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“I do, Chad. I really do. I know you two didn’t always see eye to eye?—”
“Hey, let’s be honest, she fucking hated me. And who can blame her after the way I treated you? She was always such a fierce mama bear. You remember, that’s what you used to call her. You bought her that stuffed grizzly when we went on that trip to Vancouver our senior year.”
Amelia smiles, which is a small miracle. “Yeah. She loved that bear. She still has it in her room, you know?”
The tears start again, and I have no clue what to do for her. She looks up at me, those huge wet eyes seeming to say something that I don’t understand, and shakes her head. “Chad, I have to go, okay? I’ll let you know about the funeral arrangements.”
“Okay, Mimi. You know I’m always here for you, right? Anything you want, even if it’s just to talk about her, to share memories. Reach out anytime.”
Well, fuck. I hate Chad. The asshole cheated on her, broke her heart, and made her feel worthless as shit. Added to that, he’s a slimy motherfucker with an ego the size of a planet. But what he just said? That was perfect. It was exactly what she needed.
She curls back up into my arms, and I make soothing noises and hold her tight. I do my best to make her feel safe, to make her feel less alone. But part of me wonders if I’m man enough for the job. And that part seems to grow bigger with every moment that passes.
Chapter
Forty-One
AMELIA
Ihold the stuffed bear close to my heart and wonder if I’ll ever let it go. It’s old and tattered now, one ear hanging off and her once shiny eyes dull with age. She’s wearing a T-shirt, as all grizzlies do, of course, that’s emblazoned with the words#1 Mama Bear. I lie on Mom’s bed, hugging that bear and inhaling the scent of her that lurks on the pillowcases.
I look around at the room that’s been hers for as long as I’ve been alive and see the layers of her life. The clothes in the closet. The brush on her dresser that still contains strands of her precious hair. The half-used bottle of Anais Anais perfume that she loved so much. I will always treasure it. The still-unfinished romance novel on her bedside table. She only had a few chapters left to go, and it makes me unbearably sad that she will never get to the happy ending.
There is so much to do, and I don’t want to do any of it. I need to go through her wardrobe and bag things up for donation. I need to speak to the funeral director about music. I need to cancel her cable and empty her fridge and tie up all the loose ends of her life. All I have the energy to do, though, is lie here in this bed that still smells of Mom and cuddle this stupid bear.
It’s been four days since she died, and it still doesn’t feel real. Drake is helping me with the legal stuff, and he’s been great—incredible, in fact. A safe haven in a terrible time. Every member of his family has reached out with messages of sympathy, and I appreciate it so much. I know he’s here for me. I only have to ask if I need anything at all. The problem is that I have no idea what I need or what would help. Sometimes I struggle to even speak about it and simply huddle in his arms, crying. I’m not a whole lot of fun to be around right now, but he’s been incredibly patient.
He offered to come here with me today, but I told him no. I needed a few hours here alone first. A little time to let myself feel all the feels, smell all the smells, and cuddle all the bears. To pretend for just a little while that she’s still here—that I could walk downstairs right now and she’d be sitting there on the couch, laughing at some funny video on her phone.
My mom—my beautiful, irreplaceable mom—is gone. I don’t know what I’ll do without her. It was always the two of us against the world, and now… Now it’s just the one of us, all by myself, and I don’t think the world has much to fear.
I hear someone knocking at the door and drag myself off the bed. Neighbors must have noticed me arriving earlier and spread the word because they’ve been stopping by all day to pay their respects and give me casseroles that I’ll never eat. Mom was real popular around here, and it’s nice, but I’m exhausted by all of it. I trudge down the stairs, trying to plaster on a fake smile. The minute I open the door, my smile becomes real. Kimmy waves a giant roll of trash bags and Emily waves a bag full of wine. My girls are here.
They both come at me for a hug, and I burst into tears. I held it together in front of the neighbors, even Mrs. Katzberg who gave me a crossword puzzle book “to keep me busy.” But seeing my girlfriends undoes me. I sob onto their shoulders and letthem hold me up when my legs give up on supporting me. By the time I pull away, I am a snotty mess.
“Wow, Amelia, you look so hot right now,” Kimmy says, fishing a tissue from her purse and dabbing my face with it. “So chic.”
“Thank you,” I reply, blowing my nose. “What are you guys doing here?”
“We’ve come to help,” Emily says. “We weren’t sure what that would look like, so we thought we could help you clean and pack up, then maybe get you drunk.”
“That sounds like the best idea ever. I’ve been lying upstairs sniffing her pillows. It’s tragic.”
“It’s normal,” Kimmy says firmly. “It’s human. It’s okay.”
I feel so much better for seeing them, and I have no idea why I’ve been avoiding them and putting them off with excuses. I’ve noticed that grief is super sneaky, especially for an only child like me. It creeps up on you, ambushes you, and isolates you. It tells you nobody shared the same past as you, so nobody can understand what you’ve lost. But that’s where grief is wrong, at least in my case. These women might not be blood relatives, but they really are like sisters. I realize how long it’s been since I properly talked to them, how tied up in Drake I’ve been.
“I have so much to tell you guys.” I usher them into the house, deciding that the secrecy can go fuck itself. His family knows, and now that my mom is gone, Emily and Kimmy are all the family I have left. I’m going to tell them all about Drake James and how much I love him.
“Is it that you’re getting back with Chad?” Kimmy asks, wrinkling her nose.
“Uh, no, of course not—why would you say that?”
“Because he’s walking right toward us.”
I pop my head through the still-open door and look down the street. He hesitates when he sees who I’m with, and I look backat Kimmy to see her eyes narrowed menacingly. “Play nice,” I say quietly. “I don’t want to have to visit Chad in the hospital.”
She snorts and schools her face into neutral. Emily does the same, but it looks more natural on her. He eyes them both warily as he approaches and nods in greeting.