A Grateful Kind of Love

by Ellie Wade

  It’s bullshit.

  I understand that she’s hurting, and I’ve tried to be patient, but ignoring each other isn’t going to solve anything. I will talk to her today.

  I race up the steps toward her floor and jog down the hall to her room. I pull my fist back, ready to pound on the hard metal surface of her door, but decide a less frantic approach might be better.

  I drop my fist. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and then slowly release it. I drop my left ear to my shoulder and then repeat the movement on the opposite side. My neck cracks.

  My pulse quickens as my heart thrums anxiously within my chest. My anger morphs into longing, and I’m overcome with a desperate need to see Amy. I’m no longer mad. I just need her.

  I lightly rap my knuckles against the door, silently willing someone to open it.

  Moments later, Megan opens it a crack. Her expression is apologetic. “She doesn’t want to—”

  I push the door open, cutting her thought short. “I don’t care,” I tell her as I walk toward Amy’s closed bedroom door.

  I step into the dark space, closing the door behind me. The curtains are pulled, and Amy’s sleeping form is barely visible. Slivers of light peek in from a crack between the heavy window covers, illuminating her back as it slowly rises and falls.

  My eyes adjust to the lighting, and I scan the room to find clothes strewed about, an empty vodka bottle on the floor, and a trash can overflowing with crumbled-up papers.

  Something’s wrong.

  This isn’t Amy. I’ve never known her to sleep this late in the afternoon. She’s always been organized. In my entire life, I’ve never seen her room messy. I spot her small gratitude journal on a pile of papers on her desk. Picking it up, I walk over to the window.

  Knowing Amy, even in the funk she’s clearly in, she wouldn’t skip out on an assignment. I guarantee, though the last couple of weeks have been rough, she’s still writing in her journal—and I’m right. My chest tightens when I read her gratitude entries.

  Sleep.

  Vodka.

  Darkness.

  My bed.

  Sleep.

  A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow. I set her journal back down on her desk. I knew Amy was mourning, but this is something more.

  I kick off my shoes and climb into bed with Amy. Pressing my front against her back, I wrap my arm around her and pull her to me.

  She startles awake, and her hand grasps my arm.

  “It’s me,” I whisper against her hair.

  An audible breath escapes her lips, and then her body starts shaking in sobs. She turns in my arms and buries her face in my chest. I hold her as she cries.

  “I’m not okay, Landon.” Her choppy words are a broken whisper.

  “I know.” I kiss the top of her head.

  “I don’t know how to be okay.” Her voice shakes.

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  “I’m so sad and tired. I’ll never be okay again. I feel it. I’m not okay. I’m not okay,” she repeats over and over, shaking her head.

  “Shh.” I rub her back. “I’m going to take you home today.”

  “No,” she shrieks in a panic. “I have a test tomorrow.”

  “Listen to me,” I quietly tell her. “The test can wait. I think you’re depressed, Amy. You need to tell your parents. Your mom can help you. Maybe you need to see a doctor?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I’m just grieving. I don’t need a doctor, and I can’t tell my parents.”

  “Why? Your parents love you. They’d want to help you.”

  “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I’ve ruined things. I messed up. I’m a disappointment. College was supposed to be perfect,” she rambles her thoughts in rapid succession.

  “Perfection is a lie, Amy. No one is without faults, and no one lives a perfect life. You didn’t do anything wrong. Life is unpredictable, but that doesn’t make you any less worthy of happiness. Your parents aren’t going to judge you. They’re going to love you. I really think you need some help. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Please let me take you home.”

  I pray Amy listens to reason because, in this moment, I’m really afraid for her. Now that I know what she’s going through, I won’t leave her alone here. I can’t risk it.

  “Please, Amy,” I plead once more.

  “Okay,” she says softly.

  I pull her to me and hold her tight. “Everything will work out. You’ll be fine.”

  I hate myself for staying away for so long. I should’ve fought harder to see her. I thought she was angry with me and just needed space to cool off. I had no idea she’d slipped into this depression, and it breaks my heart that she’s been suffering alone.

  Closing my eyes, I breathe out through my nose, long and heavy, and I promise myself that I will never allow Amy to suffer alone again.

  Amy

  Healing tears.

  Acceptance.

  A mom who loves me.

  As I lean against the passenger window of Landon’s truck, my unfocused gaze takes in the bleary autumn Michigan landscape. There are a few stubborn leaves holding on to the bare tree branches.

  Landon has the satellite pop music station on, but the peppy tempos and high vocals are making me feel ragey. I don’t say anything though. I’ve already said more than enough today.

  Despite my shame, I suppose I’m happy Landon witnessed my breakdown because even I can admit that I need help. As deeply as I don’t want to ask for it, I need it.

  There’s so much underlying hurt where Landon and I are concerned. The words he spoke on his front porch still burn me down to my core. Yet now is not the time to address them—not when I’m torn between which are my real feelings and which are the dark voices in my head.

  My nerves ramp up a notch as the rolling fields that line my road appear beside me. When I left for school, the fields were alive, full of crops. The corn stalks are gone, and only dirt remains.

  Landon pulls into my driveway, turning off his engine. He looks to me. “How do you want to do this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you want to tell them together?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “No, I want to go in alone.”

  Landon chews on the corner of his bottom lip. “Are you sure? I want to support you and be there for you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

  I reach my hand out and pat his knee. “I know you’re here for me. Thank you. I really want to talk to my parents alone though. You should get back to school. No sense in you getting behind. My mom will bring me back.”

  “Are you positive? I don’t mind.”

  “I know.” I nod. “I’m sure.”

  Landon places his hand atop mine and squeezes.

  “I love you,” he tells me before I exit the truck.

  “I love you, too.”

  I walk through the garage to the side-entrance door. I find my mom in the kitchen, sitting at the counter on her phone, most likely playing her online Scrabble game.

  “Mom,” I say weakly.

  She gasps and turns to face me.

  Her hand is splayed across her chest. “Oh my goodness, Amy. You scared me. Why are you … what’s going on, sweetie?” Setting her phone down, she stands and meets me in the center of the kitchen, pulling me into a hug.

  “I just needed to come home,” I say as I soak up the love in her hug.

  Her long hair smells like coconut and lime. There’s an underlying scent of sugar cookies on her skin from her favorite body lotion. Her embrace brings me comfort.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask.

  “Jax, Lily, Kee, and your dad are in town, watching a movie. They chose a scary one, and you know me and scary movies. No, thank you.” She steps back and scans me, her eyes assessing. “Are you sick?” She places her palm to my forehead.

  “No, or I guess … I don’t know. Can we talk, Mom?”

  “Of course.” She grabs
my hand. “Let’s take a seat in the living room.”

  I sit on the couch and turn to face my mom, who’s sitting beside me. I chew at the inside of my lip, trying to figure out what to say first. My heart hammers wildly in my chest.

  “What is it?” She takes my hand in hers. “You can tell me anything, love. You know that.”

  “I’m sorry,” I get out before a torrent of tears erupts, and once again, I’m a heaving mess of sobs. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean for it to happen, and now …”

  “Shh, baby. Shh. It’s okay.” She lifts her hands to cup my wet cheeks. “Take a deep breath. Calm down. It’s okay. Whatever is wrong, it’s okay,” she says in a reassuring voice that causes my tears to slowly subside.

  “I’m going to start at the beginning,” I tell her.

  “That’s good,” she reassures me.

  “Well, I started dating someone my first week at college.”

  “Okay,” she says slowly with a nod.

  “We slept together and were careful every time, but I got pregnant anyway.” Heartbroken tears move down my cheeks.

  “Oh.” Her eyes go wide before she catches herself and puts on a face of acceptance. Her eyes dart toward my middle and then back up. “Okay, well—”

  “Wait. I’m not done,” I cut off her thought. “I wanted to tell you in person, but it was weird, so I waited. I heard the baby’s heartbeat at six weeks, but then I miscarried at eight weeks.”

  My mom presses her lips together, and unshed tears fill her eyes.

  “That was a couple of weeks ago. I was really sad, like more down than I’ve ever felt in my life. I thought it was grief, but then it morphed into something else, something scary. I think I need help, Mom.”

  She holds my hands in hers, her thumb moving across my skin. “Tell me how you feel.”

  “Sad. I can’t sleep, or all I do is sleep. I’ve lost all desire for life. Everyday tasks are hard. Getting out of bed is hard. Brushing my teeth is hard. You know? I just don’t care about anything anymore. I cry all the time. I hurt all the time, like my entire body is simply exhausted. There’s nothing but a black void and it’s sucking me in and I can’t find it in me to fight it. I want to drown in the nothingness, so I don’t have to hurt anymore.” My tears fall rapidly again.

  “Okay.” My mom’s lip trembles as tears cascade down her pained face. “Come here.” She pulls me into an embrace, holding me close to her. “I’m so sorry, Amy.” Her voices cracks. “I’m so sorry.”

  I sit on my couch in my mom’s arms. The room is silent, save for the sounds of our breaking hearts and falling tears.

  “Are you still with your boyfriend?” she asks after our weeping has finally abated.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Is that a good thing or …”

  “It’s good. It was my choice. He’s great, wonderful, and kind. He loves me, and I love him, but I need to focus on me right now, I think. I have to figure out how to be happy again.” I realize as I say the words that they’re true. I can’t be with Landon. As good as I felt when I was with him, our two months together almost killed me. As much as I love him, perhaps we’re only meant to be friends.

  I’m not certain why I don’t tell her that it’s Landon, but I’m sure of my choice not to. Perhaps I want to keep my brief time with him to myself. It was too short, and I don’t want to share my memories. Maybe I don’t want her to think differently of Landon, who will be in our lives forever. For as much as my mom loves and accepts me, she’ll always see me differently now. I know it.

  Landon was mine for a fleeting time, and I don’t want to share him.

  “I understand. Your health should always be your first priority. We’ll call the doctor tomorrow. He’ll get you a note for school, so don’t stress about that. Maybe you can work on things here for a while until you feel better. I’m assuming the doctor will want to figure out which medication works best for you. That could take a little bit. You should probably get started in therapy, which will be great. You’ll be feeling like yourself soon, baby.”

  “That sounds good,” I say softly.

  “Amy, please always talk to me. You know that there is nothing you could ever do that would make me think less of you.”

  “What if I murdered someone?” The corner of my lip tilts up slightly.

  My mom shakes her head with a grin. “You’re not planning on murdering anyone, are you?”

  “No.” I hit her leg playfully. “I was just trying to get a feel for the parameters.”

  “Let’s just say that there is nothing you could do that didn’t carry a life prison sentence that would disappoint me. Is that better?”

  I nod.

  She scoots next to me and puts her arm around my shoulders. “There’s a lot for us to catch up on.”

  “Yeah, I guess there is.”

  “I want to hear it all.”

  For the next two hours, I tell her everything. I talk of my boy-crazy roommate, the friend I found in Bass, and my experiences—both good and bad—that I had with Landon, though I refer to him as George. When I finish talking, my heart still hurts, and my mind is still foggy. But the sorrow that has entrapped me doesn’t have as strong of a hold, and for now, that’s something.

  Amy

  Dancing to Lady Gaga with Bass.

  Lists to keep me sane.

  Determination.

  Bass holds my hand, pulling me into the apartment complex.

  “I don’t know about this,” I tell him, my entire body on edge.

  He halts our further descent into the musty hallway and turns to me. “What’s number four on your list?”

  “To have fun,” I tell him, though he already knows.

  “Exactly. That’s my role in all of this … to make you have fun. We’re doing this.” His big browns pierce mine.

  “Right.” I bite my lip. “But it’s so soon. I just got back.”

  I only returned to school yesterday after three weeks at home, getting my mind right—or at least, right enough to come back. I was given a prescription that is helping me with my depression along with a to-do list.

  A list of eight lifestyle changes that will eventually help me feel like myself again.

  My therapist, Rebecca’s, voice rings in my ears. “You need to keep up with social activities even if you don’t feel like it.”

  She’s right. I don’t feel like it.

  “Fine,” I sigh. “Let’s go.”

  “That’s my girl,” Bass says with a smugness I’ve grown to love.

  We enter the apartment to a round of slurred cheers at our arrival. I’m pulled into a round of hugs and offered a drink. I opt for a just a Sprite, as my doctor warned me to avoid drinking alcohol.

  I’ve met a handful of the people here through Bass already, but some of the faces are new. I’m the only straight person at this gathering, but it doesn’t bother me a bit. It actually relieves some stress, knowing that no one is going to flirt with me. I can just blend in and enjoy the people around me.

  I’m engrossed in a conversation with a guy named Billy when Bass interrupts to tell us we’re playing Spin the Bottle.

  “You’re serious?” I ask him.

  “Of course. Lucy’s parties always include a game of Spin the Bottle,” Bass says.

  “I think I’ll just watch.”

  Billy laughs. “It’s not a spectator sport, Amy.”

  Bass grabs my hand and pulls me toward the ring of seated people already forming in the middle of the living room. “It’s not. Come on, killjoy … you’re playing.”

  I sit cross-legged next to Bass. I watch the empty amber beer bottle spin in the middle of the circle. A sexy guy with a Mohawk spins it, and the bottle lands directly on Bass. The crowd erupts in hoots, hollers, and catcalls. The guy next to me pumps his fist in the air, cheering Bass and Mr. Mohawk on as they crawl on their hands and knees toward the center of the circle.

  They meet in the middle, pausing only a moment before the
ir lips touch. They cheer as the kiss becomes more intimate. I feel uncomfortable, watching, but everyone here is watching along with me, so I don’t look away.

  Eventually, Billy grabs Bass’s hand and pulls him back.

  “Come on, assholes. Others want to play, too,” Billy says with a smirk and a shake of his head.

  Bass pouts his lips out, the corner turning up as he returns to my side.

  “Uh … awkward,” I whisper into his ear.

  “Uh … hot,” he says back, causing me to laugh.

  The game continues as others meet in the middle to exchange a kiss. Some are playful and short, and other kisses are taken deeper, but none are as steamy as Bass’s first kiss. The commentary and overall vibe of the group is so fun. I can’t remember the last time my cheeks hurt from smiling.

  Bass finishes a light kiss with Elouise and takes his turn spinning the bottle. For the first time, it stops directly on me. I turn to face Bass, and before I have too much time to overthink it, he places a chaste kiss on my lips. It’s short and sweet and over before I know it.

  “Love ya, chica.” He shoots me a wink. “Your turn to spin.”

  “Right,” I say, leaning forward and giving the bottle a turn. It stops on a girl I met earlier named Gwen.

  My eyes meet hers as anxiety fills my chest. I don’t move, but she walks quickly on her knees over to where I’m sitting, a broad smile on her face. She leans in and places her lips against mine, and before I have a chance to process the kiss, she’s pushed me back until I’m flat against the floor with her on top of me. The kiss intensifies as her tongue requests entrance. I go rigid. It’s different. Every swipe of her tongue is a painful reminder that her lips are softer than Landon’s.

  “Come on, Gwen,” I hear Bass say as Gwen is tugged off of me.

  My mind is fuzzy as Bass helps me sit up.

  I hear someone address Gwen across from me, “Stop freaking out the straight girl, G.”

  I smile sheepishly as Gwen takes her turn spinning the bottle. I pray it doesn’t land on me. Thankfully, it doesn’t, and as Gwen and another girl begin to make out, I turn to Bass.

  He leans in toward me as I whisper, “I kissed a girl.”