Ready For You

by J. L. Berg

  “Well,” Leah said, her eyes locking with mine, “if you need someone to talk to, Mia, I’m here. From the expression on your face right now, I know there’s more going on, so please talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be me, but I’m here, and I won’t judge. I’m going to go check on my patients one last time and then clock out.”

  She turned away and disappeared down the hallway, and I was once again alone with my thoughts.

  I was so tired of thinking.

  After Garrett had silently dropped me off, I’d spent the rest of the weekend drowning in my own thoughts until I finally called into work to see if I could cancel my day off. I’d thought that at least I’d have something to do besides mope around the house. I hadn’t even bothered calling Liv to tell her I was home early, so she could bring Sam back.

  As I’d waited for Sunday to come and work to follow, I’d just sat in my empty house and remembered. Memories could be the best and the worst part of living. The good kind could keep someone going, serving as a reminder to keep moving even when life was intent on dragging one down. The bad memories were like little reminders of everything everyone tried so hard to forget—reminders of failure, guilt, and periods of our past that were unchangeable. They clawed at every good memory, making them fade into the background until only pain was left.

  Months after that fateful night with my parents, when my entire world had changed, I’d spent hours on the Internet researching grief. I’d read story after story of other women who had gone through the same thing I had. I’d learned I had a form of posttraumatic stress disorder, but I had felt too ashamed to seek treatment.

  What would I tell the doctor?

  I’m the reason my child isn’t alive. I left my fiancé, and now, I can’t walk down the street without crying.

  Who would feel bad for me?

  Eventually, the tears had started to ebb, and I’d found the strength to attend classes. School had become my obsession and coping mechanism. I’d paid for every single semester. Thanks to a generous scholarship from a small college out west and many student loans, I’d made it on my own. I had been done living under my mother’s authority.

  But it hadn’t changed what had already happened. Bottling up feelings doesn’t make them go away. You can’t hide from your past—it always eventually finds you.

  I should have never returned.

  ~Garrett~

  “You’re quieter than normal,” my sister said as she joined me on her sofa and handed me a glass of her homemade sweet tea.

  Besides my niece and nephew, it was one of the main reasons I showed up here on a regular basis. Clare made a killer glass of sweet tea.

  “Sorry. I’m just lost in my own thoughts.”

  She took a long sip from her own glass and watched me do the same thing. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and we’d just finished up having a late lunch. The kids were playing outside with Logan. Clare had cornered me on my way out and talked me into a drink and a nice brother-sister chat.

  I should have known better.

  “Hmm…it wouldn’t have anything to do with Mia coming back into town, would it?”

  It would have everything to do with Mia coming back into town, into my life, into my every thought.

  “No, she’s fine. It’s not a big deal,” I said, trying to brush it off.

  “You’re a terrible liar, Garrett.”

  “Am not.”

  “You so are! Remember when we were kids, and I asked you what happened to my goldfish from the state fair?”

  “It died,” I answered flatly.

  “Only because you and your friends tried to see if a fish would actually get flushed down the toilet!” she cried.

  “Well, I didn’t actually think it would happen,” I replied with a shrug.

  “How is that possible?”

  “Tim said it would swim against the current, like a salmon.”

  “Well, poor Goldie died because of your little experiment.”

  “I’m sure she made it out to the ocean,” I encouraged.

  “We live almost two hours from the ocean, Garrett!” This time, the loud voice was followed up by a punch to the arm.

  “Ouch.” I laughed. “Okay, the river maybe? Whatever. It was a fish, and I am a perfectly good liar.”

  “So, why don’t you tell me why you are sitting on my couch when you should be flying home from New York?”

  Shit. I didn’t think about that.

  “Something came up, and we needed to cut the trip short,” I said quickly, trying not to remember the night that had sent me running back home, away from Mia and our past.

  I’d dropped her off and left in a hurry, intent on ending this so-called friendship we’d started. No good could come from it. I’d been resolute in my decision. I’d even called a contractor to come in on Monday to finish the installation on her floors in hopes that my guilt at not finishing would be lessened.

  Not even twenty-four hours later, I already missed her.

  Clare huffed out a breath and stared down at her half-empty glass. She ran her finger along the condensation and made a little heart on the glass. “Look, I know that you are closer with Leah. I get that, and I’ve always been glad that you two were able to form such a close bond. But I’m still your sister. I’m here for you.”

  “I know, Clare, but this is shit I haven’t told anyone.”

  “So, why not start with me?”

  When something had been bottled up inside for so long, buried so deep, it took a long time to be able to dig it up again. I finished off my glass of tea and set it on the coffee table. I watched the ice start to melt. Clare didn’t say anything and didn’t pressure me. She just sat patiently and waited.

  “Mia and I were supposed to get married.”

  I heard my sister audibly gasp.

  She set down her tea and leaned forward. “What? When?”

  “The summer after graduation.”

  “Why did I not know this?”

  I looked down at my hands, remembering the night we’d gotten engaged. Lying on the blanket, I’d held her hand up in the air as we watched the tiny diamond twinkle and sparkle under the moonlight. She’d wanted to get me an engagement ring so that everyone knew I was hers. I’d told her that was unnecessary. She’d already marked every part of me.

  “I never told Mom or Dad. I had planned to. We were going to tell them together, right after graduation.”

  Understanding spread across Clare’s face as I looked up at her.

  “But she left,” she said.

  I nodded. “She left town and never came back. I never heard a single word from her. She left me a note saying she couldn’t go through with it, and that was it.”

  I remembered driving home in the pouring rain as the Southern sky went aglow with lightning. I could hear the roaring and grumbling of thunder as I’d parked the car in the front of my parents’ house. My clothes had been soaked through from standing outside Mia’s house, staring at that letter. It had still been in my hand. I’d held on to it the entire way home, fearing I’d lose the last thing I had of her.

  I’d carried out our plans alone, hoping she would come find me. I’d thought she must have panicked, been frightened and run off, but she’d return to me still carrying that little miracle, and we would be happy.

  She’ll come back, I’d told myself. She’s just scared, and she’ll come back.

  I’d told myself that every day until the baby’s due date. I had been finishing up my finals at the school we were both supposed to attend, and I’d felt numb.

  But she hadn’t come back.

  That day, I’d gotten the tattoo on my arm, and then the anger had started to settle in. It had stuck around ever since. I hated what she’d done to us and our future, yet I couldn’t hate her. I’d tried, but it was like rejecting a part of myself.

  Even now, I was protecting her—omitting some of the truth from Clare to keep Mia safe. Part of me wanted to throw Mia under the bus and tell my sister exactl
y what Mia had done, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t hate her, and I couldn’t willingly hurt her either.

  “Garrett, I’m so sorry. I wish you had told me sooner. I knew you were serious, but I guess I didn’t realize how much,” she confessed.

  “You had a life of your own, Clare, with a husband and a new baby. I don’t fault you for living it. And you can’t feel guilty for not knowing what I didn’t tell you.”

  She took my hand, and I pulled her into my arms. I’d always be her baby brother, but she was a midget in comparison. I dwarfed her tiny frame.

  “Do you think that maybe there’s a chance that you two could—”

  “No,” I answered, cutting off her question before she had a chance to finish it.

  “Are you sure? I saw the way you two looked at each other that night in the bar.”

  “We might still have chemistry, but it doesn’t change the past.”

  “Forgiveness is a powerful thing, little brother,” she said.

  “Maybe for some people.”

  She sighed and gave me a squeeze, pulling back to gather our glasses. I heard the back door open, and the loud sounds of children rushed in. My two-year-old nephew, Ethan Oliver, took a flying leap into my arms and hugged me. He was named after my sister’s late husband, but to give him his own distinction, everyone called him Ollie as a nickname.

  “Care-wet!” he said, smashing my face together and laughing at the results.

  “My name is Garrett, Ollie! Why does he always call me Carrot?” I managed to ask Clare.

  She was also laughing at my mangled face. “He’s two!” she said. “And besides, your name is difficult to say.”

  “Is not,” I replied. I looked at him and smiled. “How do you say Logan?”

  “Daddy!” he said cheerfully.

  “Cheater.”

  I was about to ask him to say Declan when the phone rang, and Maddie ran through the house, shouting she would answer it. Clare had let her answer it a few times when a telemarketer would call, and now, she thought she was the official answering service for the house.

  “No, Princess, I’ll get it,” Logan shouted, grabbing the phone seconds before Maddie could.

  He was in the kitchen, but I could hear him as he cheerfully greeted my mom.

  My stomach hit the floor when I heard him say, “Oh God, is he okay?”

  I picked up Ollie and followed an equally frightened Clare into the kitchen. I grabbed her hand, fearing the worst.

  Logan had just set the phone down, and he looked up at Clare and me with tearful eyes. “It’s your dad.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  ~Mia~

  “I need to tell him. I need to say good-bye.” The tears were falling from my cheek and splashing beneath me onto my suitcase as I packed.

  “No. He needs a clean break,” she urged, pulling clothes from my closet and tossing them on my bed.

  After I’d agreed to her plan, she hadn’t wasted any time. I was leaving tonight.

  “No need to linger,” she said.

  I would go take care of my problem, and she would make arrangements with one of the other many colleges I’d been accepted to, so I could move in as soon as possible. Until then, I would stay in our vacation home up north. Like a child, I was handing over my life to my parents.

  I was a child, wasn’t I?

  “I at least want to write him a letter. He deserves that much.”

  He deserves so much more.

  She looked as if she wanted to argue, but finally she nodded and left, giving me a few precious moments alone.

  I sat at my desk, the same one I’d had since grade school. It was white with pink and gold accents. It matched my bed and dresser, and it looked like it was fit more for an infant than a teenager.

  I pulled out the heavy stationary my mother had monogrammed with my initials. I never understood why she’d had it made. Who used stationary these days? I guessed it was useful for something.

  I must have stared at that blank piece of paper for an eternity, trying to find the words to say good-bye.

  How did I say good-bye when everything inside of me was screaming to stay?

  This was wrong. My mother was wrong.

  I needed to go to him and never look back.

  Do you think he’ll let you give up your dreams?

  Her blunt words came crashing back, and I slumped back in the chair. How could I ask him to give up everything for me?

  With a shaky hand, I began to write.

  As I drove away that night, I said good-bye.

  Good-bye to my home, good-bye to Garrett, and good-bye to my heart.

  I woke up, sobbing.

  I’d been doing this every night since he’d walked away from me in that hotel room.

  Every night, I would awake, soaked in my own tears, shaking from my memories and drowning in my own regrets.

  On Monday, I’d held out hope that our friendship might continue, and he would show up on my doorstep, like always, with a bag of food and a change of clothes, ready to tackle my floor. But he never showed, and instead, a truck of installers ready to finish my floor had greeted me.

  Garrett had given me his answer loud and clear.

  We were not friends, and whatever kind of relationship we’d started was over.

  The dreams had gotten worse after that.

  It was like losing him all over again. Only this time, he wasn’t states away. He was right down the street, yet so far away.

  I sat up in bed and checked the clock. Two in the morning. Perfect.

  Sam lifted his head from the foot of the bed and looked at me. I’d given up on making him sleep on the floor ages ago. He hated the expensive doggie bed I’d bought for him, and I was too much of a pushover to force him to sleep on it. Besides, it was nice to share my bed with someone even if it was a dog. At least he didn’t mind me tossing, turning, and waking up in hysterics.

  If I didn’t get a decent night’s sleep soon, people at work would start realizing I was beginning to resemble a member of the undead more and more each day. At least Leah hadn’t been at work. She would have called me out on it immediately.

  I had large gray bags under my eyes, and my skin had gone pale. Thanks to a steady diet of Ben and Jerry’s, I’d managed to keep my weight from plummeting. A girl had to take care of herself after all.

  Since I’d done this crying ritual several evenings in a row now, I knew sleep wasn’t happening for the rest of the night, so I got up and made myself a cup of chamomile tea. I snuggled with a blanket and a book on the couch. Sam jumped up in between my feet and groaned as I scratched him between his ears with my toes.

  I’d just turned the page to start a new chapter in my latest paperback when my phone rang. I checked the time as I picked up my cell phone from the coffee table, but I immediately froze as I saw Garrett’s name flashing across the screen.

  Why was he calling me at three in the morning?

  I quickly picked up, not wanting it to go to voice mail. “Hello?”

  “Mia…” He sounded hoarse and distant.

  “Garrett, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  “My dad died.”

  He didn’t say anything else, but I had heard the strain in his voice as he’d said the words, like just acknowledging them took immense physical strength.

  “Oh God, Garrett. I’m so sorry.”

  “The funeral is tomorrow. I don’t know if I can…I just don’t know how to say good-bye.”

  “What time?” I asked.

  “Ten in the morning.”

  My shift at the hospital started at eight, but I’d figure something out.

  “Give me your address. I’ll be over in the morning, and we’ll go together.”

  “Okay.”

  He quickly gave me his address, and it confirmed my suspicions. Garrett lived less than a mile away from me.

  “Try to get some sleep, okay?” I said gently.

  He acknowledged, and we started to say our good-byes.


  “Mia?” he said at the last moment.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks. I didn’t know who else to call. I needed…I don’t know. I just needed you.”

  I closed my eyes as I tried to steady my breath and erratic heartbeat. He was hurt and grieving.

  Don’t take the things he says to heart, Mia. Just be the friend he needs you to be.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said before clicking End with a shaky hand.

  ~Garrett~

  This wasn’t real.

  At any minute, I was going to wake from this hell I’d been living in for the past few days, and everything would be back to normal. My family would be happy again, my mother would stop crying, and I wouldn’t feel like there was this gaping hole in my heart anymore.

  But I still kept waking up to find myself in this same fucking nightmare.

  My dad was dead.

  He’d been taken by a massive stroke at the age of fifty-eight.

  It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right.

  There was still too much for him to do, too much for him to see and experience. God needed to give him back.

  “Goddamn it! Give him back!” I yelled, flinging the half-empty tequila bottle at my bedroom wall.

  It exploded upon impact, shards of glass falling to the floor as amber liquid trickled down the bare white walls. The rising sun was just starting to cast its rays across the room as it ushered forth a new day—a reminder of something else my dad would miss. It was my first night back in my own bed since Logan had answered that phone call and all of our lives had changed.

  We ran out of the house, hastily strapped the kids in the car, and rushed to the hospital. As we entered the ER, Logan disappeared, immediately switching into doctor mode to get more information. My father had been brought in unconscious but breathing, but my mother hadn’t known much else. Clare and I found her huddled in the corner of the waiting room, clutching her handkerchief with wrinkled white knuckles.

  “Mom,” Clare called.

  She looked up, and her eyes found us. They were red, and tears stained her cheeks. She jumped up and pulled us into her arms, and the sobs grew louder.