My dad—always one for understatements. I know why he does this: he always wants to give us the appearance that everything is all right. He’s been doing this since I was a kid and it’s always provided me with such a sense of comfort. I grew up believing he could solve any problem, so there was never anything for me to worry about. My brother’s death is one problem he’ll never be able to solve; one wound which he’ll never be able to mend.
“Dinner’s ready,” he says lamely. I can tell he’s too overwhelmed to talk about Dean. He’s so strong, but this situation has obviously brought him to his knees. Before he turns to leave, he asks, “How are you and Greyson getting along?”
“Grey’s great!” I smile at the chance to talk about my nephew. “He’s just so little,” I add with a chuckle. As silly as I feel, I had no idea babies could be so small. I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like to have held him as a newborn.
“Grey,” Dad says with a wistful smile tugging on his lips. “Your brother used to call him that.” He looks at me for a pregnant moment before giving me another tired smile and turning away. “I’ll be downstairs. Come on down and join us when you’re ready.”
As hungry as I am, I find I’m not eager to eat with my family. I’ve never been one to enjoy sitting at the dinner table and discussing my day with them. Growing up, Dean’s amazing stories usually took all the pressure off me. I spent the majority of the time sitting in silence while he’d describe parties he attended, games he won, and tests he passed without the least bit of effort. I wasn’t the least bit jealous of him growing up. If anything, I was grateful for him. His success took all of the eyes off me and my issues. Now that he’s gone, I know this dinner will be awkward as hell. What could I possibly say? I don’t want to discuss my battle with pills and alcohol. Nor do I want to talk about all the escapades I’ve had over the past five years.
As if sensing my self-loathing, Grey reaches out and touches my face, running his little fingers along my cheek. I grin at him, happy to have my brother’s mini-me around during a time like this. I kiss his forehead and he responds by bouncing in my arms—obviously enjoying the attention from someone new.
“You’ll get me through this, won’t you, Grey?” I ask him, wanting to laugh as he smiles at me as he watches my mouth move as if he were trying to understand. I take his smile as a positive response and kiss his forehead again. Everything will be all right.
I end up selfishly using Grey as a security blanket during dinner. As soon as my mother set a bottle of red wine on the table, I knew I was in for one hell of a night. I keep Grey in my lap, rocking him while I try to focus on anything other than the Merlot taunting me from a few feet away. Disappointment overwhelms me as I consider the power the drink holds over me. I’ve spent the past five years letting alcohol decide my fate, and now that I’m home I want to regain my control. It’s not just me anymore; I have a baby depending on me.
I pull my eyes away from the bottle and focus on my nephew. To my surprise, he’s staring up at me with wide, curious eyes. My heart splinters as I look at him. Now that Dean is dead, I can feel all my love pouring into his son. My heart fucking breaks, knowing Grey will most likely not remember his parents. He’ll never know how wonderful they were. He probably doesn’t have an inkling of understanding as to what has happened to them. I want to give him back everything he lost. Hell, I would’ve gladly taken my brother and sister-in-law’s places, so they could have raised their son. But none of that is possible now. There’s no deal I could possibly make with God to bring him or my sister-in-law back. So, I’ll do the next best thing: I’ll devote my life to their child and try to give him the world. My brother would have expected that, and I’ll be damned if I let him down this time.
I’m done with the nights I spent blackout drunk—partying until dawn. I’m done with the random hookups with nameless women. I’m done with losing myself in a bottle of whiskey. That Trevor is gone. All that’s left is a broken man who’d do anything to make shit right for his nephew. I look away from Grey and give the bottle of Merlot a challenging stare. I’ll be damned if I let shit like this fuck-up my life any longer. I stare at the bottle as if doing so will take away my craving for it. It doesn’t. Only time will take care of that. At least, I fucking hope.
My body aches as I look at the wine. Making me wish I had more time to break my habit before coming here. I quit cold turkey and acted as if it were the easiest feat in the world. I underestimated my dependency, but I’ve managed to go without a drink for a few days now. I wouldn’t call myself an “alcoholic” per se—just a man who did copious amounts of partying in his youth. So, I hope that’s something which works in my favor.
“You’re quiet tonight, Trevor,” my dad says as he takes a drink of his wine.
I avert my gaze and give him a stiff nod. “I’m just tired,” I say poorly, as I begin to feed Grey his formula.
My eyes return to him, fascinated as I watch him suck on the bottle’s rubber nipple with an immense amount of concentration. His eyes are squeezed shut and his cheeks are moving with each drink that he takes. There’s a little v formed between his brows which I can’t help but smooth out with my thumb. As I do so, his eyes open and he stares at me as he continues to feed.
“Well, you better get some rest, Trevor,” my dad says to me, though my eyes remain on my nephew. “We have to head out around eight for the funeral tomorrow.”
My eyes pop up as I hear the pain resonating in his voice. Fuck, my dad almost looks unrecognizable. He’s always been the strong one in our family.
“I’ll be ready, Dad,” I assure him, giving him a small smile in hopes that it’ll lighten his mood.
My mother doesn’t say a word; she merely watches the interaction before returning her attention to her food. I’ve never seen my mother deal with any sort of difficult situation before. She’s spent her life shying away from anything with the potential of being painful. My mother only liked to deal with what is easy—and losing a child is such a messy matter.
I retire to my room as soon as dinner’s over. I just couldn’t stand seeing my parents have to go through this shit a moment longer; it’s too painful. Grey fell asleep in my arms during dinner and Mom insisted I put him to bed in his makeshift nursery. I didn’t like the idea of being so far away from him. Which seems silly, considering I’ve only known him for a few hours and he’ll only be sleeping a few rooms away. However, I already worry about him like a father would worry about their son. I suppose, in many ways, I am his father now. Now that Dean’s gone—I’m the closest thing Grey has to a dad.
After I read him one of my old comic books, I put him to bed before returning to my bedroom to attempt to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a rough day at best, and with the pain of withdrawals already shooting through my body, I can definitely use some rest. However, sleep doesn’t come. My mind is on the little baby in the room down the hall. His nursery is across from my brother’s old bedroom. A room which I haven’t the courage to venture into just yet. I hope it’s exactly like I remember it, yet, I hope it’s completely different, so I don’t have to deal with the memories seeing it will bring. Maybe one day I’ll summon the courage, but that day isn’t happening any time soon. I’ve barely reached the depression stage of my grieving, let alone the stage of acceptance.
I roll onto my side and punch my pillow, wishing the pain in my body would dissipate so I could get some fucking rest. Just as my eyes are growing heavy, I hear faint cries coming from down the hallway. I’m out of bed and on my feet before my mind can register what my body is doing. While my body is itching in agitation, I bound down the hall and open the door to his nursery. I wonder if it’s like this for all new parents? This little baby inspires more fear in me than I’ve felt in my entire life!
My breath is caught in my throat as I walk to his crib, worried that his cries mean something horrible is happening to him. I quickly find that they merely mean he’s hungry. Rocking him in my arms, I take him to the k
itchen to grab a bottle of his formula from the fridge. He cries until he gets the familiar rubber nipple between his lips.
“I know it’s not a tit, but it’s the best I can do,” I apologize with a light chuckle, carrying him to the couch in the living room so we can relax.
Things are so calming at night. With the darkness surrounding me and no one awake to bother me—I feel like I’m the only person in the world. I look down at the baby in my arms and smile. I’m not alone in the world anymore. There’s two of us now.
Chapter 2
Disarm
I couldn’t bring myself to look in the caskets. I wasn’t interested in the work the morticians did to make my brother and sister-in-law look “normal.” I did, however, watch as others walked by to pay their respects. I saw the pain that consumed them as they walked away from the caskets to take their seats. I didn’t want to see Dean or Cat like this. I wanted to remember them as they once were: alive. Dean’s smiling face is vivid in my mind—as if it were just yesterday we were laughing together. I grow ill at the thought of looking into his casket and seeing the expressionless look on his face. Fuck the drunk driver who crashed into them and drove away as if the accident was fucking nothing. What a disgraceful, pathetic fucking coward.
I look around the crowded room, curious to see who showed up to Dean and Cat’s funerals. They were an extremely popular couple who had friends all over the place. I used to envy my brother’s popularity as well as his gregarious spirit because I was practically a fucking hermit—only dragging myself out of my room to party on the weekends.
Although my brother had many friends—there was one person in particular we had both been good buddies with since we all met in middle school. Travis Carter and my brother had always been tight, constantly there for each other whenever either one was in a bind. So, I’m surprised to find that Travis is nowhere to be seen today. I suppose this shit must be hard for him, too. He was my brother’s closest friend, after all. Hell, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be supportive of my family. I hate funerals. I always have and I know I always will. However, I know I’d hate it less if Travis were here. At least then I could have someone I could share memories of my brother with. I don’t really recognize anyone else here outside of my and Cat’s family. So, I sit quietly next to my dad and rock Grey in my lap.
I keep my gaze down, not wanting to see any more sympathetic stares, and instead focus all my attention on the little orphan in my arms. Fuck, I can’t believe Grey has to grow up without his parents. I can’t believe he won’t remember them. Tears fill my eyes and spill down my cheeks before I can stop them. I cry for my brother and his wife; I cry for my nephew; I cry for my parents; before, finally, crying for myself. Hopefully this loss will bring us together. I hope there’s a silver lining out of all this fucking pain.
Grey grows fussy in my arms and I quickly wipe away my tears to look at him. Fuck, I can’t remember the last time I cried like this. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like this about anything. Grey begins to cry, too and I suddenly feel guilty. I need to be strong for him. He deserves that much. He reaches up to touch my wet cheek and frowns at me, looking distraught as he gazes at my tears.
“It’s all right, buddy. I’m okay,” I assure him, bringing him up to rest on my shoulder as I rub circles on his little back. “Everything is all right, Grey.”
I hear a little hiccup and I know his crying has thankfully ceased. I can’t stand to see him cry. Especially fucking today. I rock him in my arms and try to pour all the love my heart has left into him. He has quickly become everything to me.
Everyone begins to take their seats and I know the worst part is about to begin. I don’t know if I can stand to listen to so many people talk about Dean and Cat. If I listen to their words, I’ll have to accept that all of this is truly happening. The past five days have felt like a bad fucking dream I can’t seem to wake-up from and this funeral has already stirred so much turmoil inside me. This isn’t a horrible nightmare I’ll awake from, to find Dean and Cat are still alive; this is my new reality, whether I want to accept it or not.
“Did you want to say anything, Trevor?” Dad asks me. “I know you didn’t write anything, but he was your brother and I’m sure everyone would love to hear you speak.”
I shudder at the thought. “I can’t,” I manage to rasp out. I feel pathetic, but I know if I got up in front of all these people, I would either fall to pieces or burn this whole place to the ground.
“That’s fine, Trevor,” he says sincerely as he wraps one of his arms around my shoulders. “Your mom isn’t speaking either.”
Dad is the only one of us with enough courage to speak. I commend him for it—although, I’m not surprised. He’s always been the strong on in our family. The one who could always deal with any problem when the shit hit the fan. I always admired him for being like that. And, despite the troubles I’ve had in my life, part of me always wanted to be more like him.
I zone out as Dean and Cat’s friends speak. I want to kick myself for doing so, but I don’t want to listen to their memories. I don’t want to remember what my brother used to be like while he was alive because I don’t want to admit to the fact that he’s dead. Instead, I watch Grey as he looks up at me with those curious, innocent eyes. I wonder what he’s thinking. He’s so blissfully unaware of what this all means. I wish I could be ignorant of all the shit things in the world. What I wouldn’t give to go back to a place and time when things were easier; when every fucking thing went over my head.
My dad squeezes my shoulder, effectively pulling me from my thoughts. My entire body tenses as if waiting for a fatal blow as I watch him get up from his seat beside me and walk to the podium. I don’t want to listen to this. His voice floods my senses as he begins to describe what life was like with Dean. His story flows in one ear and out the other; I don’t comprehend a single word of it. It takes all the strength I have to stay put in my seat. I hear mom softly sobbing a seat over from me, but I make no move to comfort her—immobilized by my own pain.
The rest of the funeral flies by in a blur. There’s a sea of people I don’t recognize, words I don’t understand, and sympathetic glances which make my stomach turn. Despite all of the different looks I receive, there’s only one I remember: my mother looking at me in a way which I don’t want to acknowledge. She doesn’t stare at me with love—appreciating that I’m the only son she has left. No, her eyes are filled with something much different. She stares at me as if she’s asking herself: “Why is he here? Why couldn’t he be the one to die instead of my Dean?” Guilt shoots through me as I look back at her. She’s right. My death would have been more fitting. No one fucking cared about me. I didn’t have a family of my own or a promising future. Why was I the surviving son? I suppose the universe is a cold-hearted, senseless bitch sometimes because nothing ever seems fair to me.
As morning breaks the next day, I wake to my first day of “acceptance.” Dean’s gone, and in his absence, I’ll have to step up. I have to do the right thing for Grey. My brother trusted me with his son and I’ll be damned if I fuck this responsibility up. Today is a new day and I try so desperately to push the funeral as far away from my mind as fucking possible as I roll out of bed. Today, I’ll be productive. I have so much lost time to make up for. I’ve spent the last five years of my life fucking around and never once thought about my future. At twenty-four years old I don’t know where the fuck my life is going. I don’t know whether I believed, deep down, that I wouldn’t live long enough to have a future, or if I simply didn’t care enough to work hard to make a decent life for myself. Dean had always been so career-focused and goal oriented, while I just focused on partying and getting laid. Now that I have a baby to care for, I know I have to pull my head out of my ass.
I quickly get ready before tending to Grey, wanting to give him my undivided attention. My mother usually helps out with this shit, but not today. I want to start getting some practice before I’m off on my own. Fuck, Go
d knows when that will happen at this rate. I’m a twenty-four-year-old with a GED and no prospects. I don’t want to be so down on myself this early in the game, but I can’t help but be ashamed of the choices I made in the past. Hell, I probably wouldn’t have gotten my GED if my parents hadn’t jumped my case and made me. It’s easy to look at my decisions retrospectively and dislike them, but it’s not just that. I dislike the man I used to be. The man who was really just a boy; a boy who believed life was one giant game and he was invincible. Oh, how fucking wrong I was.
Feeling somewhat defeated, I walk down the hall to gather Grey from his crib. He’s surprisingly still asleep by the time I reach him, but I suppose it’s still early in the morning. As if he senses my presence, Grey’s eyes slowly open and he gives me a sleepy smile. Fuck, I love this kid already. I pick him up from his crib and hold him close, enjoying the feeling of his fuzzy hair against my cheek. He’s so warm and so small; sometimes I’m afraid I’ll hurt him because he’s so little.
“Are you ready to take a bath, Grey?” I ask as I rock him in my arms. Of course, I know he can’t answer, but it’s nice to have someone to talk to. Even if it is a five-moth-old baby. As strange as it sounds, I feel like I can see my reflection in his eyes and even though he can’t form the words to respond—I feel as if his face is expressive enough to answer any question I could have. Grey’s smiling up at me and I take that smile as a “yes.” So, I carry him into the kitchen.
I’ve seen my mother bathing him in the kitchen sink since he’s so small. I’ve never bathed him myself—but how hard could it be? It doesn’t take long for me to discover that bathing a baby isn’t an easy feat. Grey wiggles around in the sink, making himself slide all over the fucking place, and he laughs every time the lukewarm water sloshes around him. I can see how it could be frustrating, but after everything that’s happened in this little boy’s life, I’m just happy to see him smiling like this. I know he doesn’t understand the weight of what’s happened, but eventually he will. Even if it’s years down the road. I just want to give him a normal, happy childhood.
The Blessing Page 2
