Page 25 of Take Me Back
Life is short.
Eat the cake.
Buy the shoes.
Fuck the guy.
You notice I didn’t say marry him, though, right?
I love you, girl. More than any sister I could possibly have, because we probably would’ve fought over Barbies like little bitches.
Please, keep living. Don’t let this steal the joy I want for your life.
Your BFF (and if you replace me, I’ll haunt you),
Benjie
Kat held it together until they sat the casket on the framework that would lower it into the ground. She rushed out of the crowd of people, lilies in hand, and threw herself over it, sobbing loudly enough to be heard in the next county.
“No! Why would you do this to us?”
Stepping forward, I peeled her off the casket and held her in my arms, urging her to return to our seats. Once there, I pulled her onto my lap.
Kat didn’t hear a word anyone else said because she was lost in her own grief. Whether it was all for Benjie or she was reliving the loss of her mom, I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter.
I carried her to the car, hoping my strength could keep her together, but inside I was shredded, knowing that I had another funeral to attend this week.
I had to tell her. It was time to come clean.
But when we got home, Kat shut herself in our room and sobbed for four hours. I sat on the bed, silently smoothing her hair for three of those hours until she picked up her head.
“I’m so sorry, baby. He came and saw me a couple months ago, and I had no idea.”
“He should’ve told me! It’s not fair. Why are all the good people taken too soon?”
Her words tore through me because I was feeling the same thing.
“What can I do?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. I want to be alone. Just leave me alone.”
So I left her alone for the rest of the night, against my better judgment.
And the next day.
When I brought her food, she screamed at me to get out. Leave her alone. Told me there was nothing I could do.
The next day, she dragged herself out of bed, her tears dry and her titanium spine tempered and stiffened. Any pieces to pick up had been swept behind the wall she built.
“Don’t you need to go to work?” she asked as she stood in the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“I’m not going until I know you’re okay.”
Kat met my gaze, her expression completely blank. “I’m fine. You don’t need to babysit me anymore. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.” Her tone was cold and lifeless as she stirred in a spoonful of sugar. This wasn’t the woman I knew, but everyone dealt with grief in different ways.
“Kat—”
“Stop.” The single word snapped through the kitchen like a bullwhip. “I need you to give me space. I’m handling this the only way I know how. So I’m going to get dressed, go to the office, and try to figure out what normal is again.”
