Pushing the Limits(34)

My jaw tightens at the thought of them having this conversation, my  mother always so worried about him when he worked. "Why not?" I manage  to ask.

"He said no matter what your relationship was, and even if you never  spoke again, he trusted you more than anyone in the world. He knew you'd  be the best person for Natalia and so he didn't change it."

I bow my head, tightening my eyes as I let the guilt eat me alive.

"He was right," she finally says, putting her hand on top of mine. "You are the best person for her."

"I really love her," I say, my throat tightening as I think about what would have happened to her if I hadn't come back.

"I know." She flashes a genuine smile. "You two are good for each other.  Both grieving over the same person. Both struggling with change."         

     



 





A few hours after my mother leaves, Nat finally comes out of her room wrapped in one of her blankets.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." She plops on the couch with the remote and starts flipping channels.

"What do you want for dinner tonight?" I ask, hoping to get a reaction out of her.

"I don't care."

"We could go out."

"No thanks."

I wrap a hand around the back of my neck and squeeze. All her answers  are short and robotic. I decide against pushing her and leave her alone  for a while.

But the more I'm left to my thoughts, the more they go back to Aspen and her fucking amazing lips.

I'm torn between calling her and waiting until after class Tuesday to talk to her in person.

Before I have time to decide, I hear Nat call my name.

"Coming!" I yell back and head into the living room where she hasn't moved. "Yeah?"

"Can you make spaghetti?"

Her question catches me off guard at first, but the moment I remember  the meaning behind it, I smile wide and reply, "Of course, Shorty."

Her lips spread into a satisfied grin, and a moment later, her eyes fly  back to the TV screen. I head back into the kitchen and dig around my  cupboards, doing a mental checklist if I even have all the ingredients.

"Don't forget meatballs!" she hollers from the couch. "And cheese!"

"I won't!" I shout back with a knowing smile. Ryan's wife was Italian  and from a very large family of amazing cooks. When they first started  dating, he tried to win her parents over by cooking his infamous  spaghetti and meatballs.

It ended up being a complete disaster, and they never let him live it  down since, but it ended up being Natalia's favorite. He continued to  make it even though, compared to his wife's cooking, he was awful.  Tonight was the first night she's requested it since he died.

I manage to make it exactly how she likes it, meatballs, and all. After  cleaning up the kitchen, I grab a beer from the fridge and go check up  on Natalia, who's been reading in her room since dinner.

"Bed in fifteen," I say, popping my head through the doorway.

She doesn't move. Or speak.

"Nat? Did you hear me?" I ask louder.

Nothing.

I walk next to her and grab the book out of her hands. "Hey!" she  screeches and leans up to reach for it, but I pull it up even higher.

"Have you gone mad?" She hisses.

"Have you gone deaf?" I arch a brow.

She makes a face and reaches for it again. "Fifteen minutes," I say firmly, handing it back to her.

"I was reading that." She scowls. I repeat my words again as I walk toward the door. "Yes, I heard you. Bed in fifty."

"Fifteen!" I call over my shoulder with a smile and walk out.

Natalia has another therapy appointment this next week, and even though  she's been going for months, there's not been much progress. I know  she's going through a lot, even more so at her age, but I just wish I  could wrap my arms around her and promise that everything will get  better someday.

But I won't make that promise.

I can only promise that I'll be here with her as we both work through it.

I walk down the hallway to my office and sit behind my desk as I focus  on the boxes piled up in the corner. They aren't mine, but they  represent a part of my childhood. After Ryan's funeral, Mom asked me to  take them for her. She said she couldn't go through them right now or  even look at them. She held on to a few of his personal belongings, but  his childhood memories were just too much to bear. Hell, I can barely  look at them without feeling anger and resentment pile up inside me, but  most likely, Natalia will want his things one day. So until then,  they'll continue to taunt me.

I can remember the day Ryan moved out of the family house fresh out of  high school. Boxes and boxes of his childhood all packed up as we moved  it into his own apartment. Excitement ran high for him that day, but I  was one part sad he was leaving and one part ready to have the house to  myself. I hadn't even entered high school yet, so maybe another part of  me was a little jealous.

Whenever he had friends over, they'd goof around and talk about all the  parties they planned on going to. Although he was strict with his  studies, he knew how to have a good time.

We piled his boxes into the back of a friend's pick-up truck and hauled  them to his tiny new apartment. It was kind of a dump-old, ragged carpet  and dents on the walls with a bad paint job-but he was so excited. Mom  and Dad didn't have the heart to burst his bubble, so they shared in the  excitement with him.         

     



 

Once everything was unloaded into his new apartment, we set up his futon  sofa-slash-bed where he told me he planned on having a lot of  ‘sleepovers' and needed the bed in the living room. I might've been  thirteen, but I wasn't a moron. I knew what he meant.

Then I helped him put together his new coffee table and TV stand that  our parents bought him as a ‘housewarming' gift. It was the only two  pieces in the whole place that looked decent, but I gave him six months  before parties and dancing girls broke those in.

The tattered boxes of old trophies and school art projects are all  Natalia has left of him. He should've been the one to show all his  memories to her. Be the one to tell her all about how he won the  basketball championships, about his disastrous date to prom his freshmen  year, and the picture that perfectly captured the moment his date puked  down his tux during Senior Homecoming. So many memories that were his  to share.

I was surprised when my mom didn't want to take these back, but even  though I hate the thought of them, I'm glad Nat will have them close by  for when she's ready.

I check my watch and head back to Natalia's room.

"All right, Shorty. Lights out."

"Just one more chapter," she whines.

"How many pages is that?"

"Only like … twenty."

"No. Put it down."

She flattens it on her chest and glares at me. "You're a real buzz kill, you know that?"

"And you're a real pain in my ass, but it's still time for bed. So c'mon. Get ready."

"You sure swear a lot."

Shit. "Sorry. I forgot."

"It's not like I've never heard my dad swear before."

"Well, adults sometimes swear. But I'll try to remember not to when you're around, okay?"

She shrugs. "Whatever." She places her book on the nightstand and gets up. "I'm going to brush my teeth."

She begins to walk toward the bathroom and I notice the sadness in her eyes.

"We can talk about it if you want." I know there's a reason she brought  up her favorite meal tonight after everything that happened this morning  with my mother.

"There's nothing to talk about. He's dead."

I quickly grab her wrist and pull her back toward me. "I know, Nat. I  know. But we can talk about him sometimes. It might help ease some of  the pain." She just stares at me, her eyes unreadable. "I feel it, too,"  I explain. "I miss him every day."

"Then why weren't you ever around? Why didn't you visit?"

I'm such a fucking asshole. "I should have." I sigh. "But I was dealing  with my own shi-crap and avoided it by staying away from here."

"What kind of shi-crap?" The corners of her lips curl up a little, and I know she's mocking me.

"Personal crap. When I left, I was in a bad place. I never wanted to come back."

"But you did come back," she counters.

"I did." I press my lips in a firm line. "I had to."

"For me?"

I nod. "Yeah. But for me, too. It was time."

She nods, and the corner of her lips curls up a little more. "Night."

"Good night."

I finish another beer before heading to bed. Before Ryan died, I would  spend my evenings painting, but nothing about painting appeals to me  right now. In fact, the very idea of painting makes me feel even  guiltier. Ryan encouraged me to follow my dream once I discovered it,  even after Mom and Dad vocalized their disapproval about it as an actual  career. He was always supportive and encouraging, not that it surprised  me. He was always selflessly helping others. If anyone deserved more  from this life, it was Ryan. And now he can't even watch his daughter  grow up.