In the corner was an older woman crying her eyes out, completely alone, and I couldn’t help but feel drawn to her. Her body was bruised, battered, as if she had just walked away from an ungodly event. Yet the pain in her stormy blue eyes was what haunted me the most. I shouldn’t have stepped into her world of waiting, but I did. I held her, and she didn’t push me away. I held her, and we fell apart together.
After some time, a nurse informed the woman that her grandson and her daughter-in-law were both out of surgery, but in critical condition. “You can see them. You can sit in their rooms, but they won’t be responsive. Just so you know. But you can hold their hands.”
“How do I…” her voice shook and tears fell. “How do I choose who to see first? How do I…?”
“I’ll sit with one of them until you can,” I offered. “I’ll hold their hand.”
She sent me to sit with her daughter-in-law. When I entered the room, a chill raced through me. The poor woman was drained of all of her color. She was almost a living ghost. I pulled up a chair beside her and took her hand into mine.
“Hi,” I whispered. “This is weird and I’m not even sure what to say. But, well, I’m Elizabeth. I met your mother-in-law and she’s super worried about you. So I need you to fight. She said your husband is on his way back from a trip, worried sick. So I need you to just keep fighting. I know it has to be hard, but keep going.” Tears fell from my eyes as I stared at the stranger who seemed so familiar to my heart. I thought about how broken I would’ve been if I didn’t get to at least hold Steven’s hand before he passed away. “Your husband is going to need you to be strong.” I leaned close to her ear and whispered, hoping my words would find her soul. “We have to make sure your husband’s okay. We have to make sure he gets to hold you. We have to make sure he can say he loves you. You can’t let go yet. Keep. Fighting.”
I felt her fingers squeeze against mine, and my stare moved to our hands.
“Ma’am?” a voice said. I turned to the door to see a nurse staring my way. “Are you family?”
“No. I just…”
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
I nodded once.
And I let go of her hand.
“He keeps leaving these Post-It notes.” I sighed, sitting on the seesaw with Faye as Emma played on the monkey bars and went down the slide. “Every now and then I find a Post-It on my window, and I just don’t know what to think about the messages. He says he still loves me and wants me, but then…nothing. I don’t know what to think.”
“He’s playing mind games, and that’s not cool. I just don’t understand why he would do some crap like that to you. Do you think he’s just being rude? Like, getting back at you for not telling him about the accident?”
“No.” I shook my head. “He wouldn’t do that.”
“It’s been months, Liz. He hasn’t called once. He hasn’t reached out except for some random pieces of paper every now and then. That’s not normal.”
“There never was anything normal about Tristan and me.”
She pushed the seesaw down and looked up at me. “Maybe it’s time to find a new normal, then. You deserve a normal life.”
I didn’t reply, but thought maybe she was right.
I just wished the Post-Its didn’t bring me so much comfort that he might come back to me one day.
***
I just need time to figure things out. I’ll be back soon. I love you. –TC
***
Wait for me. –TC
***
Everyone was wrong about us. Just please wait for me. –TC
***
“You have purple stuff on your lips, Sam,” I said as I walked into the café for my shift. He was quick to run his hands over his mouth as I watched his cheeks redden. For the past few weeks, Matty had started tossing Sam into the kitchen for the lunch service to learn to cook the café’s menu. He seemed so happy finally doing something he loved, and it turned out he was pretty amazing at it.
“Thanks,” he said, lifting up a stack of plates to take back to the dish room. As he walked through the door, Faye walked out, and they did an awkward tango of who-gets-to-step-out-of-the-way-first.
When Faye saw me, she shouted my way, greeting me. I smirked. “Nice purple lipstick you have on, friend.”
She smiled. “Thanks! I just bought it.”
“I swear I’ve seen it before.”
“Nope.” She shook her head. “I just got it last night.”
“No, I mean, I think I’ve seen it like, five seconds ago on Sam’s lips.”
Her face flushed, and she twiddled her fingers together, rushing over to me. “Oh my gosh, shit! Creepy Sam wears the same lipstick as me? I need to find myself a new color.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “You’re so full of crap. So tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Your nickname for his you-know-what.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh my gosh, Liz. We are almost thirty. Do you think we can not act like five-year-olds for one day?” The seriousness in her voice as she walked over to the counter to get a customer a cheese Danish made me wonder if she was truly growing up—until she shouted across the room, “Supersized Sam!”
I burst out laughing. “And to think, these past few months you convinced me that Sam was a creep.”