Page 81 of Hell Bent (Portland Devils #5)

RADICAL ACCEPTANCE AGAIN

Sebastian

Solange’s service was just as hard as I’d expected it to be. Or harder.

We had it at the funeral home, depressing as that was, because we hadn’t had anyplace else to do it. I had no ties here, and Solange had had her office. Her patients. The hospital. You can’t have a memorial service at a hospital.

People came, though. Other doctors. Nurses.

Even some patients. She’d been an oncologist. There’s an irony.

Skinny people came, women with turbans over their bald heads, a man pushing an IV stand along with him.

Other people, looking healthy, looking good, coming up to me after the extremely short service, shaking my hand, shaking Ben’s.

A man telling him, “Your mom saved my life. You should be very proud.” A woman saying, “She never lied to me. She never pretended it would be easy. She never said I’d be cured.

She said that if I wanted to fight, she’d help me do it, and that was what she did. ”

Ben stood there like a robot, like he was frozen. Only one of his friends had come. Kyle, a short, skinny kid who hadn’t grown yet, who’d arrived on his skateboard, wearing baggy jeans. He didn’t say much, just stood there, but he’d come.

So had Harlan and Owen. They stood on either side of Ben like bodyguards. Like shelter. Solid as rock.

Brothers.

Alix? Alix was with us for all of it. Holding my hand. Passing me a sneaky Kleenex when I teared up. Ready to help. Ready to do whatever she had to do.

The rest of them left eventually, and the three of us headed to the cemetery. That was what Ben had wanted. “In case I, like, bawl or anything,” he’d said, “I don’t want my friends to see.” But his friends hadn’t come. I knew why, and it made me furious all the same.

The hole was small. So little space to hold so much person. The funeral director handed me the brass urn, and I handed it to Ben. Green grass, pale-blue sky, fitful sun, doing its best to shine. Canada, saying to hold on and wait, because spring would come again.

Ben knelt down and put the urn in the hole. So carefully, like it mattered. His hands shook, and he stayed down there for a minute. Tried to stand up, and couldn’t quite do it. His face, that had been so set through all of this, was crumpling in front of me.

I pulled him in. I held him tight. And he cried like there was nothing but tears inside of him, like the arms around him weren’t the right ones, the ones that had held him since the moment he was born.

I got it, so I did the only thing I could do.

I held him and thought, I’m here now, though. And I’m never letting go.

It felt like forever. It was probably ten minutes. At the end of it, Ben still stood with his face against my chest, heaving in breath. Alix put a wad of tissues in his hand, and he mopped up. Shaky as hell. And said, of course, “Sorry. ”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” I said, and then I went ahead and said, “I cried, too.”

He stood back at that. Tearstained. Skinny. Full of love. “What? When?”

“The day after the Super Bowl. I think I kind of … held back until then. No choice. I had football to play. Obligations. But once it was over, it all busted out. My dad died like your mom did.” A breath through aching lungs.

“He died hard. I held it in all my life, but when your mom died—she was my sister, and she was leaving you just like our dad left us. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Sometimes life is just too damn sad.”

“Yeah.” Ben had some more tears there, but he wasn’t hiding them now, at least. “Sucks.”

I laughed a little. “You bet it does.”

“So I guess you can’t, like, do radical acceptance anymore,” he said.

I hesitated, then thought, Teachable moment. I didn’t know much about that, but I was trying to learn. “No,” I said. “This is when it matters most to try to accept. When it’s hardest.”

“Huh?” he said. “You just, like, move on? That’s bullshit, man. It’s bullshit.” Shouting a little now, and the funeral director, still standing back there like he was prepared to wait all day, was probably startled. Or maybe not. I’d bet a lot of crazy stuff happened at funerals.

“I can see why you think so.” I glanced at Alix.

She smiled a little, which I figured meant, You’re doing fine, so I went on.

Blundering into parenthood. “Radical acceptance means accepting the pain. Accepting the hurt. It means letting yourself cry like I didn’t do for thirteen years.

See, I thought I was practicing it, and turns out I wasn’t.

I might be practicing it a little better now, though, because I’m feeling the hurt.

My hurt. Your hurt. Alix’s hurt. I’m feeling how hard it is to watch you hurt, too. You know what started it? ”

“What?” Ben asked.

“Lexi,” I said. “The way she stood there when that asshole drove off without her. Trying so hard to be good. Like if she was good enough, he’d come back.

That just …” I was tearing up more than I had through the whole service, through all of this, but maybe that was the point.

“That kind of shoved a wedge into my armor, I guess. Dogs are pure, like babies. They’re innocent.

You can’t have armor against a dog’s hurt. That felt bad, but it was good for me.”

“Like vegetables,” Ben said, and we both smiled.

“Yeah,” I said. “I guess.” I paused a moment, then said, “It was good that Kyle came today.”

Ben looked away. “Yeah.” His voice tight and pinched. “He’s my best friend.”

“And it felt like he was your only friend,” I said, and Ben’s shoulders jerked.

“Kids aren’t up for it,” I tried to explain.

“They don’t have a way to handle the big feelings yet, so they avoid them.

Boys especially. Nobody said anything to me while my dad was dying.

Well, teachers. My coach. But none of my friends.

None of my teammates. They didn’t know what to say.

They didn’t know how to be. So they didn’t say anything, and I pulled back.

Walled myself off. It wasn’t the right response, but I can see why I did it. ”

Ben said, “Kyle asked if I could come over after this. Maybe spend the night. He said I probably got better at Madden 24, because of you. I told him you didn’t let me have video games, and he couldn’t believe it.”

“Sounds like a good idea. If you want to go.”

“I really want to,” he said. “But it feels kind of … bad. Disrespectful to my mom.”

“No,” I said. “That’s why people have parties after funerals sometimes. Wakes. Whatever. You hurt, and you cry, and then you go on into your life.” I smiled. It was still painful. “Radical acceptance.”

Alix

We drove back to the hotel—neither Ben nor Sebastian had been able to face that sad house—Ben stuffed a few things into his backpack, and Sebastian and I took him to his friend’s place. When we’d dropped him off, I asked, “Can we go for a walk? We should probably change first, but you know?—”

“Yeah,” Sebastian said. “Let’s take a walk.”

We couldn’t do a beach walk or take off our shoes, but at least we were beside the water, because there was a path here that let you do that. The tide was high, lapping against the seawall. I said, “There’s something about the ocean that helps. The loneliness, or something.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian said. “Reminds you that you’re small, maybe. The tide will keep on coming in and going out, no matter what. Life goes on.”

“Life goes on.” I pressed his hand a little tighter. “What you said to Ben—it was just right. I was proud of you.”

“You could’ve jumped in there,” he said, “since I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“It came from the heart,” I said. “It was real. That’s what Ben needs. It hurts. That’s real.”

“OK,” Sebastian said, and that was all.

We walked some more. Seabirds wheeled overhead, and the water kept on lapping at that wall. I said, “You’re the best parent Ben could possibly have.”

“What?” He looked startled.

“I’m going to say this,” I said. “I’m going to tell you what I see when I look at you, and why I love you.”

I thought he might make a joke, but he didn’t say anything, so I went on.

“Because when somebody else would say, ‘This is too hard,’ you do it anyway. When somebody else would say, ‘This isn’t fair,’ you do it anyway.

When somebody else would say, ‘There’s no way I can make it,’ you stand up.

You dig in. And you Do. It. Anyway. And that’s rare.

That’s extraordinary. Ben’s a lucky boy. And I’m a lucky woman.”

He said, “Let’s sit down.”

We found a bench. The breeze lifted the edges of Sebastian’s hair, and the lines on his face made him look like a carved image as he stared out to sea. Still holding my hand. Finally, he turned to me and said, “Do you know what that Sonnet 116 says?”

I blinked. “Uh … Shakespeare? The one my grandmother liked?”

“Yeah. That one. Have you read it?”

“I think we’ve established,” I said, “that I may be less educated than you in some ways.”

“This is it,” he said. And recited the words.

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments; love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wand'ring bark

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come.

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom:

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”

He stopped, and I said, “Wow.” Not enough to say, you’ll agree, but it was all I had .

“Full of symbolism,” Sebastian said. “And true. As far as I can see … true.”

“OK.” My voice was shaky, and so was his hand.

Oh. That was my hand.

“I looked it up again when you mentioned it,” he said.

“And I memorized it. I thought, ‘Just in case,’ and I figure it’s time now.

It means that when you really love someone, you’re solid.

It means being somebody someone can count on.

” He paused. “And it means having a love you can count on, too. Like, for example, a woman who stands with you at your sister’s gravesite, the same way she held your hand all night long when she was exhausted, when she was hurting, because she knew how much you hurt, and that mattered more.

A woman who loves you the same whether you win or lose. Who makes you want to be a better man.”

I was the one crying now. I couldn’t help it. There the tears were. Ben. Solange. And Sebastian. Sebastian, most of all. “You can’t … be a better man,” I managed to say. “You’re already that man.”

“Even though I can be bossy,” he said, and tried to smile. His whole face open. Naked.

“Yes,” I said. “Because you’re right. It’s better to fight it out. Besides, I always know you have my back. And you know I have yours.”

“Always,” he said, and the word hung there between us.

“Always,” I said.

“So,” he said. “Do you want to marry me?”

I stared at him. “This is …” I managed to say. “Not what I expected.”

“Me neither,” he said. “Or I’d have bought a ring. But here we are.”

“Well, good,” I said. “Because I’d rather choose it together. And I don’t want a diamond. ”

“I thought an emerald,” he said. “Symbol of loyalty, new beginnings, peace, and security. Sounds right.”

“I read something different,” I said. “Wealth, power, and authority. I looked it up a long time ago because of the earrings, obviously, and thought, ‘Well, no. No thanks to that.’”

“I like mine better,” he said, and we both smiled.

“My mother will say it’s too soon,” I said.

“We don’t need no stinkin’ rules,” he said, and we both laughed some at that.

“It can be a long engagement,” he went on, “but I’m tired of holding back.

I’m tired of closing off. Radical openness.

That’s what I want. Nothing in this world is permanent.

Parents die. Partners die.” Another pause.

“Even kids can die. But love doesn’t die.

That’s what I’ve realized. Love doesn’t die. The love you give goes on. Love lives.”

My heart was so full, I could barely speak. “Kids,” I said. “You know that I …”

“My dad died young of pancreatic cancer,” he said. “My sister died young of breast cancer. She had the brCA1 gene. He almost certainly did too. I’d need genetic testing, and so would you.”

“IVF,” I said.

“IVF,” he agreed. “When we’re ready. So what do you say, Anastasia Alexandra Glucksburg-Thompkins? Want to marry me and not change your name? Because that name’s a keeper, and so are you.”

“Yes,” I said. The wind blew, the sun shone through the clouds, and the tide kept on rolling in and out.

Radical impermanence. Radical acceptance.

I held his beloved face in my two hands and looked into his wolf-eyes.

He looked back at me, steady and strong.

Ready to face the world with me. “Yes,” I said. “I do.”