Page 93 of All of Him
He clenched his jaw, embarrassed from crying so much, and looked me in the eyes.
“I—”
“Don’t say it,” he cut me off. “I told you not to say it yet.”
I wanted to reassure himsomehow, so instead of saying the words I’d never shared with anyone, I leaned in.
He kissed me fiercely, his hand tangling in my hair and his tongue finding mine. It was as if he was trying to block out his dark thoughts, as if kissing me held the key to escaping them forever. My nose brushed against his damp cheek, but I wiped the other dry with my fingers. I wanted there to be a way to make this all go away, to pick up where we left off in Ireland. But that was impossible.
We had to do the right thing—tackle this head on.
I let the moment go on for longer than intended, only wanting to give him a quick confirmation that I would still be waiting. Instead, it was minutes later when he finally pulled away, both of us out of breath and emotionally worn out.
“I’m still waiting for you,” I said, standing up to leave before I did something we’d both regret. “And you know where to find me in the meantime.”
With that, I left his house without waiting for a response. When I got into my car, I beat my fist against the steering wheel. I was so fucking angry with him for doing what he’d done, but so happy that he’d made it through. I cried like a baby, not caring that my car was still parked outside his house.
It was as if all the pain he had gone through after the accident transferred to me. I felt his anger, his sadness, and the emptiness of his depression. I understood why he had done what he did and why he needed to be alone for a while. And as much as I wanted to drag him up and out of everything he was feeling, he had to dig deeply and do it himself. I could only hope that he would let himself get better.
52
Noah
I SEARCHED THE SMALLcafeteria-style room for the dark-haired woman I’d hoped to never see again. Some women in gray linen pants and plain white T-shirts hugged their visitors. Others, like me, looked tense and uncomfortable. My eyes wandered, looking for the woman who had raised me but didn’t deserve to be called a mother.
Once I spotted her, her hair in a messy ponytail as she looked down at a photo, I took a deep breath and made my way over. Her eyes traveled up my torso, finally landing on my face. I fully expected her to not even know who I was after all the things she’d taken over the years. Instead, she cried.
Fuck.
I sat down on the fixed round metal stool and leaned forward so only she could hear me.
“No tears,” I said. “None of that.”
She looked up at me, trying to stifle her cries, then handed me the photo she’d been holding. It was Garrett and me when we were in elementary school. We were wearing matching red sweaters that she’d bought us for Christmas—the only gifts that year because the rest of the money had gone to drugs.
“I’m so glad you came to see me,” she cried.
Her eyes were sunken, wrinkles spreading from their corners. Still, she looked better than she ever had. For a brief moment, I felt bad. I felt bad that we hadn’t spoken in years and that she’d lost Dad. Then, I remembered that she was part of the reason Dad was dead.
“Let me just make this clear,” I started, speaking firmly but quietly. “I’m only here because my therapist thinks I need to get my demons out.”
My mother narrowed her eyes, confused.
“Yeah, that’s right. I inherited some of your mental health issues. So, thanks for that.”
“Noah,” she cried, “I don’t even know what to say. I…I’m just so sorry forall of it.” She sobbed, covering her face with her hands.
Her words bothered me, and I wanted out of that stuffy room as fast as possible. The only way that was going to happen would be to rip off the Band-Aid. To do the unthinkable.
“It’s too late for that, Mom,” I said. “But I am sorry that you never worked through your addiction. It would have been a lot easier, you know? And I have to forgive you.”
The words felt sour on my tongue, my throat burning from speaking them, but I meant them. In the way that my therapist had explained it, I did forgive her.
“I forgive you,” I continued. “But only because you never did anything malicious. It was all the drugs, not you. I can’t fault you for being absent. Now, I can go back and fault you for doing the shit in the first place, but you probably already regret that.”
She nodded and reached out to grab my hand, but I shook my head.
“Your father and I, we were sober for a few months,” she started. “We were going to fly out to see you two, to prove we could do it. And then…we got the call about Garrett.”
