It’s because I caretoomuch.
It’s been ten years, but the loss still cripples me every time I allow my mind to wander to her. Ten years of grief. Ten years of missing her with every breath, of hating every milestone that passes byunshared.
I can’t think about all the things she was supposed to be here for — graduations and birthdays and broken hearts. I can’t let myself remember her smile that day, as she slipped into her wedding dress and called out for me in that lilting,melodictone.
Hey there,Delilah!
It was our favorite inside joke, a play on the lyrics of a once-popularradiohit.
Help me with my zipper, will you? And pour us some of that champagne — just don’t tell Mom I let you have any. You may be underage, but I need my maid-of-honor to have a toast with me while we still have the samelastname.
She was stunning, as she made her way down that aisle. I held her bouquet while she said her vows, and cried like a baby when my new brother-in-law promised to have and to hold herforever.
None of us realized just how short theirforeverwouldbe.
My heart is pounding in my chest. My lungs feel tight, my airway restricted by a lump of grief I can’t seem to swallow. My head is crowded with memories and for once, I’m struggling to push them back into their box. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shakeMimioff.
How do I look?She laughed, a tinkling sound of delight.Do you think Charlie will cry, when he sees mecoming?
I feel myself beginning to unravel, right there on the platform, as Phoebe and Nate walk hand in hand down the aisle, followed by Gemma and Chase. I know it’s my turn to move, know I should be walking toward Luca and joining the procession downstairs to the deck, where we’ll be eating dinner, but my feet are locked to theground.
Shelby coughs impatiently at my back, as if to sayget amoveon!
But I can’t. I’m stuck. Swamped by suddengrief.
Luca appears, a look of concern on his face as he stares down at me. I know my eyes are wild — I can only imagine the emotions he reads in their depths. Whatever he sees, it’s enough to make his jaw clenchtightly.
“Not here,” he says lowly, reaching down and twining his fingers with mine. And I can’t explain it, but as soon as he touches me some of the panic ebbs, until I can breatheagain.
With a small nod of approval, he squeezes my hand, his grip warm and strong, and starts leading me down the stairs. I’m so lost in my own thoughts, I don’t realize we’ve separated from the rest of the group until several moments later, when Luca sits me down on a low bench between two shallow tanks. A hanging signproclaims:
STINGRAY TOUCH TANK! Please keep yourhandsflat.
We sit on the child-sized bench with our shoulders pressed together, watching the eerie, translucent creatures glide gracefully though the mangroves, for once unbothered by a crowd of kids sticking their stubby fingers into the water. I focus on the rhythm of Luca’s chest moving steadily in and out, matching my breaths to his. After a while, my throat clears and my heart stops pounding like a cardiac arrestpatient.
“You okay?” Luca’s voiceissoft.
I glance over at him, straight into his eyes, and see so much concern there, my pulse stutters again. “Iwillbe.”
“You wanna talkaboutit?”
I blow out a breath and drop my head into my hands, feeling weak and lost and more fragile than I’ve allowed myself to be in years. Luca’s hand hovers for a second, then lands on my back. He rubs my shoulders in soothing strokes, until I relax beneath histouch.
“Just breathe, babe. In and out.” His fingers flex against my skin. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.Promise.”
I turn my head to look at him and I’m horrified to find there are tears gathered in the corners of my eyes. He spots them and flinches, like I’vestruckhim.
“No fixing this, I’m afraid,” I whisperbrokenly.
He doesn’t say it aloud; his eyes do the talkingforhim.
You can tell me. I’m here for you. I’ll hold you until itpasses.
I’m too close to him. I can’t breathe with him in my space, pressed up against me, stroking my back and being so alarmingly kind. I need some room, if I’m going to talkaboutthis.
He must sense that, because he doesn’t move a muscle as I rise to my feet and start pacing in front of the bench, breaths puffing out in time with my footsteps. My high heels click against the cold cement floor for several long seconds as I attempt to wrangle my scattered thoughts into a cohesive sentence. Luca waits, watching me carefully. He knows me well enough to recognize that I won’t speak until I’m ready, that pushing me to talk will only force my guardbackup.
“It’s stupid,” I say finally, clearing my throat. “I shouldn’t be this upset. I thought I had a handle on it. I’m just happy it happened now, instead of tomorrow. If I ruined Phoebe’s wedding, it would beunforgivable.”