Page 11 of Walking on Broken Paths

Chapter Nine

On the morning of his dad’s burial, Parker woke up to a world that was dark and grey.

Sunshine or not, the atmosphere nevertheless felt weighty. Like a thunderstorm brewing over the ocean.

There was a pressing heaviness in the air, and it had nothing to do with the crawling emptiness that had been Dad’s house since he’d died. No, this was visceral. It was as though someone had taken Parker’s soul, stretched it thin, and cut out a piece of it, leaving him gaping open and...

Empty.

Hollow.

But also feeling too much at the same time. There was a sadness that permeated his every cell, his every muscle, his every breath until his lungs felt crushed under it all.

God, he was so tired of being sad, but he understood that it would always be there, like a new acquaintance he didn’t necessarily want as a friend.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he drew the covers up to his chin and gazed around his childhood bedroom.

It was still Parker’s bedroom—Dad had made sure he knew that he always had a place here—but instead of posters of his favourite athletes on the wall, there was a painting of the PEI coastline at sunrise, sailboats in the foreground.

Instead of the dresser that had been topped with Parker’s high school textbooks, an assortment of change, and random other bits of crap, there was an armoire Dad had found at someone’s curb that he’d refurbished.

And instead of his checkered bedspread, there was a plain grey one that was both light enough for the summer and warm enough for the winter.

It didn’t feel like Parker’s room anymore, even though it was technically his, and even though he’d been in it since he moved back when Dad got sick.

His childhood and teenage possessions were in a storage unit on Montreal’s South Shore, where he’d transferred everything after selling his condo in Boucherville.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t retain his memories.

Right there, on the end of the bed, was where he’d had the I-might-be-gay conversation with his dad, and then, later, the turns-out-I’m-actually-bi conversation.

There used to be an armchair by the window, and Parker would do his school reading there.

The chair faced the door, and Dad would walk by on his way to his own bedroom and make silly faces at him.

And there’d been an L-shaped desk right there tucked in the corner that he and Dad had assembled together the summer before Parker had started seventh grade.

They’d laughed when they’d realized they’d assembled part of it backwards.

Snuggling deeper into the bed, Parker hiked the covers higher and blinked back tears. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bury his dad today and say goodbye forever.

Blindly grabbing his phone from the nightstand, he meant to text the lady at the cemetery who’d helped organize everything but found himself messaging Jesse instead.

Parker:

When you get to the cemetery, can you tell Kya Merlot that I can’t make it today? She’s the organizer. Blue-tipped hair. You can’t miss her.

He waited for a response.

Waited a few more minutes.

Waited some more as, outside, the lawn mower abruptly cut off, leaving the world in silence.

Disappointment nearly crushed him.

He hadn’t realized that with one text he’d longed for understanding. For someone to see him and recognize he wasn’t okay. Recognize that he was swimming in deep waters without a life preserver.

Hadn’t he been thinking, just earlier this week, that he didn’t need grief counselling? Perhaps, for the most part, he was okay. But when he wasn’t, it was like being buried alive in his father’s bones.

A knock sounded on the front door.

He pulled the covers over his head.

The lock on the front door clicked.

What the...?

“Parks?”

Tears made his vision blurry.

“Hello? Parks? I got your text.”

The front door closed softly. Metal slid against wood—Jesse depositing the spare key he’d no doubt found in its usual place in the planter out front onto the hall table. Silence for a moment, then all the usual places in the floor creaked as Jesse made his way toward the bedroom.

“Ah, Parks.”

The bed dipped. Arms came around him. A big hand cupped the back of his head through the blanket.

Parker crumbled.

He fell apart like he hadn’t... ever. Not when he’d learned Dad was sick, not when Dad had died. He’d kept himself propped up with work, knowing that if he failed, Dad’s business failed too.

But here, in this safe space, with the reality of what this day was meant to be staring him in the face, Parker let himself feel the loss for the first time.

Dad was... gone. At thirty-two years old, Parker still didn’t know if he believed in the afterlife, but wherever Dad was, Parker couldn’t reach him.

There’d be no more phone calls to talk about good days and bad.

No more listening to Dad tell stories about his customers.

No more hosting Dad at his place in Boucherville when he visited and taking him out to restaurants or to see the sights.

No more parent. Parker wasn’t close with his mom. Never had been, and even less so after she moved to Manitoba. And with Dad gone, Parker had the odd sensation of being an orphan, even though he technically wasn’t.

His sobs broke the silence, harsh and ugly. His shoulders shook. His chest heaved. Jesse didn’t offer condolences or empty platitudes, just held him and held him until Parker wore himself out and his chest hurt as though someone had sat on it for hours.

Sobs turned into choked breaths. The tears dried on his face, making his skin itchy. He was flushed from the emotions and the blanket cocoon. Once he could breathe without his lungs hitching, he lowered the blanket to get some air.

Jesse still lay in front of him. His face was so full of understanding that it threatened to send Parker off again.

Sniffling thickly, Parker wiped his nose on his sheets.

“Hot stuff, that,” Jesse said in a rumbly voice.

Despite everything, Parker laughed, but he sobered quickly. “I’m sorry.”

Jesse’s indigo eyes darkened. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

“It’s just...” Rolling onto his back, Parker ran an arm over his eyes, wiping the tears away. “I know you understand, but you also must think I’m... I don’t know.”

“Hey.” Jesse nudged him. “Whatever it is you want to say, don’t hold back. This is me you’re talking to. Tell me.”

Staring up at the ceiling, Parker sifted the words through his thoughts, trying to organize them into meaning that made sense and wouldn’t offend.

“My dad died from cancer. He lived a long life and he died from something incurable. But Mikey... he took his own life. That seems like it should cause the greater wound, and I can’t help but think that you think I’m being an idiot. ”

Well. All that word sifting and Parker still didn’t think he was making any sense.

Jesse propped his head up on one hand. His other hand took Parker’s and held tight.

“Death is death, Parks,” he said quietly, his voice gentle enough to soothe the aching wounds in Parker’s body.

“Regardless of the cause, someone’s dead, leaving the living behind to mourn and remember them.

The how of it doesn’t matter. Grief is its own beast to conquer. ”

Swallowing hard, Parker let out a long breath. “Does it get easier?”

“The pain of losing someone does smooth out over time, but I’ve learned that grief is something that will always be there, ready to sneak up on you when you least expect it.” Jesse went quiet for a moment, then said, “The first year and the tenth were the hardest.”

Surprised at that, Parker blinked at him. “Why the tenth?”

“Because you’ll wonder how you managed to go a whole decade without them.”

Fresh pain welled, a freight train barrelling down on him, and Parker sucked in a shaky breath as his vision went blurry again. “I don’t want to do this today, Jess.”

“I know, babe. I know. Why do you think I never went to Mikey’s funeral?”

“But you’re coming today?”

“Of course.”

Jesse hadn’t attended Mikey’s funeral or burial... but he was willing to attend today.

What did that mean?

How should that make Parker feel? Guilty that Jesse was doing this for him? Thankful for the support? Amazed that Jesse had gotten the help he needed and now felt emotionally confident enough to do what he hadn’t been able to fifteen years earlier?

Fuck it. Parker wasn’t going to feel anything about it. Not right now. Wasn’t going to even think about what this meant until he had the spoons to unpack Jesse’s gesture.

“Do you regret not going to Mikey’s funeral?”

Jesse’s hand clenched on his, and a hint of pain flashed behind his eyes.

“Sometimes. I think it would’ve helped give me closure.

Mostly I regret not being there for my parents.

But I wasn’t in a good place after he died, and attending his funeral was.

.. I just couldn’t. So I get it, Parks, if you don’t want to go today.

I understand. Your dad would too. But I think you’ll regret it if you don’t go. ”

Parker inhaled through his nose, let it out through his mouth. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”