A Grateful Kind of Love

by Ellie Wade

  Landon sits in the first one and leans back, so his legs are outstretched, the swing acting more as a support than anything. I sit in the third one and twist, so I’m facing Landon. The middle swing rocks back and forth, a needed barrier between us. A barrier for what, I don’t know, but its presence is calming.

  Landon’s gaze catches mine. His eyes are greener today and look sad. That causes me to feel an unnerving queasiness in the pit of my stomach.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  I’m not certain what I thought Landon would say to me once we got out here, but I wasn’t expecting that. Those three little words render me speechless.

  Truthfully, the past month has been the longest I’ve gone without seeing Landon in my entire life.

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “How are you feeling?” he asks.

  “Better. Still not great, but I’m getting better.”

  “Are you still going to therapy?” he wonders, his voice kind.

  I nod. “Yeah, I am. It’s going well. How have you been?” I ask him.

  “Truthfully?”

  “Of course.”

  His features harden. “Honestly, not great, Ames. I get that you went through something big. But I went through it, too. Maybe not in the same capacity as you, and maybe I didn’t show my hurt the same way as you, but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. The worst part is that we couldn’t deal with it together. It’s the hard times in life when you want the person you love, and you just left like I was an afterthought. You cut me out of your life like I didn’t matter to you. I never thought you’d be capable of hurting me as much as you did.”

  “I’m sorry. It just—”

  “Has to be this way,” he finishes my sentence for me, disappointment gleaming in his eyes. “I know. You’ve told me. I understand that you need to figure things out, get your mind right and stuff. I just don’t understand why we can’t still be friends. We’ve been each other’s sounding boards since we were young, and now, when I need someone to talk to the most, I can’t talk to the one person I need.”

  I’m overcome with remorse, and the feeling is causing me extreme conflict. It’s making me second-guess my decisions. I came out here, content with our lack of relationship because I need to be okay with it. Our ending began with the cruel words he said to me on his front porch. I have to remember that. He’s the reason we ended. He said that our baby wasn’t meant to be, and those words were the catalyst—or at least a large contributing factor—of the depression. His words started the ball rolling.

  I look at him. “I can’t get over what you said to me on your front porch.”

  I refuse to say the words out loud, but he doesn’t need a reminder. He remembers. Of course he remembers.

  He looks up to the sky, shaking his head in frustration, before returning his attention to me. “I know. You made it very clear. But here’s the thing, Amy. There isn’t a guidebook on what one should do or say in our situation. I’ve never been through this before. Sure, I see how what I said was stupid. But I was trying to make things better. I failed, but in the moment I said it, it wasn’t with malice. I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I was trying to rationalize our situation by referring to the miscarriage as something positive because the miscarriage had happened, and we had to move forward. I hadn’t thought before I spoke. I knew the second it came out of my mouth that it was the wrong thing to say, but I’m not perfect. I’m sorry. I’m not glad we lost the baby. I was just trying to move on. I’m sorry.”

  I just stare at him, too hurt or stubborn to say anything.

  “Amy, I love you. You weren’t just a fling to me. I would’ve never done anything to purposely hurt you. It kills me that you think otherwise.”

  His words crack the wall I’ve worked so hard to build.

  I sigh. “I don’t know. I was hurting and trying to protect myself from more pain. Your words crushed me, and at the time, all I could do was shut you out.”

  “Yeah, maybe for a day or two. But forever? You’ve known me for nineteen years. We have one argument, and that’s it … you’re done. No second chances?”

  “I know. You’re right.” I shake my head with a sad chuckle. “I didn’t handle things well. I’m still not, and I probably won’t for a while. You know I’m not myself right now.” I peer into his eyes, begging him to understand. “I’ve had this darkness over me, and I can’t shake it. I can’t believe that losing something I never knew I wanted would hurt so bad.” My voice quivers as a tear rolls down my cheek.

  I wipe the tears away from my face with the sleeve of my jacket, but more fall. “And I’m still angry with you. I wish I weren’t. I wish things could go back to the way they were. I wish I could let you comfort me. I wish I could be happy. I wish so many things”—I stare at Landon, who was once mine, and want so badly to love him—“but they aren’t meant to be right now.”

  “How long until things get better?” he asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. As you said, there’s no manual for this. I just have to do what I feel is best for me. And I’m sorry that I’m hurting you in the process.”

  “So, we’re still going to do this separation thing then? Not talk? Not hang out? Even as friends?”

  “I don’t understand why, but yes, that’s what I need right now.” I can barely process the words, even as I’m saying them, because I know that they make no sense.

  Yes, I have more healing to do, but why wouldn’t I want Landon on this journey with me? I have so much resentment toward him when I know that none of this is his fault. He didn’t wish this on us. The rational part of my brain knows this, but I suppose the heartbroken side needs someone to blame. At least then, part of me is focused on anger. The more of my energy that I dedicate to resentment is less that I have to dwell in sadness. Maybe it’s irrational, but I’d rather be angry than sad because, some days, the sorrow pulls me so far under that I don’t know if I’ll ever come up again.

  “God, Amy.” Landon leans his head back with a frustrated sigh.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” is all I can say because I’m not being fair to Landon.

  “Can we press pause for just a minute, please?” he pleads. “Can we just pretend for one moment that it’s September?” He stands up from the swing and holds his hands out toward me.

  My eyes widen as I stare from his hands to his face, and my heart starts to race within my chest.

  “Just press pause.” He stares at me, hopeful, imploring me to comply, and I want to, if just for a second.

  I rise from the swing and take a couple of steps forward. Standing before him, I focus on his hands as mine reach out toward them. Despite the cold winter day surrounding us, his skin is warm to the touch, and it sends a longing heat through my body. His hands hold mine as his thumb rubs gently against my skin.

  I tilt my head up to meet his stare, so full of love. My lip quivers as he bites his. One of his hands leaves mine, and it glides up my arm until his thumb is rubbing across my cheek. I instinctually lean into his touch. He tucks my hair behind my ear, and it crushes me. The simple motion brings me back to when my heart was happy and our love was boundless.

  He pulls me into a hug. I tightly wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his chest. I feel his strength beneath my cheek. I’ve committed every inch of his body to memory and I allow myself for a second to remember its perfection. I can hear the rapid beats of his heart, the vibrations almost strong enough to resonate against the skin of my cheek. I think back to how I captured Landon’s elusive love and held his heart in a way no one else ever had. His adoration was a gift, one I’d give anything to accept again, if only I could. If only the heavy gravity of sorrow wasn’t holding me down.

  I wish I were stronger. I’d give anything to be the woman I thought I was. Grief has a way of showing us who we really are, and it’s made me realize I don’t like myself very much.

  A quiet voice whispers within.

  Find your courage.

  Drop y
our walls.

  I hear it. I want it. But I just can’t.

  Landon and I stand in this embrace for what seems like an eternity. I hold him tight, cherishing every heartbeat, not knowing if I’ll ever hear them again.

  He loosens his hold on me. Leaning back, he looks in my eyes. “You’re positive we can’t go back to the way we were?”

  I nod. “I’m sure.”

  “You really don’t want to be together?”

  His expression is one of utter heartbreak, and I have to force myself to be strong, to demand what it is that I need for some odd reason.

  “I don’t,” I say softly.

  He raises one of his arms from my waist and runs his fingers through his hair, letting out an irritated sigh. “I just thought that, if I could finally get you to listen to me, to hear me out, we’d be able to work it out. I don’t understand how we got here.” He shakes his head. “We were perfect together, Amy. Fucking perfect.”

  “I’m sorry,” is all I can say.

  “What we went through? That should make a couple like us stronger, not tear them apart. Right?” he beseeches though he doesn’t expect an answer because it’s already been played out.

  “Okay.” His shoulders visually drop. “I don’t know. I don’t get it. This is not how I thought today would end.” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “I’m not going to force you, obviously. I’m going to respect your decision. I just don’t understand it.”

  “I know, and I wish I could explain,” I say apologetically.

  He presses his lips in a line, inhaling through his nose. “All right,” he finally says. “What about family stuff? If it continues to be awkward around our families, like it was today, they’re going to find out. Do you want to just tell them?”

  My eyes bulge. “No. I already told my mom I was with someone else. I can’t change it now.”

  “Well, Amy, something has to give.”

  “Let’s just press pause when we’re with our families,” I plead.

  “You can do that?” He lowers his gaze in question.

  “I can.” I nod, convinced. “We have to. Our families aren’t going to stop hanging out—ever. That means neither can we—at least, when we’re here. But, at school, I need my space.”

  “Okay,” he states, less than enthused.

  “Time will heal me, Landon. Someday, we’ll be able to be the friends we always were. I know it. I just don’t know when that will be.” I pretend I don’t see him cringe when I say “friends.”

  “Yeah.” He nods slowly.

  We stand in silence. Our arms still wrapped around one another.

  Landon looks me in the eyes, and his gaze beseeches me. I nod ever so subtly and close my eyes. His hands cradle my face, and when his lips press against mine, I gasp against them, the contact so raw. Involuntary tears cascade down my face as our lips move together. His tongue tickles my lips, begging for entrance, and I open wider to allow him in. My hands grasp on to his head, pulling his face closer to mine.

  Our tongues desperately dance together. The kiss is soft with longing yet reckless with want. Our mouths commit frantically to the kiss, terrified for its end. The sensations are euphoric while the finality is palpable. This is good-bye.

  When Landon pulls away, I immediately miss him, and I know that there will be a part of me that misses him forever.

  “You know I love you.” He wipes a tear from my cheek.

  “I know.”

  He drops his hands and steps back. “See ya, Ames.”

  “See ya,” I respond quietly.

  Landon shoves his hands in his jean pockets as he turns and walks away. The farther away he gets, the more I want to scream at him to stop. But I know I can’t make him happy right now. I can’t make myself happy.

  I love him too much to bring him down with me.

  I hope, someday, he realizes that and is grateful for our end.

  Amy

  End of Freshman Year in College

  Sunshine.

  Birds chirping.

  Warm spring breeze.

  In my head, I repeat the three things that are currently bringing me joy as my face—eyes closed tight—stares up toward the sun.

  Sunshine. Nothing is more depressing than a seemingly never-ending Michigan winter where entire months can pass without a hello from the big ball of fire in the sky. I’m in desperate need of vitamin D therapy. The rays warm my skin, bringing a smile to my face.

  Birds. The cheerful songs of small creatures fluttering and flying about, as if oblivious to the world surrounding them, are mesmerizing, putting me in a trance of calm. I imagine a mama bird carrying a piece of yarn that’s recently fallen from someone’s sweater and carefully tucking it into place on the nest she’s so thoughtfully built for her forthcoming little ones. I don’t know if a mother bird experiences love the way a human does—probably not. Yet I know they feel something—an innate desire to protect their babies from anything that might harm them. A mother’s instinct is fierce and unwavering. It has the power to destroy … a predator, a threat … her heart.

  A warm spring breeze. The wind on my skin is pure heaven, bringing with it the smells and sounds of the bustle of students finishing exams and moving out. The campus is alive with tangible joy. It’s almost impossible to describe how good the air feels compared to the past weeks of bitter, cold gusts assaulting my face each time I stepped out of my dorm to walk to class. It’s warming me from the outside in, reaching all of my frozen layers, and I’m so very grateful because I need it.

  I sit alone on this bench in the middle of campus. Every other student here is busy with something—exams, packing, partying. I had all of my finals at the beginning of the week, and my stuff is packed away in boxes. Now, I’m waiting until Landon comes to pack me up in a bit. He’s re-signed his lease at his current house that he shares with his roommate, Tom, for their senior year. Seeing that he has nothing to move home, he offered up his empty truck bed for my piles of stuff.

  It’s surreal that my freshman year at the University of Michigan is over. I’ve known since the days my dad taught me to say, “Go Blue!” when I was young and couldn’t yet pronounce my Ls that I wanted to go to the school that my daddy cheered for, the one where I would chant, “Go Boo!” every day. I had a countdown on my wall since my freshman year in high school. My dad and I mapped out my course for high school, the one that would land me in the best college in the nation. There were classes, grades, essays, life experiences, and volunteer work that needed to be done, and I did it all.

  Check, check, and check.

  I dotted all of my I’s and crossed all of my T’s and finished my college-prep to-do list, and I made it. As my first year comes to a close, I’d be lying if I said it was everything I’d hoped it would be. To be honest, this past year has been a nightmare, but it really had nothing to do with this place so much as it did with me.

  My mind wanders to Professor Trueheart, my Communications professor first semester. The gratitude journal that he assigned us to write at the beginning of the year has helped me more than he’ll ever know. I had some dark days over the course of this year, and finding three things each day to be thankful for brought me some much-needed light, even during times when I was immersed in so much darkness that I could barely see.

  He often spoke of the law of attraction, and I do believe that my daily three-point gratitude list brought me closer to happiness.

  I smile, thinking of Professor Trueheart. Communications was my favorite class because of him. Some people are meant to be teachers, meant to empower students and change lives. He’s one of them. His class taught me so much about myself. I continued my journal after the semester ended, making it another step of my mental-health list.

  “You must be thinking of me with that gorgeous smile.”

  I’m jolted from my thoughts.

  Opening my eyes, I squint from the brightness and watch as my best friend, Bass, plops down on the bench beside me.

  “Ho
w’d you know I was here?” I ask.

  Bass holds up his cell phone. “Tracked you. You weren’t answering your phone.”

  “Stalker.” I chuckle, playfully elbowing him in the side.

  We installed this GPS app on our phones a few months back that shows where the other one is. It comes in handy because both Bass and I tend to close in on ourselves at times. So, we can always find each other even if our ringers are off because we’re having a pity party. Plus, it saves time. Like, if Bass is supposed to be swinging by my dorms after class to get me for dinner, I can just look at the app to see if he’s en route versus texting him to say, You on your way? Sure, it borders on stalking, but as long as both parties are in agreement, it works well.

  “Are you having an emo moment?” he asks with a rise of one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

  “No, just thinking.” I absentmindedly run a finger over one of my eyebrows.

  “Yes, as your bestie … I’ll say it. You need a pluck.” He wiggles his fingers in front of my face. “You’re starting to get a Jane-of-the-jungle vibe going on.”

  “Hey, they’re not that bad,” I protest with a laugh.

  Bass gives me an eye roll that says he feels differently.

  “What are you doing out here anyway? Are you hiding from Megan?” he knows me so well.

  “Maybe. No, not really,” I say. “Her parents should be there now. I thought it’d be best that she had free rein of the room while she moves her stuff out.”

  “Oh, so you’re just giving her space? Not avoiding her, so you don’t have to have an awkward good-bye?” He pins me with a stare, causing me to grin.

  “Fine, you got me. But what do I do? Hug her? We haven’t hugged since the first week of school. Wave uncomfortably? Tell her it’s been a great year? What’s the appropriate good-bye for our situation? She hates me.”