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But it’s not happening. I still can’t seem to suck in enough air. I can’t seem to stop clenching my teeth and balling my hands up into fists.
Aiden helps a little. I know this is just as hard for him as it is for me, and I can tell that last remark, which he only made to cheer me up, has cheered him down.
So I say, “I just don’t know what life looks like now, ya know?”
He nods. “Yeah, believe me, I know. Monday morning we’ll open the garage back up and I’ll get my cup of coffee and open the bay doors, and wait for him to walk in.” Aiden sighs. “And he never will, ya know? He’s never gonna do that again.”
“I know,” I say. “I wish I hadn’t moved away. I wish I’d been here this whole time. At least then I could miss him the way you do. But I’m going to go back to my apartment and wake up tomorrow and nothing will be different.”
“That’s not true,” he says, reaching across my leg to grab my hand.
I like the way his forearm feels lying across my thigh. It’s the first time he’s held my hand in years. Maybe since we were little kids. And it feels good. It feels right.
“You’re going to feel different every day. I know, because even though Kyle was just my best friend and not my twin, I have a space here now, you know?”
His other hand makes a fist and thumps against his chest. Right over his heart.
“It’s pretty empty in there,” I say. “Hollow or something.”
“Yeah,” Aiden agrees. “Hollow. That’s exactly how I feel.”
I sigh, wanting to get up and leave this fucking cemetery but unable to find the strength to do that. My parents took the limo back home and I told them I’d walk. Our townhouse isn’t that far from here. About three miles, maybe. Not a great idea when I’m wearing heels, but I don’t care. I’ll take them off and walk barefoot like we used to do when we were kids. I just couldn’t get in that car with them knowing we’d end up back at home. I don’t think I can do that just yet. I’d rather walk a hundred miles right now than go home knowing Kyle will never be there with us again.
“So…” Aiden says. “What do you do in the city? I feel like we haven’t talked in a long time.”
“Hmmm,” I say. Because it has been a while since I saw him. Our last birthday, probably. That just kills any chance of feeling better. Because my whole life I’ve shared a birthday with my brother and now I don’t.
“You have a job, of course,” he says. Prodding me to talk.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m the head chef now at Bistecca del Bosco.”
“Nice,” he says.
I shrug. “I guess.”
“You don’t like it?”
“Not really.”
“Then do something else,” he says, like this is so simple.
I laugh. Not a happy laugh but a ‘yeah, right’ laugh. “Cooking just isn’t as fun as I thought it’d be. I mean, I always wanted to be a baker, for one thing. But there’s no money in baking. And the only other thing I really know how to do is work on those stupid Jeeps.”
“Stupid Jeeps,” Aiden echoes. Sadly, I might add. Because that’s how Kyle died. Rock-crawling out in Utah. The Jeep flipped over backwards and crushed him. We had to have one of those half-open caskets because he was not in good shape from the chest down from what they tell me.
“I should’ve gone to business school with him,” I say.
Aiden just squeezes my hand.
“I don’t know how you can even look at them,” I say.
“Who?”
“The fucking Jeeps,” I say, turning my head so I can meet his gaze.
He presses his lips together and frowns. “He was doing what he loved, Kali.”
“Yeah, and now he’s dead.”
“The Jeep didn’t do this,” he says. “He made a mistake. People do that, ya know. Because they’re people.”
“Are you going to sell the place?” I ask.
“Do you think I should sell the place?”
“Why do you care what I think?”
“Because he probably left you his share in the will.”
“Oh,” I say. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Aiden sighs. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Like how we’re going to get home?” I huff another fake laugh. “Because everyone is gone and I know that the backhoe operator is probably well-schooled in graveside etiquette, but I’m pretty sure he’s giving us the stink-eye right now.”
Aiden looks around the cemetery. It’s on a hillside on the edge of town. And there’s a nice view of the mountains from where we’re sitting. The sun is just beginning to set and this day is almost over.
“We can just walk,” he says. “Your house isn’t that far away. People are probably wondering where we’re at.”
