Inevitable - Kristen Granata Page 0,55
had to say goodbye.
I opt to stay with my mom because I can’t go home. Not yet, maybe not ever. I’m not ready to face my father. I wasn’t lying when I told Graham I needed time. It wasn’t a copout. I need space to breathe, to grieve, to feel what I’m feeling and not have to feel guilty for it.
On my way to Mom’s house, I turn down a familiar road and park my bike on the gravel. I crunch over the dead grass that leads to the river, and sink down onto the cold, hard, ground. I sit there for a while, staring into the dark water. Tranquility never comes though, the peace I always find in my secret spot within these woods. It’s tainted with the memory of Graham now. I opened up my world to let him in, opened my heart, and now everything feels empty without him.
Void.
Less than.
Including me.
One by one, the tears start to fall.
I cry for my brother, for the fact that he felt like he had to endure his struggle alone. That he couldn’t see how badly he needed help, and didn’t know how to ask for it.
I cry for my father, for the guilt that must consume him, knowing his decision led his son to his death. For carrying the weight of the truth on his shoulders.
I cry for my mother, who only wanted the best for her children, and was forced into leaving us behind.
I cry for Graham, for being brought up in a twisted world with an evil villain for a father. For taking on the responsibility of his sister and her daughter, instead of living his own life.
I cry for myself. My family is torn apart, everything is fucked up, and I don’t know how to move forward like this. I’ve never felt so alone.
And I cry for the love I thought I’d found, only to learn that it was all a lie.
Even when I’m lying in bed inside Mom’s spare bedroom, the tears continue to drop.
All night, and every night after that for a long, long time.
In the following months, I let myself wallow in despair while I search for apartments. I take this time to focus on myself and lick my wounds.
I stay with my mom, making up for the time we’d lost when Dad sent her away. We spend the holidays together, and even though I’m sad to spend another Christmas without Eric, even though I wonder how Graham, Jen, and Gwennie are spending the holiday, and even though I feel guilty for leaving Dad alone, it still feels good to be reunited with my mother. We never wanted to be separated in the first place.
Yet another choice that was taken from me by my father.
Time moves forward, as it always does, and after the start of the new year, I decide to go to therapy. There’s a heaviness weighing on me and I don’t know how to unload it, but I know that I have to.
One of the many things I learn from my therapist is that you can’t change the past. You can only change your perspective, and move forward. So that’s exactly what I do.
And little by little, I heal.
When spring comes, I find an apartment and move out of Mom’s house. A sense of hope trickles inside me, a slow leak that starts to fill me up. New beginnings are on the horizon. I can feel the changes happening, the weight sitting on my chest becoming lighter, and that’s when I know:
It’s time to leave the past in the past.
It’s time to start living again.
For me, and for Eric.
One Year Later …
Chapter Sixteen
Eva
“This place looks amazing!”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Thanks. I’m so excited for tonight.”
Deanna lifts her champagne flute and twirls around. “To my talented, amazing, badass friend!”
Mom clinks her glass against Deanna’s. “I’ll drink to that.”
We all take sips and then I wave my hands. “Okay, let’s get this stuff cleaned up. Some of the kids coming here tonight are addicts and they don’t need to be around alcohol.”
“Good point.” Deanna scurries away, and I catch her tipping the bottle into her mouth before she disappears into the back room.
“How do you feel?” Mom asks.
I breathe in deep and drop my shoulders on the exhale. “I feel good. I can’t believe this place came together the way it did. I just hope people show, and it isn’t a flop.”
“It won’t be.” Mom squeezes my shoulders. “You’re going to