Chapter 3.5 Be Like That - Part Two

I answered the phone on the third ring.  "Hello?"  I wasn't in the mood for small talk.  

"Ramona?"  It was my mother.

"Yes, Farryn?" I replied coolly.  

"I heard about your grandmother.  Pancreatic cancer?"

"Mmmhmm."  

Her voice faltered.  "I'm so sorry."

While I seriously doubted that, I was in no mood to argue.  Tuesday's visit with Dr. Edwards had proven to be less than encouraging.  He estimated that Grandmother had maybe six months left at least, if she was lucky.  They had caught her cancer during its last stages, common for the type she had.  She would be in a lot of pain and would need someone to care for her.  The kind doctor recommended putting her in a hospice.  

I couldn't imagine my loving grandmother confined to a room where she just waited to die.  She deserved better, but unfortunately, I was still in high school.  The only other option we had, was hiring someone to come live in our home.  It wasn't ideal, but it sure beat the alternative.  

There were experimental diets that had been reported to extend the life expectancy of pancreatic cancer patients but my grandmother would have none of that.  How could she stay so calm, so accepting?  It wasn't happening to me, yet as always, I would have to live with the consequences.  Hadn't our family been through enough?  What would happen to me once she was gone?

'Look," I said, my tone acerbic, "I don't know how many times I have to tell you this but quit trying to be a part of our lives."  Without waiting for her to protest, I continued on heartlessly.  "You walked out on us.  So do what you do best, and leave us alone."

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

"Where are we?"

Grandmother smiled.  She had taken me out of school for the day for an "important talk".  Standing on an old wooden bridge, smelling the wildflowers and listening to the birds chirp, I felt completely at peace.  It's hard to believe that so much was going on inside me as long as I was surrounded by nature in all its aesthetic glory.

"This bridge was...special to your grandfather and I.  I suppose you could say that it was a big part of our love story.  I never got to take your father here and I wanted to share it with you before..."  A shadow crossed over her face but quickly vanished.  "Well, this bridge has played an important role in our family's history and I hope it becomes as special to you as it has to me."

"Thank you, Grandmother," I murmured, feeling like this outing was one of the last we would share together.  I tried to be strong for her sake.  "We'll have to get the old fishing poles out of storage and make a day of it sometime."

She laughed, patting me on the shoulder.  "Oh Ramona, I haven't been fishing in years!"

I looked at her closely.  "Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh, it's nothing, darling, really.  Just a little winded from the walk."

"Okay, but let's sit down anyway."  Concerned, I took her by the hand and led her to a park bench where we could rest in the cool shade and find relief from the midday rays.

"So, Homecoming is tomorrow.  Are you excited?" Grandmother turned to me with a mischievous sparkle in her eye.

I took a deep breath.  "I feel like I should be.  I've been dating Andrew for awhile now and it's our senior year.  I'm lucky to have met someone who treats me so well."

She nodded.  "Yes, Andrew is a very nice young man.  Your father had a crush on his mother, Penelope for the longest time.  The Satterfields are good people."

"Grandmother," I said slowly, "what was it like, being with Grandfather?"

"More than anything I could have ever hoped for.  He was my rock, my soul mate, my sweetheart.  We argued just like any other couple, but he was my best friend and made everything worth it."

I furrowed my brow.  "Did you feel a connection with him right away and just know that you guys were meant for each other?"

Grandmother paused to think.  "Yes, I think I did.  It's like I was searching for something and didn't know what and then he happened and everything finally made sense."

"Oh," I said dejectedly.  "I don't think I've ever felt that way."


"Ramona, not every relationship is the same.  Whether it's with Andrew or someone else, I know that you'll find someone one day who loves you as much as I do and a million times more.  You are such a sweet girl and I am so proud of the woman you're becoming."

"Am I sweet?  All I seem to care about is how I look or my silly little high school relationship.  Being in this support group has really opened my eyes about the way other people have grown up.  Even after everything with my dad, I still feel grateful for what I have.  I feel like my problems are so small in the grand scheme of things."

"It's not about what lot you're cast, it's about what you do with the tools you are given," she replied  "You have this enormous capacity for love, a genuine empathy for others and most importantly, the means to make a difference.  I know you will do great things."

Maybe it was the magic of the Gardens, but her words seemed to reassure me after all and suddenly, an idea came to me.  "I guess I know what I need to do then."

"What is that dear?" she inquired.  "What are you going to do?"

"Make a difference."

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

"You want us to do what?" asked Joelle the next day in school.  I had blurted out my plan in one giant breath and the two of them were staring at me, completely confused.

I laughed.  "I want you both to come to my house tonight around six.  Andrew and his football buddies have rented a limousine.   We're having dinner at the Bistro and then heading to the dance.  I think it's going to be a lot of fun and I'd love for you guys to join us."

After a couple of more minutes of convincing the most I could get was a skeptical "maybe" from Melissa and a noncommittal "we'll see" from Joelle.

It wasn't quite the reaction I was hoping for, but it was a start.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

Bettina had come over that afternoon so we could get ready together.  My room was filled with half a department store's worth of cosmetics and beauty products.  If I was going to have to endure an evening of heels and hair extensions, it had better be worth it.

"Is tonight the night?" she asked me with an impish grin.  

"Betsy," I chided, "you know that Andrew and I are waiting for the right moment to do that."

"You guys have been dating for a year now," she reminded me.  

"I know," I sighed, irritated.  "But it has to be special."  I was one of the only girls in our circle of friends who was still a virgin and the subject never failed to make me blush hotly.

"Okay," she conceded.  "So maybe not tonight."  My cousin had apparently made quite the name for herself at Smugglesworth Prep, living up to the Horowitz name.  She had a different guy every week.

"Thank you."

Betsy giggled.  "Prom then?"

I could only groan in response.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

We both heard the doorbell ring, my grandmother greeting Andrew and inviting him inside.  After a quick last-minute look in the mirror, Bettina and I headed downstairs.

Andrew whistled appreciatively.  "Wow Ram, you look amazing."

Grandmother fussed over the three of us, demanding that we get some pictures.  Andrew and I stood beside each other, his hands on my hips.  "So, is tonight the night?" he whispered.

I could only stare in bewilderment.  "What?"

"Aww don't be like that.  I love you, Ramona," he pulled me close, his voice thick with emotion, "and I'm willing to wait until you're ready."

I allowed him to kiss me passionately, my mind being pulled in a million directions.  I loved this boy, right?  So what was stopping me?

We were interrupted by Joelle and Melissa's arrival.  They had taken obvious pains in their appearance tonight and it showed.

"You made it!" I cried.  "I'm so happy you decided to come!"

"What are you taking about, Ramona?" Andrew asked me quietly.  "What are those girls doing here?"

"I thought your friends still needed dates," I breathed to him, "so I invited Joelle and Melissa."

"Why didn't you invite Blair or Caroline then?  Why them?" he gestured to the girls.

"They're my friends, Andrew!" I hissed.  At this point, it was useless to whisper.  There was an awkward silence in the room and everyone knew what we were arguing about.  I was embarrassed for both of our sakes.

"They go to your support group.  That doesn't make them friends.  They're not like us," said Andrew matter-of-factly.

I glared at him.  "Not like us?" I repeated.  We were oblivious to the other people in the room, wrapped up in our own world.

"Yeah," he shrugged.  "I don't want to show up at the dance with a fat chick and ole' Witch Nose over there.  Do you honestly think Troy and Chad will be happy that we brought them two busted chicks?  C'mon, Ram, this is our Senior Year.  We're supposed to have fun tonight, not do some community service project."

"These girls have more in common with me than you will ever have.  They're human, they have hearts."  I frowned.  "They have feelings."

"I never said they didn't," he objected.  "But that doesn't mean I want to hang out with them."

I laughed bitterly.  "You don't want to hang out with anyone who is unlike you.  Newsflash, this world is ugly.  And just because you're handsome on the outside, doesn't mean you can't be disgusting on the inside.  You're so wrapped up in yourself that I couldn't even tell you that my grandmother just got diagnosed with cancer.  She's got months left to live."

"Ramona," he sputtered.  "I had no idea.  I'm so sorry."

I shook my head.  "There's a lot you don't know.  Funny, how I had to go to a support group filled with strangers to find someone who would even listen to me.  Funny how a group of people who are nothing like me turned out to understand me better than you'll ever attempt to, who know more about me, than you'll ever ask."

"I'm sorry," he put his hands up, as if afraid that my words would again rain down upon him in a verbal torrential downpour.

I stared at him sadly, realizing for the first time, that while our backgrounds were the same, Andrew couldn't be any more different than myself.  And I pitied him.  The kids in my group had been made too hard, too young.  It wasn't his fault.  It didn't make him a bad person for never having had anything bad happen to him.  But I couldn't be with him anymore.

By that time, the spell had evaporated and we were once again aware of the others in the room.  Joelle and Melissa had already snuck out and I dreaded facing them on Monday.  Grandmother had gone to bed, her heart surely hurting for the both of us.

After seeing Bettina and Andrew take off in the limo with the rest of our friends, I started walking, not knowing where I was headed.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

"Fancy meeting you here," a familiar voice rang out in the quiet stillness of the evening.  Tucker Whitney smiled down at me.

"What are you doing, stalking me?" I asked, but not rudely.

 "Don't I wish!  No, I'm around the neighborhood.  I had a few errands to attend to."  Tuck sat down, his steady gaze making me suddenly uncomfortable.  "What about you, Bright Eyes?  What are you doing tonight?"

I rolled my eyes.  As if he didn't know.  "Oh you know, just hanging out at the library.  Nothing special."

Tuck snickered.  "Well, you look like shit."

Despite myself, I cracked up too.  I knew he was joking.  His eyes, perpetually burning sapphires were sparkling and a grin was dancing across his lips.

When he spoke again, his voice was gentle.  "So, you wanna talk about it?"

The entire story came out and I was able to finish without shedding a tear.  Tuck listened the entire time, nodding and inserting a comment where appropriate.

I stood up.  "I don't want to be in that world anymore."  I ripped out my hair extensions and shook my mane loose, finally free from the glamorous restrictions.  In a sense, I had also been stripped of the confines of my shallow existence.  I felt like tonight, I could be anyone.

He got up to stand in front of me.  "Then don't."

I stared at him, suddenly overwhelmed by the evening's events.  "Now what do I do, Tuck?" I asked him helpelessly.

"Dance with me," he breathed.

So that was how Tucker Whitney, the mysterious Pertha Hills boy with sapphire eyes and I, Ramona Bergdorf, the Little Girl Lost who were at first seemingly worlds apart, came to find ourselves dancing outside of the public library, to no music, on the night of the Homecoming Dance.

"It's like I was searching for something and didn't know what and then he happened and everything finally made sense."

Chapter 3.2 Almost Undamaged

Every morning was the same.  I would wake up, take a shower, get dressed and make my bed.  Then I would eat a bowl of cereal and head to school, where my boyfriend would be waiting for me.

His name was Andrew Satterfield and his family was well-respected in the community.  Both of us were attending Par Excellence.  He was on the varsity team as our starring quarterback and hoping to get a scholarship.  I was a Berdorf and if my name wasn't enough, my cousins were Horowitzes.  Enough said in Hidden Springs.  My family tree's prestige carried enough weight in the town that doors were opened before I even chose to step through them.  

We were the cute couple in high school.  You know, the one that kissed every morning before homeroom and by each other's lockers.  We'd hold court at our usual table in the cafeteria at lunchtime, flanked by his football goons and my giggling girlfriends.  We were going to have the perfect Senior Year and were favored to win Prom King and Queen.  To the casual outsider, my life was perfect.

Okay, so maybe Andrew was a little boring and being a jock, seemed to be confirm every stereotype I had ever heard about athletes.  But he sent me good-night texts, walked me to class and took me out to dinner and the movies.  A few girls had admitted that they would have killed to have such an attentive boyfriend and how they hated being single.  We could go to college together, get married, live in a nice house with a white picket fence, raise a nice family and have a nice life.  Even at seventeen, I could see how our lives would play out perfectly like a movie.  And even if our conversations were less than stimulating, he still was someone, and better than dealing with everyone else.

Teachers would fawn over my test scores and perfect attendance.  Parents would encourage their students to be more like me.  Girls wanted to be my friends.  Guys wanted to date me.  And as much as I "loved" being me, Ramona Bergdorf, Par Excellence's sweetheart, I knew that most of the adoration wasn't about how pretty I was, how well I treated others or even about being smart.  Hidden Springs was a small town and even as prestigious as both of my grandparents had been or how talented an artist my father had been, the truth is, that didn't matter.  None of it did.  They felt sorry for me, because of all the events that led to my grandfather getting killed in a car accident, my mother cheating and leaving, and finally, my father shooting himself in the head.  I could feel them watching me all the time, waiting for me to snap.  Everyone seemed to be anticipating the moment where I would break down and they wanted to be there when it happened.  I felt bad for disappointing them.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

On the weekends she came home from Smugglesworth Prep, my cousin Bettina would stay over.  She was my best friend, even if she was a bit snobby, but I felt like she was the only other person who could empathize with what I had gone through.  Of course, we never talked about it, but it was there and I appreciated her for what it was worth.

As per custom, we would watch a chick flick, have a pillow fight and then pass out.  I'd always give her my bed and would instead choose a sleeping bag on the floor.  She asked me the first time why I didn't sleep in my parents' bedroom.  After his death, my grandmother had hired a crew of cleaners to come in and fix it up. They had scrubbed the floors and mopped the blood up but there was still a tiny nick in the wall from where the shell had gotten lodged there.  Is it weird that I kept that shell, the one that had gone through my father's head, killing him?  But I never told Bettina this.  She wasn't the one that found him.  Still, long after she had drifted off into a deep slumber, I would lie there in the dark, remembering.

I was seventeen and as a child, I had already witnessed a man's death.  I had seen my own father's brains splattered all over the wooden floors, his head a pile of blood and mush, his body growing cold and stiff as we waited for the ambulance to take his corpse away to the morgue.  I had been the one to tell my grandmother about the suicide and was the one who had made the 9-1-1 call as she sat on his bed, not moving, aside from the shaking of her shoulders, as she sobbed for the son she never completely could get through to.  I knew that I would never, could never, be just seventeen, my childhood gone in a moment, my future already tarnished.  

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

"So, what did you think?"  We had gone to see the latest drama that had just come out a couple of days ago.  We had been let out of school early and Andrew had suggesting catching a flick before heading home to my place, where we did homework every afternoon.

"It was alright, I guess, maybe a little morbid," he chuckled like he always did when he didn't know the answer, which was often.

"Morbid?  It was a satire on how society gives young women distorted views of their bodies, making them think that they have to be a size two and blond to be beautiful."

He chuckled again.  Why did he always have to laugh when he felt awkward?  It was an aggravating habit.  "God, Ram, it's just a movie.  Do you want to go get something to eat?"

"Andrew, it's a problem that happens in real life!  Eating disorders are happening to nine-year-olds who are convinced that they are fat because they don't look like Kate Moss."

"But sweetheart," he said tenderly, "you're beautiful and never have to worry about something like that.  Besides, don't you think they exaggerated it just a bit?  I mean, a tenth grader killing herself because a boy called her Thunder Thighs?  No wonder it's a satire.  Suicide is so stupid.  I mean, talk about an exaggeration."

"What?" I whispered.

Andrew realized his mistake and immediately started spewing apologies and excuses, knowing how close his comment had hit to home.  "I mean...not everyone who kills themselves is stupid...your father...he was a good guy...there probably are good reasons...just I don't think being overweight...maybe young girls..."

"I understand how you feel, Andrew.  About my father, my family, even about me.  It's okay.  I get it.  Maybe to everyone else, suicide is some taboo topic, but ignorance only perpetuates more ignorance.  Everyone thinks that the only people who kill themselves are crazy.  Psycho, right?  That one thing happens and they go off the deep end, but it's so much more," I shook my head, tears in my eyes.  "You might be ignorant, but I think you're lucky.  You're lucky you will never understand."  I started to leave without him.  "See you in school tomorrow?"

"Ramona, wait, let me explain," he called out, but I didn't stop and he didn't pursue me.  I didn't know if I would have a boyfriend in the morning, and at the moment, I didn't care.

When I got home, I started my nightly ritual early.  I went up to my room and cried until I had no more tears to cry.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

The next morning, a bright and beautiful Saturday, I woke up feeling a little better and ready to apologize to Andrew.  I was up and dressed by seven and coming downstairs, I heard my grandmother shouting in the kitchen.  "Stupid dishwasher!  You're not even two years old and falling apart!"  There were some sniffles and then, "oh God, I wish my Nate was here.  He would know what to do."

  

This is why I had never enrolled at Smugglesworth Prep to attend school with Bettina.  My grandmother who was at least eighty years old, needed me too much for me to just leave her here to deal with the large house's upkeep and maintenance.  We needed each other.

"Grandmother," I said gently, taking her by the arms, "why don't you go get cleaned up?  I'll call the repairman and we'll get it fixed by this afternoon."

She sniffed.  "When your grandfather was alive, we never had to call a repairman.  My Nate always took care of everything.  And now he's gone and I don't know what to do.  I've been so lost since he died.  And then your father...I don't think I can do it, anymore, Ramona.  It just hurts too much."

"I know Grandmother, I know.  But you still have me.  I'll take care of everything.  Go wash your face and I'll make us some tea, okay?"

Grandmother nodded, her cheeks still damp with tears.  "Okay, darling, I will do that.  I don't know what I would do without you."

The repairman would be there in an hour, which gave me some time to do damage control.  When Grandmother returned, our tea was ready for her in two white, steaming cups.  We sat at the table and sipped our hot drinks slowly.  

"Ramona, I've been thinking.  I know it's been a long time since it happened and you seem to be doing well, but maybe it would be a good idea to you know, talk to someone."  

"I'm fine Grandmother.  Really!"  I tried to smile at her convincingly.

She gazed at me with wise, tired eyes.  "I've heard you at night crying.  I come upstairs and I hear you."

So my secret was out.  "Yes," I admitted, "you're right.  I feel like everyone treats me like kid gloves, just waiting for my fall.  You're the one who shares this pain with me and you've got Grandfather, Olivia AND father to mourn as well as raising me.  I can't burden you any further.  So I think about him at night and cry.  That's how I've learned how to deal with it.  I don't think talking to a stranger would help anything."

"I want you to be as happy and healthy as possible.  Holding it in is only going to drive you crazy, darling.  Believe me, I know.  I've been researching support groups lately on the Internet.  There's one in town for teenagers who have experienced trauma.  They meet in the old Baptist church over by the garage.  Would you agree to at least give it a chance for one night?  If you don't like it, we can get you a therapist, but I really think it would be good for you, to have a chance to talk to others."

I thought about my tear-filled nights, my superficial cousin, my insensitive boyfriend and about what it meant to be Ramona Bergdorf.  I thought about the strain of staying home instead of going away, in lieu of leaving Hidden Springs and all of its bad memories behind.  I thought about my Grandmother, who I took care of, who I was responsible for and who loved me more than anything.  And lastly, I thought about the empty bedroom, the one that bleach had purged clean of death.  Unfortunately, there was no bleach for the brain.  People who experienced tragedy could not simply be cleansed of the memories.  We had to live with it forever and now I had a chance to meet people like myself, who might understand me and teach me how to live as a full person.

"Okay Grandmother, I'll do it," I told her, putting my hand on hers.

"Ramona, dear, when the repairman comes, will you let him in?" she asked, standing up slowly.  "I'm not feeling very well."

"Of course, are you okay?" I asked, getting up to help her.

She waved me away.  "Oh, just a cold, I'm sure.  Sit back down and finish your tea.  I'll be fine."

Grandmother walked to her room, also very slowly and shut the door.  There she napped for the rest of the day.

Chapter 2.12 Daddy's Little Girl

There never had been a more beautiful pregnant woman.  I know that a lot of guys might say that about the future mother of their child, but they're lying.  Farryn Morgan, even in her third trimester, was still a knock-out.  Pregnancy only amplified her looks.  Never before had she looked so vibrant, so vivacious, and she was carrying our daughter.  My daughter.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

The first couple of weeks that she lived with my family had been a little awkward.  She had never met either of my parents and nothing makes a first impression like showing up two months pregnant.  "Hi, nice to meet you.  I'm Farryn and your son knocked me up."  Yeah, it was rough for a little while.  But once my mother had gotten past the fact that we were not getting married, Farryn had transitioned into our household rather easily.  My parents had fallen in love with her.

I, had fallen in love with her.

Our lives were forever entwined by the baby growing within her, but I'd like to think there were stronger ties that were binding us to one another.  I, the anti-romantic, had begun to have some very real feelings for the girl that was never supposed to have been anything serious.

So we didn't have a traditional love story.  We'd never end up with monogrammed hand towels or stand in line at the City Hall for a marriage license.  We didn't even know how long we would stay together.  She was in every sense of the word, my girlfriend, but it was enough for me.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

Farryn's pregnancy had been smooth sailing.  Sure, there was a brief moment where she had considered an alternative route.  After all, she and Go barely knew each other and she had no idea how he felt about having a baby with someone like herself.  It turned out that having this baby didn't mean that they would be stuck with each other for all eternity after all.  Nothing had to change.  They would take things one day at a time and would deal with decisions as they happened.  Farryn was shocked to find out that Go was ecstatic about having a baby with her.  He was so gentle, so attentive to her needs, that all of her feelings began to deepen and all of her previous notions about relationships were shattered.

Stolid, emotionless Go had thawed out into someone who cared, who had feelings.  He was constantly concerned about her diet and whether she was eating enough.  He'd give her back massages every morning and rub her swollen feet at night.  She didn't know what their future held, as parents or lovers, but it didn't matter.  

Yes, the baby's first months had been filled with happiness and love.  She never got tired of watching him put his hand on her belly, experiencing their daughter inside her.  They both treasured those moments and had reacted to each kick, each nudge, with delight.  After all, that is how all moments should be savored, like every one is the first, because nobody expects it to be the last.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

At thirty-three weeks along, Farryn had gotten used to her body and the little girl cradled snugly inside of her.  Olivia Grace, their unborn daughter, must have been an active swimmer, with all of the activity going on in her mommy's tummy.  But one morning, Farryn woke up, instinctively knowing that something was not right.

"Go," she called for her boyfriend, trying as hard as possible to not betray the panic that was steadily increasing by the second. 

 "Go, can you come here?"

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" he asked, rushing to her side.

She hesitated, looking up at the man she loved, knowing that the news she was about to give him would surely break his newly tender heart.  

"It's Olivia.  I can't feel her moving.  I can't feel her moving at all," she choked out.

He literally gasped, as if all of the air in his lungs had been forced out.  With effort, he managed to say, "my mother's at the store.  I'll call her and see what she thinks we should do."

But Farryn knew, before Marilyn even answered the phone, that Olivia Grace was gone.  Their baby was dead, never to see her parents faces.  She would never sleep in the crib that Nate put together or wear the baby clothes that Marilyn had folded and put in her dresser.  She would never learn how to walk or call Farryn "Mama" or Go "Daddy".  The mistake that they had ended up wanting more than anything, was lost to them.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

After a grueling examination with the obstetrician, they had decided that instead of waiting the two weeks it could take to deliver their daughter, it would be better to induce labor immediately.  But standing at the hospital, Farryn couldn't bring herself to walk in.  She knew that when they came out, they wouldn't be taking their baby home in a blanket, to be tucked inside her crib fast asleep.  Instead, they would be making arrangements for her funeral, to place her in a box that would be buried in the ground, where she would rest in eternal slumber.  It wasn't fair, she thought.  Even though their daughter was no longer with them, Farryn couldn't help but dread walking through those doors.  After eight months, she was experiencing the last moments she would spend as a pregnant woman and she wasn't ready to let go of Olivia Grace just yet.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

For the first couple of days after we lost Olivia, Farryn and I had been close.  She had relied on me to be the strong one.  I comforted her when she would wake up from a bad dream, tears streaming down her face, sobbing into my shoulder.  I held her as she would scream nonsensical words of anguish into my chest.  They were silent sobs, silent screams, the sobs and screams that only a parent who had lost a child would understand.  We understood and we clung to each other with the burden of learning something that should never be taught.  And when she had tired herself out, she would collapse against me, exhausted. 

When I was positive that Farryn was asleep, I would cross our bedroom, my flip-flopped feet making almost no noise on the hardwood floors.  I would stare at the crib, the swing and the toy box that hadn't been moved since we had lost Olivia.  Taking the things out of our room would finally make the Hell we had been living in for the past couple of days real and neither of us were ready to come to terms with that yet.

I would then pick up her teddy bear, holding it close to me, and it would be only then, that I would allow myself to cry for the daughter that I would never get to meet.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

No parent should ever bury their child, but that was a tribulation Farryn had to endure alone.  Go didn't show up for his own daughter's funeral.  Instead, she was left with his parents, two people she was only beginning to feel comfortable with.  They stood around her helplessly, as the tears streamed down her cheeks.  They tried to whisper words of comfort but it was no use.  There was no one who could make this right and the only person who could make it bearable, was M.I.A.  

Farryn had no baby growing in her belly, no sweet-cheeked newborn swaddled in her arms.  She had never felt so empty, so helpless.  There were no words to describe this feeling.  Marilyn and Nate finally left so the young mother could mourn alone.  She didn't come home for hours.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     

A year passed.  I went through the motions but my brain was on auto-pilot, my body performing all the necessary functions in order to survive.  I had taken a break from painting while Farryn and I grieved.  Our clients had understood and told both of us we could take as much time as we needed, but I knew they didn't really understand.  They would soon be clamoring for more paintings to decorate the elaborate homes that they would be entertaining their vapid, spoiled guests in.  To people who value money more than anything, sentiment weighs much less than a dollar.  In fact, I doubt it weighed very heavily in their minds at all.

"Gabriel, you can't continue on like this."  My father's uncharacteristically stern voice whipped me out of the stupor that four Sorrow Annihilators had put me in.  He never called me by my given name.

"Like what?" I asked him, knowing full well what he was talking about.

"Like you're the only person who has ever lost someone!" he cried.  "Like you're the only one who's ever hurt.  Farryn, your mother and I need you, Go.  We need you to come back to reality and start living again.  You have a family and a job to think about."

"You're one to talk," I huffed.  "You gave up your non-existent rock star career when I was a baby.  Of course, you were a Bergdorf, so it wasn't like you needed the money or anything.  Isn't that what you taught me, Dad?  Isn't that why it's called a trust?"  

His face contorted into a mixture of pain and anger, an expression I had never seen before.  "You shut your mouth," my father warned me in a low, threatening voice. 

"My own sister, married off to a Horowitz no less, never to work a day in her life and you're trying to teach me the value of a dollar.  That's rich," I sneered.

He took deep, ragged breaths, desperately trying to control himself.  "I don't care if you ever sell another painting again.  But you have people who love you, who only want you to be happy, Go."

I laughed humorlessly.  "Because that's all that is important, right?  Happiness?  Your daughter is a Trophy Wife.  That's happiness for you, right there.  But my daughter?" I looked him square in the eye.  "My daughter died.  And I'm the only one who gives a f--"

"I loved her too, Go," he interrupted.

"Olivia Grace was my first grandchild.  And I loved her too," he whispered, tears in his eyes.  

He left the room then and I sat down at the bar, determined to get twice as drunk as I had been before my father had barged in, uninvited.  I should have chased after him, but he was my best friend and we always made up eventually.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

The next morning, I woke up sober, the fight with my father still on my mind.  I had slept a torturous seven hours and the only thing I wanted to do was hug my dad and tell him I was sorry.  For once, I couldn't wait to tell him that he was right, that I needed to get back on my feet and be a better son and boyfriend, that I would always love Olivia but knew that she would want me to be happy.

When I got downstairs, my mother was coming out of the kitchen.  "Where's Dad?"

She smiled tentatively, as though she had been the one I had been fighting with the night before.  "He ran to the store to get some syrup.  He should be back soon." 

Just then, her phone rang, and my stomach hit the floor without even hearing the voice on the other end of the line.  

"Yes, this is she," my mother answered in her pleasant phone voice.  "What?  Please tell me you're joking," my mother said softly, tears forming in her eyes.  "Oh, I see.  We'll be there as soon as we can.  Yes, thank you.  Goodbye."

"What happened?" I asked her.  I knew the answer as surely as my own name but I wanted her to be the one to say it, to spell it out.

She closed her eyes, tears slipping out and spilling onto her perfectly made-up face.

"There's been an accident.  Your father...your father didn't make it."

She then flung herself into my arms, which was her typical reaction when something upsets her.  But instead of being annoyed like I usually was, I felt like I was suddenly five years old again.

 I needed my mommy to hold me because my daddy was dead.