guy that obsessed with me, especially one that looks like him. He wouldn't do that, and I think you know it.”
“Yes, he would,” I blurt out. “You guys don't know Kendrick like I do. When we were in college, he was literally the school bully. I mean, I kind of was, too, but it wasreallyhim. He slammed my ex’s face into a glass cabinet door. He broke, like, all of a guy’s fingers just a couple of weeks ago. Granted, he did all of that in defense of me, but … I … I don't fucking know, okay?”
There’s a heavy silence in the air for a moment before Sam flashes a pained smile and places a hand on top of mine. “Like I said, he’s crazy about you, Maya. Everything you just tried to use against him were things he did to protect you, and you loved him for it. Right?”
I suddenly feel the urge to cry again, but the tears don't come. Maybe I'm finally all cried out.
“Right,” I admit, turning my hand over so I can squeeze hers.
Samantha looks at me like a big sister who has just given her younger sibling the advice she knew I always needed, pressing her lips into a line and nodding at me. She doesn't have to say anything else. What is known doesn't need to be said, so we sit in silence until the sun finishes tucking itself beneath the covers. When it rises again, I don't know what my life will look like. Everything will be different, including me. I’ve never had to think about life without including my father. But sitting here with Sam, I feel a new sense of hope blooming.
After the storm is a brighter day.
Kendrick
Fifty-One
~ KENDRICK~
“What? Why there?”
“Are you kidding me, boy? This way, when you open the door, you don’t walk right into the back of your sofa. Only rich people have their couch in the center of the living room. Haven't you heard?”
I smirk at my mother. “Oh, yeah. Something about knowing your house is big when your couch isn’t pushed against a wall. You’ve got so much space that it can be in the center of the room and the space will still be massive.”
“Exactly,” Mom says, pushing my couch to the far wall in the living room as if she doesn't need any help. It’s so good to see her back to her old self. “When it comes to living rooms big enough for the couch to be in the middle, you're not that guy, pal. You're not that guy.”
