Second to No One

by Palmer, Natalie

  I waited for more, wondering if now was a time that I should say something. But then she continued, “But my group and well, mostly Jason, has helped me see that I shouldn’t compare myself to you. That my life is going to be no better and no worse because of what’s going on in your life. And so I’ve been working on that, you know, not comparing myself to you, and I’m starting not to hate you as much. In fact, I kind of like you.”

  “Um, thanks?”

  “And instead of seeing you as this huge competition, I’m starting to see you as someone I’m grateful I knew once, as someone who actually helped me get back to the place that I needed to be so that I can get the help that I needed to get. So I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for the way I treated you, and I should actually be thanking you. So thank you.”

  “Oh, well, you’re welcome. But I don’t think—”

  “I need to go now. I’m late for dinner.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “You don’t need to apologize anymore, Gemma. You don’t need to feel bad for anything. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Thanks for calling. The staff was beginning to think that I made up the names on my list.”

  “You didn’t make us up, Lauren. We really are your friends.”

  “Thanks. I got to go.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tell Jess hello for me.”

  “I will.”

  “Bye, Gemma.”

  I hesitated. Was this really it? “Bye Lauren.”

  And the line was dead. That was really it. I’d called Lauren. I’d apologized to her—or tried to anyway—and that was it, and I knew there was a very good chance I was never going to talk to Lauren James again for the rest of my life.

  “Can I ask you something?” Jess’s voice cracked slightly as we swung lazily in the hammock in my backyard. Jess had just eaten dinner with my family, and now we were enjoying one of the last summer nights in Franklin that we would have together.

  “Of course you can,” I replied, sinking deeper into his chest.

  “Do you think we’ll get married someday?”

  My whole body filled with butterflies at the thought. But how could I answer a question like that? Especially with all the uncertainty ahead of us? “Not if you keep trying to sabotage our relationship by ordering me to date other guys.”

  “You still think I’m out to ruin us?”

  “Only sometimes.”

  “I just want you to be happy.”

  “I want you to be happy too, but I just hate the idea of you being happy with somebody else.”

  “I won’t be happy with somebody else.”

  “Speaking of which… I talked to Lauren yesterday.”

  “Lauren who?”

  I looked at Jess like he must be kidding. “Lauren James. I called the hospital up in Pella.”

  “And they put you through to her? Just like that?”

  “Well, I had to pull some strings, but yeah, they put me through.”

  “What did she say? What did you say?” Jess sat up and propped both of his hands behind his head. He was obviously intrigued by the interaction.

  “It wasn’t a big deal. I just wanted to see how she was and, you know, apologize for everything. And she apologized too, and now we’re good.”

  “You’re good?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, we had closure. We needed some closure.”

  Jess relaxed into the hammock and processed what I had told him. “Wow, you and Lauren had closure. I’m impressed.”

  I wasn’t sure if I should say the next part, but I felt like I was holding it back on purpose if I didn’t. “She wanted me to tell you hi.”

  Jess considered the information. “Oh, okay.”

  “And you’re on her list too.”

  “Her list?”

  “That’s how I got through to her. She has a list of five people that can call her. You’re one of them.”

  “You’re one of them?”

  I shrugged haphazardly. “She was desperate.”

  Jess laughed softly and pulled me back into his chest. “What am I going to do without you around every day to keep me entertained?”

  I nudged him lightly, then turned and looked him in the eyes. “But here’s the thing, whether its Lauren James or some other girl you meet in Charleston…if you being happy means that you have to be with someone else instead of me, I’ll be okay with that. I’ll accept that. Okay?”

  “Why are you saying this?”

  “Because it sounds like a really mature way to feel, and I think that maybe if I keep saying it, then one day I’ll believe it. And that gives me hope that one day I’ll really know how to love and deserve your love in return.”

  A faint smile crept across Jess’s lips as he tucked my long hair behind my ear. “You’ve been talking to your dad again, haven’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  His smile widened. “I can always tell when you two have been having your deep conversations. You sound so much like him sometimes.”

  I pursed my lips defiantly, then turned back into his chest. “I’ll take that as a compliment. My dad is a really smart guy.”

  “You should,” he said, brushing my hair with his fingers. “And he is.” We swung back and forth in silence for a while, enjoying the summer night breeze. “Gem.” Jess’s voice was a whisper so small I wasn’t sure if I had heard him or was reading his mind.

  “Hmm?”

  “I love you.”

  Not an ounce of hesitation was there, not an inkling of anxiety was present between either one of us as I easily said the words, “I love you so much.” Then I curled tighter into his chest, and we rocked to the rhythm of the wind blowing through the trees while both of us silently hoped that love would be enough.

  “I can’t believe we’re still watching this.”

  “Shhh.” My dad waved a hand at me as he inched closer to the television in our front room. We were two and half hours into what was supposed to be a two hour movie, but, for reasons we’ll never know, the Blu-ray player wasn’t working right and we couldn’t figure out how to get it out of slow motion.

  I changed positions on my side of the couch for the millionth time. “I’m watching my life pass away before my very eyes.”

  Dad scowled. “It’s too bad we can’t hear what they’re saying. There’s so many hilarious one-liners in this movie. I know you’d think it was funny.”

  It was an old cowboy movie called Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. My dad had seen an ad on TV earlier that day about the movie being released on Blu-ray. He had shoved a twenty dollar bill in my face and begged me to go buy it. He said he hadn’t seen it in years and so badly wanted to see it again. I had no idea why we couldn’t just wait until the player was fixed. But he was determined to watch it today.

  I watched as Butch Cassidy rode around on a bike (one mile per hour mind you) with some lady sitting on the handles. “Yeah, Dad. Too bad.”

  “So,” he said as he settled carefully into the cushions behind him, “How’s Jess?”

  “Didn’t you just shush me?”

  “Yeah, well, this part’s kind of long if you can’t hear the song in the background.”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “Jess is good. He works too much, but he’s good.”

  I could feel Dad watching the side of my face. “It’s good to see the two of you together. I mean, really together. I always hoped it would happen someday. I’m glad I didn’t miss it.”

  I let my head fall against his skinny shoulder. “Me too.”

  “So I assume you two are… kissing?”

  I sat up slightly. “Dad.”

  “What?”

  I huffed and grabbed a couch pillow to
hold over my chest. “Um, yeah, we kiss.”

  “That’s good. Kissing is good.”

  I sat up a bit more and folded my arms over the pillow. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Dad cleared his throat. “Kissing is good,” he said again. “And enough. Kissing is plenty.”

  “Dad,” I groaned. “Please tell me we’re not having this conversation.”

  He looked at me then, his eyes wide and vulnerable. “I need to tell you this, Gemma. I need to tell you to be careful. I need to tell you how easy it is to make a life-changing mistake. I won’t be around forever. I may not be around by your next birthday. I need to tell you this stuff now.”

  I shook my head in the darkness. “I hate it when you talk this way, Dad. Like you’re going to die tomorrow.”

  “Just please, I beg of you, Gemma, please know how amazing and how special you are. Don’t let some guy take that away from you.”

  “Dad?” I felt awkward asking it. “Do you think I should wait until I’m married? I mean, tell me honestly, not as my dad but just as a person. Should I really wait?”

  Dad’s eyes softened. “As a father, yes, I would really, really like it if you waited. As a person with my own flaws and a list of unmentionable mistakes, if you want to truly be happy then please don’t consider any other way.”

  I turned and stared blankly at the TV screen. “I know I shouldn’t care what other people think, but the rest of the world thinks it’s crazy to wait.”

  “The world is a pretty big place. I think if you’d be surprised if you knew how many people actually thought it was a good idea. The problem is, a lot of people don’t make the decision to wait and in that moment when it really counts, it’s too late.”

  “Okay,” I said without hesitation and I even surprised myself a bit. “I’ll wait.”

  “You’ll wait?” Dad’s eyes were wide and hopeful.

  “Yeah, I’ll wait. I’m making my decision right now. You can be my witness.”

  Dad couldn’t peel his eyes off me, but I knew he was bursting with joy behind those wet eyes of his. We sat in silence for a while before he said, “I wish I could see your wedding.”

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything. He had no idea how much I wished that very thing.

  His voice was forced and quivering. “Most of the time I convince myself that I’m okay to die. But then I think of you and Bridge, getting married, having kids, and then I just get angry. Angry that I won’t be here to watch you figure life out as a wife and a mother or whatever it is you decide to become.”

  My chest felt heavy as the words rolled off his tongue, and when I looked up at his face and saw it stained with tears I lost it. I couldn’t hold myself together. I buried my head in his chest and let him rock me back and forth like a baby, the movie rolling on slowly on the TV screen, both of us sobbing like children not knowing how to make the hurt go away. Finally, when neither one of us had any more tears to shed, Dad kissed me on the top of my head and said, “This means so much to me Gemma. Just being with you, listening to you tell me about your life, your dilemmas, your decisions… please keep talking to me, Gemma. Even when I’m gone. Keep talking to me. And don’t ever stop.”

  “I will,” I whispered into the folds of his shirt. “I promise.” And we sat through the rest of the movie in perfect silence holding on to each other so tight that nothing, not even death, could tear us apart.

  Chapter 22

  It happened on a Sunday morning.

  A completely normal, though seasonably cool, Sunday at dawn. I’d gotten up early from the morning chill that was blowing through my open window. When I couldn’t go back to sleep, I tiptoed past Mom’s and Lauren’s rooms toward the stairs, hoping to have a quiet breakfast with my dad. Ever since Tag talked to me about spending more time with Dad, I had been making us breakfast and eating it with him on his couch. It was becoming my favorite time of the day.

  From the staircase I could see that my dad was still asleep. He laid perfectly still. Maybe too still, but at that point, I couldn’t have known. The creaking sound of the bottom step was sure to wake him up, I thought. But even that didn’t stir him. He was silent and peaceful.

  So I crept past him into the kitchen. I decided to make his favorite breakfast this morning: fried bacon and grits on toast. Just the smell of grits usually made me gag. But something about them lately reminded me of rainy days at my grandma’s house and quiet memories of my dad. I found myself spooning a little into my mouth even without a touch of salt or sugar. I placed the bacon and toast on opposite sides of the plate I had retrieved from the cupboard then soaked it all with three ladles full of grits. Dad loved to see his bacon swimming in the stuff. I stuck another piece of toast in my mouth and carefully carried Dad’s plate and a glass of orange juice into the family room where my dad could eat it in “bed.”

  I set the plate down on his end table and the orange juice right next to it. I took a bite from my toast and contemplated whether or not I should wake him. At first, I decided against it, knowing that my mom would say he needed his sleep. But then I knew how much he cherished our breakfasts too, and I knew he wouldn’t want to miss it.

  I sat down on the coffee table directly in front of him and took in an exaggerated breath. Surely he would wake up to that. But he didn’t. So I leaned forward and gently rubbed his arm over the blanket. “Dad?” I said softly. But he didn’t wake up. “Dad,” I said a bit louder.

  Nothing.

  “Dad.” This time my voice was firm and demanding. “Dad, wake up.” I shook his arm, and then his whole body, and eventually after screaming his name at the top of my lungs and crying for my mom or Bridget or someone…anyone…to come help, I finally realized that my dad was no longer sleeping on the couch. My dad had up and gone to the next phase of his journey.

  Two hours later, I sat alone on the porch steps of my house, watching the hearse as it pulled away and rolled slowly down the road. He was gone. He wasn’t coming back. My dad was never coming back. I heard Bridget making phone calls in the kitchen. She was talking to my Aunt Clara, telling her that he died in his sleep, that Gemma was the one that found him and yeah, she’ll be okay, she’s strong. Was I? Was I strong enough to survive this? Was I strong enough to live in a world where my dad no longer existed? It didn’t feel like the answer was yes.

  I had no idea where my mom was. Last I’d seen her, she was handing a bag of clothes to the mortician. Clothes that he had asked to be buried in. I didn’t even know they had had that conversation.

  I looked across the street at Jess’s house. It was perfectly still. But then it was only eight fifteen on a Sunday morning. I was sure he was still sleeping. The For Sale sign in his front yard flapped in the wind, and the sound of the aluminum clinking against the wood seemed typical somehow, on such a dreary, lonely morning.

  He didn’t even say good-bye. How could he leave without saying good-bye? Why didn’t he call for us? Why didn’t he try to make it up the stairs one last time just so he could kiss our cheeks and tell us he needed to go. That it was his time. That everything would be okay?

  I was still reeling through my thoughts when the front door of Jess’s house opened and shut and Jess came walking across the lawn. He was still in his pajamas, gray sweat pants, and an old Red Sox t-shirt. His hair wasn’t combed, and his eyes blinked heavily in the sunlight. But he smiled at me as he made his way across the street. He had no idea that today was the worst day of my life.

  “Hey, cutie,” He said sitting down beside me. He then kissed my cheek and let his arm fall effortlessly around my waist. “What are you doing out here?”

  I looked at him, feeling half alive, then said, “He’s gone, Jess. My dad is gone.”

  Jess’s casual smile collapsed as he tried to understand what I was saying. “What do you mean he’s gone? Gemma,” his voice went hoarse, “Gemma
, where did he go? Where’s your dad?”

  I tried to say the words out loud, but they sounded like a voice machine on slow motion. Nothing I spoke felt like my own. They were someone else’s words. This was someone else’s life. “I made him breakfast…” I pointed behind my shoulder toward our front kitchen window, “and I tried to wake him up. But he wouldn’t wake up.” My hands were shaking uncontrollably in front of my face. “He never woke up.”

  “Oh, Gemma.” Jess sat down on the step next to me. “You found him.” I felt Jess’s arms tighten around me, so tight in fact, that it became hard to breathe. But I was glad. I didn’t want to breathe. Not when my dad couldn’t. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered the words a thousand times into my hair, and even when he stopped, the sound of them echoed inside my head. I was so sorry. So sorry for not being there when he died. So sorry for not being around more over the past few months. So sorry for letting this happen. So sorry for not doing enough.

  The rest of the day, and the next few days for that matter, were a blur. I remember our doorbell ringing constantly. Bridget opened the door mostly—she was the strong one in our house—and there was almost always a neighbor standing there with dinner or muffins or flowers. I didn’t eat any of it. And the flowers, to me, only smelled like death.

  I had four finals that week, including my final photography project. I think Bridget must have called the principal and explained what happened because I missed every one of them. I never cleaned out my locker. I never picked up my yearbook. I just stayed home with the uneaten food and the flowers, and more often than not, Jess was sitting beside me, holding my hand and taking my calls that I didn’t have the energy to answer.

  But Friday morning I woke up in a panic. Had I really missed all my finals? I was going to fail all my classes. And what about Ms. Delrose and the apple I had left in my locker? I had to go back to school to set things right with my teachers even if school was officially out. I couldn’t bear to go alone though and Jess was at work, so I asked Drew to drive me to school. When I got to the art hall, the smell of rubber cement and pottery clay made me ache for the normalcy of a regular school day. But it was over. I’d missed it and now I was all alone. I pushed open the door to the photography room, it felt heavier than usual, and found Ms. Delrose reading at her desk. When she looked up and saw me, her whole body relaxed and a look of exhaustion spread across her face, “Gemma.” She managed to say, “What are you doing here?”