“It’s okay to hate him,” Adam explains, wringing his hands together. “I always just assumed you came here because you loved him.”
“So you were listening?” I glance at him, uncertain.
“I—” He doesn’t know how to defend himself, so he doesn’t. Instead, he tugs the white suit jacket from his arms and mashes it between us. “They said it’d be in style. I don’t know why I believed them.”
“They?” I ask, glad he’s giving me an out to the previous conversation. I’m not ready to explain my relationship with his brother. It’s been seven years, sure, but I haven’t practiced saying the words aloud.
“My parents,” Adam mutters, furrowing his brow. He releases his top button and takes a deep breath before sighing. “They don’t want to mourn anymore. They’re trying to transition this day into a celebration of his life. Like a party. A damned death party. Because if he was coming back, he’d be here by now.”
Stunned, I struggle between resting my hand on his arm and leaving it tucked between my legs. He’s suffering from Ollie’s disappearance more than I ever knew, and more than I ever allowed myself to accept. If I was the only one really hurt by it, then I was able to wallow in my sorrow. Yet, I’m not the only one Ollie left behind. It’s time I face that.
“My mother’s facade is crumbling. She acts distant, cold, pained by this day. But I’ve seen the smile she lets through,” Adam continues, unphased by my indecisive reactions. “I should be happy for her. I should be happy she could rise above the devastation and continue planning a future for our family. But I hate her for it. I hate her.”
This time my fingers slip around his forearm, pressing warmth into his skin.
“Is that how you felt about him? The hate. Just hating because.” His fingers rest on top of mine, clutching them. “Because our opinions differ? Because they smile when they should be frowning? Because they think themselves above us?”
“I hated him because he was the only friend I had,” I whisper. “He was the only one who was there for me, but even he didn’t care how I felt. Any opportunity he found to shove me into the dirt, he grabbed with both hands. I was suffocated by his friendship. And then he just leaves me alone?” My teeth clack together in a growl. “I can see his arrogant face: that smirk, the smugness in his eyes, even the defiant quirk in his brows. His gaze was always slightly narrowed like he had to look down at me to see me. But he spoke out for me when others insulted my family and stood beside me when I was hurting.”
“He…” Adam begins but his words fall to silence.
“He looked up to you,” I tell him. “He said he was like that because you were.”
The muscles in his cheeks tremble, then the ones in his lower lids. I want to assume it means he’s on the verge of tears, but I know better than that. I know that’s a response of guilt in his family. I’ve seen it one too many times now not to know.
“How stupid,” Adam grumbles, covering his face with both hands. “Why would you want to be like me? I wasn’t worth anything back then.” He half chuckles, half whimpers the words into his palms. It’s followed by a powerful shudder that reverberates through his chest. That, that’s the indication that he’s about to break into tears. He doesn’t usually cry on this day. He waits until the day after, when there’s no one gathered here for Ollie’s sake. His patience affords him the peace to sob on his knees in front of the garden. I doubt he even knows I know.
“It’s almost midnight,” I announce, stroking my fingers through his hair just once. It’s the only affection I can show him, because if I show more, then he’ll misunderstand my intentions. “Let me send you home.”
“Don’t bother.” He swipes at his eyes with his sleeve before clambering to his feet. “Mom’s bound to still be here. I’ll ride with her.” Clearing his throat, he stoops to pick up his suit jacket and flops it over his arm. He won’t look at me. It isn’t embarrassment, but I have yet to figure out what emotion he’s feeling. There’s no redness in his cheeks, no stuttering in his words. He just won’t look at me, or anything for that matter. His gaze holds on his shoes, staring beyond them.
“Oh! This is where you’ve been,” Janette exclaims as we step out into the hallway. “I had a feeling you two were together.” Adam doesn’t reply. He just strides past her, watching the steps he’s taking along the hardwood floor. And I follow his trembling form, wanting to reassure him just for a moment. I’ve never been there for him. For seven years, he’s reached out for him, looked out for me, shared the loss with me, and I just resented him. Sure, he has a way of saying hurtful words, the way Ollie used to. But they came from a good place.
“Adam!” I shout, hard-pressed to keep up with his long stride. We’re standing just outside the funeral home in the darkness. It’s not raining anymore, but I can still smell its residue in the air. “It’s okay to hate them!”
That halts him. His head turns as though he’s going to eye me over his shoulder, but his gaze remains downcast.
“Is it?” he confirms, his jaw clenching.
“It is.” I continue to his side and wrap my arms around his shoulders. “Eventually, we have to move beyond it. For now, it’s okay. I could never speak my peace to Ollie. I could never dissect my emotions with him. That’s why I need your help. But you, you can. Just tell her you’re not ready. I know it doesn’t solve everything, not even close, but it might solve enough.”
“What’s going on?” Janette hurries through the door behind us, her heels clacking on the sidewalk.
“We can talk about this tomorrow,” I whisper, leaning back from him. “When you come back to the garden.”
“When I—” He interrupts himself with a sharp inhale. Now he looks a bit embarrassed. I wish I could better understand the emotions he’s feeling. I wish I had a fuller understanding of his emotions in general. Because his emotions are complex, and he’s not usually as open about them as he was tonight. “Hate” is the easy explanation for how he feels about his mother. I know, because I feel that same complicated “hate” for his brother.
It isn’t purely hate, and that’s why it’s okay.
“What’s wrong?” Janette’s voice rises in volume, convinced we didn’t hear her the first time.
“It’s been an emotional day,” Adam states. “For most of us.” His blue eyes lift, boring into me for a split second before his back is to me again. He heads for the car, not even waiting for his mother to join him nor bothering to answer her. She huffs in annoyance but jogs to keep up with him. His father is the last in line, gliding through like a ghost.
“Have a good night. Drive safe!” I call after them. Lifting my hand in a wave, I feel the towel around my shoulders slide down my back. In everything that’s happened today, I almost forgot I’d even gotten soaked to the bone. Janette returns my wave, cheerily chattering to her husband in the process.
I understand where Adam’s coming from. It’s hard to see them smile today.
Once they leave, the parking lot is empty, save for my father’s old pick up. In typical fashion, he likely won’t head home tonight. He’ll spend all night sitting alone in the eating hall. Not because he was close with Ollie, but because he and my mother are surviving in two separate worlds right now. And I survive in a third world, one where it’s always raining.
Walking back inside, I lock the door and head for the eating hall.
“Did they leave?” My father asks, turning to greet me in a tight hug. Instead of sitting at the tables, he always just stands in the doorway. It’s like he’s inspecting the room for damage, but unable to find any. So he just keeps looking.
I nod.
“You spent an awful lot of time with Adam today,” my father continues, leading me out of the dining hall. We walk down the hallway with slow steps, taking our time getting to wherever my father is leading us. “You don’t usually let him comfort you like that. Did something change today?”
“Yeah, something,” I agree. “Something in me, not between us.”
“You say that but—” he begins, but I talk over him.
“—I say it because it’s true. I could never consider Ollie’s role model to be anything but…but…” I don’t know how to continue the statement. In honesty, I don’t mind that Adam was once Ollie’s role model. I know Adam used to be a worse person than he is now. He’s grown immeasurably from the young boy who once hated everyone. His tongue is still as sharp as ever, but his intentions aren’t.
“But he’s not Ollie’s role model anymore,” my father offers. “Is that why we’re conflicted?”
“We’re not conflicted about anything,” I argue. I’m the one who’s conflicted.
“I know a thing or two about relationships, my dear,” he continues. “They take effort, more effort than you can bring yourself to put in sometimes. And his effort never seems to wane. So it’s your turn. Make sure I’m not the one here to greet him tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I relent. I had planned to be the one here with him tomorrow anyway.
“You don’t have to give up on Ollie,” my dad then mutters. “He could still be alive. It’s not giving up to wish him goodbye.” Isn’t it? If I wish him goodbye, then I’m saying that he and I won’t see each other again.
Goodbyes are meant to be permanent.