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“No thanks,” she mutters, staring off into space.
“You need something in your stomach, Lennon.” I push it closer toward her.
“You don’t know shit about what I need,” she says, her voice a bit louder this time.
“Look, I know you’re pissed. I know you’re hurting. I know you’re angry. I get it. If you need to use me as your emotional punching bag, then I’ll let you. But I’m not going to let you starve,” I tell her firmly.
She finally turns and looks at me but stays silent.
“Just try to eat a little,” I say softer this time. “I ordered your favorite.”
Lennon blinks, then looks down at her plate. “How’d you know this is my favorite?” She eyes the lobster and shrimp mac ’n’ cheese.
I swallow, looking down at my own plate of the same thing. She thinks I don’t listen when she talks, but she’s wrong. I’m always listening, especially when it comes to her. Not for any particular reason, but I hear what she says all the same.
“I just do,” I offer.
She sits up and takes the plate, placing it on her lap. “Thank you,” she says softly.
The TV’s been on all day as background noise, but neither of us talks or watches what’s playing. We sit in silence and eat, and though I have no appetite, I scarf it down. Lennon moves her food around with her fork before she finally takes a bite.
Nothing either of us can say will make the other feel better or change things. As much as Lennon wants to hate me, I’m here to stay and help her through this—help us both through this. Even though I don’t want to admit it, I need her as much as she needs me. She’s the only person who was as close to Brandon as I was and can fully understand the never-ending grief I’m feeling. I know I’ve wanted to hate her and have her hate me this whole time, but Brandon dying has put everything into perspective. Life’s too short and unpredictable to be a dickhead. I know he’d want me to look after her the best way I know how, even if she’d rather push me away.
“Are you done?” I ask when she abandons her barely eaten food and lies back down.
She nods.
Pushing myself up, I grab our dirty dishes and walk to the kitchen. I rinse and put them in the dishwasher, a skill Lennon constantly thought I couldn’t figure out. Except who does she think did them before she moved in? Though, before she insisted she buy new china, we used paper plates and a mismatched set we’d bought from the thrift store.
Once I’ve cleaned up and put the leftover food in the fridge, I head back to Lennon and see her knees up to her chest with her arms wrapped around her legs. I wish I could take her pain away even though I’d never be able to.
“Going to bed?” I ask, grabbing the remote to turn off the TV.
“I’m sleeping here,” she says. “I can’t sleep in there.” Lennon pinches her eyes shut, and I can see her lip visually trembling, so I don’t push her on it.
“Okay,” I say, setting the remote back down and grabbing the pillow and blanket. I place it on the floor next to her just like last night.
“What are you doing?” she asks softly, her sad eyes meeting mine.
“I’m not letting you stay out here alone,” I tell her. “Want another blanket?”
She blinks up at me. “Sure.”
Once I grab one, I drape it over her body. Then I turn off the living room light and settle into my makeshift bed. Lennon hasn’t broken down since her sisters left hours ago, but now as the silence and darkness surround us, she tries to keep her tears and emotions at bay but can’t.
God. Hearing her cry is fucking ruining me. If I wasn’t such an asshole toward her during the past two years, she’d trust me to comfort her. The pain she’s feeling is bound to be on a level greater than even I can understand. We both loved Brandon, but she was in love with him. I can’t begin to fathom losing the love of my life, and my heart fucking aches for her, for what she no longer has, for what she lost—a good man, best friend, a future husband even. The last part punches me straight in the goddamn gut as I remember the conversation Brandon and I had not too long ago. I push the thoughts away, hoping I don’t lose my dinner, because I feel so fucking sick over it that I might.
“Tomorrow’s a new day, Lennon. We’ll get through this, okay?” I tell her, hoping it’ll calm her some, hoping it will calm me too. I hold on to tomorrow like a candle in the darkness, a light that will guide us into the morning as I close my eyes and try to think of nothing. Only time can heal this pain, but the seconds feel like minutes and minutes like hours as the past day continues to play on repeat.
