Before & After You

by Michelle Chamberland

  “So, yeah.” I swallowed. “She was in deep. Way too deep for way too long.” I blew out another breath and clenched my hands into two tight fists against my forehead, fighting off the rainstorm of tears I felt flooding forward.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt anymore. About any of it. But I knew that the anger I’d felt about it all—about her—for so long, had somehow disappeared between one conversation with Greyson and the next. Like it had been taken away by the tide and washed out to sea. But somewhere in its wake, I felt a sadness and a loss I hadn’t allowed myself to feel for her before.

  And that locked space in my heart where the few good memories of her remained hidden and buried, filled with it.

  The loss of my mom, the pain of it, lanced through me for the first time since the day I found her on our bathroom floor. As if it had lay waiting, building and multiplying in force and intensity for the past year, it slammed into me. I curled over on myself, a lifetime’s worth of tears breaking through with a loud sob.

  In the end, it didn’t matter what my story looked like, how ugly or broken or damaged it was, I was still just a girl who had lost her mom, far too early.

  I felt Greyson’s hands slip around me, pulling me into the comfort of his arms. I gripped his shirt in my fists and cried. I cried, and I cried, and I cried, and I didn’t try to stop my tears from falling. I cried for the girl who’d sat at the end of her mom’s bed at six-years-old and didn’t understand why she never wanted to get up and play with her.

  I cried for the girl who’d hid in dark closets when her mom’s boyfriends raged and screamed and threw things against the walls.

  I cried for the girl who had to protect herself from the world when there was no one else around willing to save her.

  And I cried for the girl who had begged God, every night, to make things better, but whose prayers were never answered.

  There was a lifetime lost in those fifteen years. I’d been forced to learn how to love with a heart that was riddled with scars.

  I was still learning. How to love myself, even though I’d never been taught how. How to love others. How to let them in without being afraid of getting burned.

  I don’t know how long I sat there, crying, with Greyson’s arms wrapped around me. But he never moved away. He just sat there and held me, the entire time. One hand ran up and down my back, soothing, as the loss of my mother and a childhood abandoned washed through me again and again.

  We’d hardly known each other, I realized. My mom and me. We’d never been Mom and Daughter. Instead, we’d spent all of our time in darkness, learning how to resent each other. And it hurt, beyond what I could fathom, that we’d never be able to change that. That we’d never get that time back. Her addiction stole it all away from us.

  But somewhere in the middle of that thought, in the middle of a world of pain and heartbreak…I remembered her smile. The glimmer of hope in her eyes when she told me she’d make it out alive this time. The laughter on her lips when she’d hand me a burnt chocolate-chip cookie, or brownie, or piece of pie. The rare, soft passes of her hands through my hair when she’d thought I was sleeping.

  I promised myself then, that I would try to remember these things more. That I would try to let those memories of her eclipse the hurt she’d caused. Because in order to spread that much misery, she must have been waging one hell of a war inside of herself, too, all on her own. I couldn’t pretend to fully understand it, but I knew I could learn to accept it.

  Eventually, my flood of tears ran dry. I sat up and wiped away the evidence of it. I was sure it was useless; I could feel how puffy my eyes were, how red and raw my cheeks felt from wiping, and wiping, and wiping away at the steady stream that had poured down my face.

  Greyson reached over and tucked my hair behind my ears, the corner of his mouth hitching up in a small, sad smile. And in the same way that I’d accepted all of his demons, I could feel the way that he wholly accepted mine, too. In the way his green eyes held mine with understanding. In the way he was still holding me, our arms and legs entangled between us. In the way he quietly whispered “I’m so sorry” more times than I could count.

  “I know my situation is different,” he said after a long while. “And I don’t know the first thing about what you’ve been through,” he added. But it felt like he did. It felt like he knew exactly what I’d been through.

  “But my dad made it out alive,” he continued, “and it still feels like I lost him. I’ll never respect him, and I’ll never be able to stand being around him long enough to have a relationship with him.” He shook his head. “Not after everything he’s done…I can’t. I can’t stand that my mom took him back, and I can’t stand how they’ve swept everything under the rug like it never happened. And I think…I think that you, more than anyone, can understand why the first chance I get, I have to get the hell away from them.”

  I looked into his eyes again, and I don’t know how, but I knew what he was going to say before he said it.

  He ran his hand through his hair, shifting away from me the slightest bit. “I have just over a month left before I leave. One month, and I’ll be eighteen and graduated and officially enlisted. I want to start over, start a new life apart from all of this, you know? A life where I’ll never have to look my father in the face again while pretending to respect him or have to rely on him for anything.”

  It was selfish of me, entirely selfish, but I hated the words that came out of his mouth then. Hated the idea of him leaving, of never seeing him again. But I understood. Of course I understood. I had to understand, because I’d planned on doing the same exact thing for as long as I could remember.

  Getting away. Starting over. Forgetting everything I left behind.

  It’s just that I didn’t want to forget Greyson. And I didn’t want him to forget me, either.

  Forty-three Before

  WE LEFT THAT conversation as two different people. I could feel it, the pieces of each other we’d helped heal. And maybe that’s why fate had brought us together in the first place. Maybe that’s why I’d been drawn to him from the start.

  I think I was okay with that. With walking away from him knowing we’d at least given each other that invaluable gift.

  Because I’d never felt more at peace. With everything. With myself. With the road laid out before me.

  I knew I still had a long way to go; I knew there was still a lot of darkness I would have to work through, but I could also see that small, beautiful sliver of light at the end of the tunnel now. I could feel the hope I sometimes clung to settle into my chest and make its home there.

  It was going to be okay.

  I was going to be okay.

  Forty-four After

  I KNEW I was in for a world of interrogation the next time the girls and I got together—okay, yeah. Let’s be real; I was expecting no fewer than fifty messages in our group chat by the time I got home. And that’s exactly what I got.

  I fall into bed with a bone-deep sigh and open up our text-thread.

  Distraction.

  Distraction is exactly what I need right now.

  Sita: It’s like…you think you know someone and all of their truths, and then you watch a man eye-fuck her like she’s his last meal, and HAVE WE MET BEFORE?! Hi, I’m Sita. It’s so nice to finally meet you, Lady Enchantress, Mistress of the Temple of Cock-Tease, Seduction, and Debauchery.

  Maggie: Oh my god. Ignore her. Seriously, though… You two were kind of intense.

  Kat: Haha! Shit was definitely intense. I mean, damn, Jess. I didn’t know you had it in you.

  Kat: Literally. <<< see what I did there?

  Sita: Except we did.

  Sita: …Know that she’s had it in her.

  Maggie: OMG you two!

  Sita: Oh, please! If we didn’t know it before, we’d know it after tonight.

  Kat: This is true.

  Sita: The question is, what was it like? Where does he rank among your handful of lucky captors?

  Ka
t: Hahahahaha

  Maggie: “Lady Enchantress” “handful of lucky captors”??? How much did you have to drink tonight, Sita?

  Sita: Not nearly enough.

  Maggie: Agree to disagree when you start sounding like a Tudor from the sixteenth century.

  Kat: Bahahaha! Seriously gonna pee my pants right now.

  Sita: In all seriousness, though...

  Sita: Is he big? too drunk to find.

  Kat: How have I never realized until now that Sita TOTALLY goes sixteenth century when she’s drunk?

  Sita: You lie, peasants.

  Maggie: Okay, but remember that time you asked the guy at the karaoke bar to show you his wicked ways, and I quote, “MY LORD”?

  Kat: (A GIF of someone falling onto the floor in laughter.)

  I crack a smile.

  If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times, but I’ll say it again: My girls are nuts.

  Their messages go on and on like this, shifting into an entire conversation of GIF’s alone, before:

  Sita: Jess, are you home yet?

  Sita: Jeeeeeeesssss.

  Maggie: Leave her alone. She’s had a long night.

  Kat: Or maybe her night’s just getting started.

  Kat: If you know what I mean. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.

  Sita: We know what you mean. *eye roll*

  Kat: You know there’s actually an eye roll emoji, right?

  Sita: Still too drunk to find.

  Maggie: LOL

  I decide to finally insert myself into their ridiculous conversation with a: You three are too much. But I love you anyway.

  Sita: Ah! You’re here! There* Here… You know what I mean.

  Kat: How did it go?!

  Sita: Is he still there?

  Maggie: Tell us everything!!!

  Sita: Calm down, Mags. She’s had a long night.

  Maggie: Ha. Ha. Point taken.

  Kat: Ignore them, Jess. Now tell us!

  I snort a laugh, because they’re insane, and I love them so fucking much, but my laugh runs straight into an ugly cry without my permission, and they collide in a tragic mess. Tears stream down my face while I’m still laughing like an idiot, and then my laughter quickly turns into some form of a strangled sob.

  Clearly, alcohol and exes and devastating revelations don’t mix.

  I may have had a shot or four more as soon as I walked through my front door, too, and it’s hard to keep my emotions at bay when tequila has willingly opened the floodgates.

  I thought we figured this shit out, God. I flop back onto my mattress and sink into my blankets with another bone-deep sigh, burying myself in my safe haven—another magical space of my own making. My comforter that feels like what I imagine lying a bed of clouds must be like, and enough pillows to build my own fortress.

  I would know. Charlee and I have built enough of them.

  I wipe my tears from my face and focus on my breaths and the comfort of my marshmallow kingdom enveloping me.

  Inhale. Exhale.

  And inhale. And exhale.

  And I decide, just now, that I’m sort of pissed. It’s an emotion I’ve long since been acquainted with, this deep-rooted anger born from somewhere I can’t quite pinpoint, but I welcome it with open arms.

  I have every right to be pissed, though, don’t I?

  Because shouldn’t the first thing out of someone’s mouth when there’s obvious interest between you be: “Hi, so nice to see you again. I’M MARRIED! I’m married, I’m married, I’m married.

  “In your face, motherfucker. I’M MARRIED.”

  Especially given our history?

  How did I not see the ring sooner? How did none of us see the damn ring sooner? Before hope and memories and feelings sunk their claws back into me?

  And fuck, but it hurts. My chest aches, and my throat tightens, and it fucking hurts. Just like I knew it would when I found out he was taken. Because of course he’s taken. He’s Greyson.

  What idiot would let that go?

  This idiot, I remind myself, and then I reluctantly throw on my big girl pants and tell my friends what happened in one short, three-worded text. The zinger that still makes me want to throw up two hours later.

  Me: So, he’s married.

  Forty-five After

  SCREW IT. I’M buying a lottery ticket, and if I’m not a multi-millionaire by tomorrow, I’ll be shocked.

  Because what are the odds?

  When Charlee and I turn around from the concessions stand, arms full to the brim with popcorn and drinks and candy, there he is.

  Greyson.

  Looking as good as ever and as married as I never hoped he’d be.

  “Jess, hey!” His face lights up when he finally sees me, and I smile, genuine, even though I feel as if I’m slightly dying inside.

  Because he’s not alone. A beautiful brunette stands beside him, toned body peeking through the shorts and adorable crop-top she’s wearing beneath her oversized coat.

  Greyson’s coat, from the looks of it.

  I hate her. I hate her immediately. I can’t help it.

  And isn’t it amazing, how I’ve reverted back to a sixteen-year-old version of myself in a matter of seconds? Get it together, Jess.

  “Jess, this is,” Greyson turns towards her as I prepare for the blow, my body stiff. My wife, my wife, my wife, he’s going to say, and it’s going to crush me. “Brienne, my drummer’s wife.”

  Wife. There it is. Ouch.

  My heart drops, landing somewhere in the pit of my stomach—but, wait. What? “Your drummer’s wife?” I ask on a breath.

  “Yeah.” He smiles. “And speak of the devil,” a tall, tattooed man walks over, sliding his arm around her, “This is Matt, my best friend and bandmate. Matt, this is Jess,” Greyson says, and I can tell from the surprised look on Matt’s face that he knows exactly who I am. Yet his eyes are warm and inviting, friendly. I’m not sure what to make of that.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says and holds out his hand for me to shake.

  I shift my and Charlee’s snacks around in my arms and reach out to slide my hand into his. “You, too.” I smile, slightly nervous if I’m being honest, but I think I’m hiding it pretty well. At least I hope I am.

  “Same here.” Brienne grins widely. “And my god, she’s so much prettier than you let on, G.”

  I retract my previous statement. I think I kind of love her. Immediately. “Thank you,” I say, and shake her hand, too. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

  Greyson hides a smile behind his fist at Brienne’s words before clearing his throat and focusing his attention on me. “The rest of the band is in the theater already,” he says after a moment. “If you’d like to join us. I know they’re dying to meet you as well.”

  And what is that supposed to mean, exactly? They want to meet me? Why? What would your wife think about that? I want to say, but I hold my tongue and swallow back the words.

  “Oh, no, that’s okay,” I say instead. “Another time, though? I’ve got my Charlee here, and we’re already running late for our movie.”

  Greyson looks down at her, seemingly seeing her for the first time as his eyes widen just a fraction. He clears his throat. “I’d love to join you, then. If you two wouldn’t mind?” He glances at Charlee again, adorably vulnerable in the way he waits for her permission.

  “To see the Smurfs?” I laugh, breaking his stare and attempting to break the tension currently stirring between us. “Honestly, it’s okay. You don’t have to do that,” I say, even though I want him to. But again…he might have a wife, my subconscious reminds me. The single word echoes in my brain, bouncing off the walls of my mind:

  Wife, wife, wife.

  His features shift in disappointment despite his obvious effort to shield it, and I feel bad even though I know I shouldn’t.

  You could invite him over for dinner, Jess. Have that talk you two desperately need to have.

  And we do need to
have that talk. Now more than ever. That, and I can’t find it in me to let him go. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  “Would you like to come over?” I give in to this churning need to not let him walk away even though it feels wrong. He’s not mine. He belongs to someone else now.

  But does he? I shove back against those thoughts, and ask, “After your movie? For dinner?”

  “Yeah,” he says, letting out a breath. Relief rolls off of him in waves. “That would be great. Thank you.”

  “Okay.” I nod, more confused than I was prepared to be when I saw him again. My thoughts are a mess. So my mouth speaks for me, “See you soon, then. Enjoy your movie.”

  “You too.” He smiles.

  Maybe he’s divorced? I wonder, while I absolutely do not just stand here and watch him walk away. Because that would be wrong, wouldn’t it?

  Broad back, sculpted arms, his ass in those dark jeans.

  Nope. No way.

  I don’t notice any of it.

  Forty-six After

  THE DOORBELL RINGS, and my heart soars straight into my throat. “Okay, Charlee. You ready?” I ask her the question I should be directing at myself.

  And then I answer it for the both of us. “Yes, yes we are,” I say with a deep breath as she nods sweetly.

  “Do you think your friend will want to play Mario Brothers with us?” she asks.

  “You know…I think he probably would.” I answer her with a nod. And just like that, she’s sold, grin wide and eyes excited. It’s our tradition—making pizzas from scratch and playing Super Nintendo when she comes over. I got the Nintendo at a yard sale down the street a few years back. As soon as I saw it, I picked it up. I mean, who would get rid of such a classic gaming system? It’s a relic, really. That thing.

  And okay, yes, I’m nervous. And stalling. Clearly.

  Deep breath in. Deep breath out. And I open the front door to a smiling Greyson holding a bouquet of daisies in one hand and a chocolate cake in the other.