Since You Happened by Holly Hall

Chapter 21

I have to go into work the next day—there’s no excusable reason for me to miss. What am I supposed to say? That my boyfriend left me because I basically lied to him about my past, and now I need a day off? Not a chance. When I enter the hospital, I feel a sense of normalcy trying to prod my consciousness, but it doesn’t fully seep into my bones like usual. I go through the motions of assessing patients, dispensing medications, starting IVs, and filling out charts, but the remnants of last night’s conversation hover around my thoughts like a dust cloud after an explosion. I only receive a couple strange looks from my relief, noticing in the bathroom mirror that it might be due to my haggard, zombie-like appearance.

My twelve-hour shift passes by all too quickly, and I’m reluctant to walk out into the sunshine of morning. All that greets me when I get home is the unbearable weight of silence. I doubt I’ll be able to sleep, so I shower for an indeterminate amount of time and dress in my terrycloth robe to sit on the couch with my hair wet, staring off at nothing.

The numbness has returned—my body’s way of coping with the pain of my emotions by replacing them with something that is not supposed to be as bad. But feeling that emptiness is worse than almost anything else. I should be feeling the sadness and guilt. I deserve to feel it. I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what Landon feels.

Landon.

The ache in my chest returns when I think of him and how far we had come. All I wanted was to make his life better, but all I managed to do is turn it upside down. I can picture him raising his defenses, returning to his former shell of a life, and that thought causes the pain to consume me.

There’s no turning back now. I imagine that every time he looks at me, if he ever does again, he’ll see a living, breathing reminder of the woman he loved and lost. A symbol of that other car that extinguished his future plans. I can’t imagine ever being able to overcome that kind of pain. It’s a sharp reminder never to pry when there are several signs telling me to do otherwise. Landon did his best to push me away; I simply refused to be deterred. And the only good it did was to expose layers of pain that he’d buried deep beneath the surface. I have the deep-rooted feeling that this damage is irreversible.

I wonder how long it will take him to let somebody else in, if he ever does. And the prospect of somebody being anyone else but me is shockingly difficult to accept. I wasn’t supposed to care this much, but somewhere along the way, I fell for him. Hard.

I can’t believe I let him down. I can’t believe I let myself down. Why is it that we fall the hardest when we don’t mean to? I guess if we prepared for everything life sends our way, we wouldn’t fully appreciate its surprises. Right now, though, I don’t appreciate its surprises at all. In fact, I despise them.

I think of showing up at his apartment and literally begging for forgiveness, but I veto that thought immediately. Seeing me won’t do him any good right now. Even if I managed to make it inside to talk to him, my words wouldn’t be enough to lift his sorrow.

My week continues on in much the same way. I return home from work and spend my days off alone with my thoughts. I check my phone to make sure nothing I’m receiving is from Landon, but I ignore the invitations to happy hours and dinners from my friends. I know I’m moping and that, in theory, the best way to combat that is to get out and do something, but I can’t bring myself to risk suffering a breakdown in public. I even miss The Bachelor, but I don’t really miss it at all. I wouldn’t be able to stomach it.

I’m at the stage of grief where I’ve decided that it’s too unbearable to go somewhere where I’ll be surrounded by people yet alone with my thoughts, so I stay within the confines of my apartment. I sustain myself with chips of indeterminable age and salsa from the fridge, and when that runs out, I order pizza. My water bill multiplies, because the only time I feel most at ease is when I’m sitting beneath the showerhead and there’s no way of telling whether the moisture running down my face is water or tears.

Meanwhile, my emotions ping back and forth between sadness, regret, and anger. The sadness and regret I can understand. I’m so, so sad when I think about deceiving a man who was so resistant to trust me, and I regret not telling him about my accident—our accident—sooner. The anger, however, is more surprising.

I’m angry at myself, most of all, and some misguided anger is directed at Landon because he didn’t give me a chance to explain, but I’m also angry that after the night of the accident that changed the rest of my life and ruined Landon’s, I have nothing to show for it. There might be a faint scar hidden in my hair from where my head made contact with the passenger window, but there’s nothing else. I think briefly that I might feel better if I had something obvious I could show Landon, like, “See! I didn’t come out entirely unscathed. I’m damaged, too!” I feel guilty that my thoughts even sink that low, and I doubt anything would’ve changed with Landon.

When Emily calls me to ask for my input on the Driving for Good Gala, I ignore her calls and text her instead, explaining that I’ve come down with some contagious mystery bug. She apologizes profusely and urges me to take care of myself, promising that everything else can wait until I’m well again. I don’t even feel guilty about lying.

I can’t avoid real life forever, though, because Christmas is fast approaching and my family will smoke me out of my apartment if they don’t see me. It’s on my second week of mourning when it dawns on me how strangely desolate my apartment feels. It’s like I filled up the space with memories of Landon; cooking with me in my kitchen, that surprising first kiss, the morning in the bathroom when he told me he wanted to take what we were doing and make it official, the Christmas tree we bought to decorate together that is still sitting in a box in the corner of my living room. And now that he’s gone, the apartment has deflated around me. I don’t know if I’ll ever look at the place that’s supposed to be my home the same way again.

The silence itches at me unbearably until I find myself picking up the phone. I have to do something to distract myself from circling back to that night in my mind and accomplishing nothing. I finally return Emily’s call and arrange to meet her for lunch the week before Christmas to go over some final details for the Gala.

I muster the energy to do my hair and put on a little foundation and mascara beforehand, and after I slog through the snow and enter the little café down the street from Emily’s office, the smell of roasting coffee beans and deli meats helps to awaken me from the fog I’ve been living in for the past few weeks. I take a deep breath and search the tables for Emily’s familiar blonde head, starting her way when I see her sitting near the back. Her eyes light up and she stands to hug me when she sees me, and I feel the first touch of guilt that I lied to her.

“I’m so glad you’re doing better! It seems like everyone’s coming down with something lately,” she exclaims when I sit down. She already has her laptop open in front of her, along with a few files stacked precariously on the edge of the small table.

“Thanks. I am, too. So what is it you’re working on now?”

Emily launches into an explanation of some obstacles she’s faced while planning the Gala, and I’m grateful for something to take my mind off moping. It’s only when her bulleted list of concerns clears away the cobwebs in my mind that an idea hits me.

All these years, I assumed I was pushing people away because I wasn’t ready. I’m not sure, now, if that’s entirely true. I think the heart is more resilient than we give it credit for, and mine was ready to invite someone in long ago. It took meeting Landon to realize that it’s not that simple. I didn’t think I deserved to meet someone like him since the accident. I’ve been burdened by the guilt that shadows me wherever I go, and I couldn’t stand subjecting anyone else to those issues. I’ve only just found a way to be rid of it. I feel like I have to address the guilt—address the victims—directly.

“Sorry,” I say, holding up a hand to interrupt her. “I only just thought of something. I’m really enjoying being able to help you with this, but I feel like I could do more. Is there room in the timeline for me to maybe make a short speech?” My words shock even myself, but deep down in my bones, I feel like this is something I have to do.

Emily is speechless for only the span of a heartbeat before she nods slowly. “That’s an excellent idea, but are you sure? You’ve done so much already; nobody is expecting you to get up there and speak.”

“I know, but I feel like it’s something I have to do, if we have the time. It’s the least I can do.”

Emily gives me an understanding smile. “That will be a very impactful moment.” She pulls out a sheet of paper with the event outline on it and pencils something in. “There will be plenty of time after dinner. I’m sure it will be difficult for you, but I know all the guests will appreciate your perspective,” she says, giving me a small, sincere smile.

It won’t be easy to stand in front of those families, who at some point have lost someone they loved, and tell them about my part in that accident four years ago. But I’m not concerned about how hard it will be for me. I think of the unique message I have to give, and for the first time in weeks, I feel a bit of peace amidst the storm.