I sink to the floor, curling in on myself as the grief rips through me. Ugly, heaving cries tear out of my chest, making my whole body shake.
“Fuck,” I whisper. My voice breaking. “What am I supposed to do with all this stuff?”
My eyes burn as I stare at the endless sea of memories left behind.
“What am I supposed to do, period?”
I'm spiraling into a dark hole, when a crash echoes from the other room. My tears are suddenly gone as instincts kick in and I push the fear down, letting it shift into something else.
Survival.
I grab a knife off the counter, and move slowly toward the noise while my heart hammers in my chest. The house is suddenly too quiet.
I peek around the corner and come face-to-face with… a cat.
We both jump.
“Holy shit you scared me!” I breathe, pressing a hand to my chest as Fat Louie lll blinks up at me, utterly unbothered. He proceeds to sit and casually lick his paw like he didn’t just almost send me into cardiac arrest.
Of course. How could I forget about the cat?
Grandpa got him a couple of years ago. Or rather, he just showed up at the front door one day and decided to stay. Naturally, Grandpa let him.
“Louie! What the hell? You could’ve scared me half to death.” I pause, tensing. “Too soon. I know. Butfuck.”
He lets out a soft meow, rubbing against my leg and something in my chest aches.
“I know, I miss him too.” My voice comes out quieter than I mean. I crouch down, so I can scratch him behind his ears. “I guess it's just you and me now, pal.”
Great. Now I’m talking to the cat like he can actually understand me.
I push up from the floor and force myself to move. I need a distraction. I need something to do.
I ping-pong around the house, tidying up, taking out the trash, doing dishes. Tasks that offer a small, fleeting sense of normalcy. I'm going to pretend that if I keep my hands busy, maybe my mind will quiet for a while.
By the time I make it to the office, my arms are full of mail I’ve gathered from around the house. I drop the stack onto the desk, but as I do, something catches my eye.
There's a black envelope with my name written across the front in familiar handwriting. My heart skips a beat and I rush forward, shoving the rest of the mail aside. My fingers tremble as I tear it open, careful not to damage whatever’s inside.
The moment I unfold the letter, goosebumps spread across my skin.
Yep. Here comes the waterworks.
I press the paper to my chest, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to hold it together, but all I can do is breathe through the flood of emotion as silent tears stream down my face.
This sucks.
I draw a shaky breath before finally looking down to read.
I read the letter six more times, crying harder each time. I flip it over, searching for more, but it’s just as blank as it was the first time I looked.
A pang of selfish disappointment hits me.That can't be it.He always had more to say, always had one last story to tell, one last lesson to sneak in while I wasn’t paying attention.
Why couldn’t he have written a little more?
I rush back to the desk, tearing through the envelope while I check it again.
Empty.
