My Church Offers No Absolutes
For Mo, Kaytee and Sharon. All canon mistakes are my own. Take them in stride and hopefully enjoy.
There are a lot of things Jane doesn't remember about that day, and a few things she does.
She doesn't remember what exactly the voice on the phone told her, doesn't remember what time it was, doesn't remember the front door opening or Rafael and Mateo walking in.
She remembers how the floor felt on her knees and remembers at one point Rafael's arms around her and she remembers Mateo crying, too. But, most of all, she remembers the pain. Remembers how it felt to have her heart torn to pieces. Remembers how hollow she felt after.
That, she wishes she could forget.
She's stopped watching her current favorite telenovela about thirty episodes ago, when the lead protagonist's love interest turned out to be alive.
It was the trope she was rooting for before (when she was a wife when she had a husband when she wasn't a widow when she was married when Michael was alive when-) but now, when she watched it, she had to go to the bathroom and vomit because why does she get to have the love of her life back and I don't - why why why - why can't I have one more trope in the telenovela that has been my life - FUCKING WHY?!
No one ever warned you about how complicated it is to mourn while raising a child.
Jane thinks it's a setback - in the most uninsulting way possible because she loves her son more than anything in this world and nothing else no longer comes close - but she has to admit that it's as if she has to press pause on mourning again and again and again because of that fear in her that this will scar Mateo for life, that it will traumatize him from making attachments. She's constantly caught between crying and making sure Mateo doesn't see her cry, between being angry and making sure that anger never ever ever gets taken out on Mateo, even by accident, even though she sometimes feels like she wants to burn down the world. Caught between going through all stages of grief while trying to make sure that she doesn't regress back a step whenever Mateo asks about Michael and she has to explain it all over again.
She's read up on children and grief and all the best ways to handle loss in the family around children and she's stalked a few open forums and blogs by widows with kids but she still feels so lost and unprepared and the burden sometimes feels like too much.
Jane knows she's incredibly lucky to have her parents and Abuela in her corner, and Rafael (until he's off to jail) and Petra, and Lina (even though she can feel something changing, a strain that wasn't there before). She's so lucky that are able to help her with Mateo, that she can at least share that burden with them.
But her life is still a series of Mourn. PAUSE. Mourn. PAUSE. Mourn. PAUSE. over and over again and she doesn't need to read about it on an Internet post to know it's probably the unhealthiest way to deal with grief in existance.
But she is a mother first. Has been since before she ever got married. And as such, she puts her child above herself.
That's when the panic attacks start.
The somewhat-fictionalized retelling of her Abuela'a life is sitting in her computer files almost finished, but she can't bring herself to work on it. It doesn't feel right at the moment - no matter how much love she still holds for it, and how much desire she still has to see it published - and there's something in the back of her head (an idea, maybe?) that's screaming to be let out instead.
When she finally sits down at a computer and fills a Word Page with paragraphs upon paragraphs, it's about Michael. And her and Michael. And their love.
It feels right.
(She promises herself she'll give them the happy ending she never got.)
When the book is out and published and sold and read by people other than herself and her publisher and her family, she starts to feel like she can breathe again without the difficulty she's felt before.
There's something different about it, she can feel it in her core, but she's trying to accept different.
Nothing will ever be the same after Michael. The fact that there's even an After Michael to talk about still makes her breath catch, but she's gotten better at her breathing exercises as the years went by.
She tries dating again. She lets herself fall back into Adam. Creates something new and different yet same with Rafael.
It's as good as it can be. After Michael.
She doesn't remember a morning without thinking of Michael first when she wakes up because it hasn't happened yet.
A part of her hopes she never does, no matter how much it hurts the split second later when she remembers.
(Another, more rational part of her keeps saying It's not fair to Rafael., but she doesn't let it make her feel bad. She's been told she was selfish before. She might as well be now.)
Jane remembers everything about that day. Remembers how long it takes for Rafael to open the door, remembers the look on his face and the sound of his voice. Remebers everything they've said or wanted to say, remembers how many steps she takes before she actually looks into the room and sees him.
Michael.
She sees him and, in a split second, it's like her heart adjusts and she knows. She knows it's so it can beat in tune with his.
She doesn't think she'll ever forget that moment. The moment when her heart started beating right again. The moment when the hollowness seemed to disappear, and when she realized that now, the only After Michael she will have to think about will be After Michael Came Back.
She swallows a sob and can feel tears stinging in her eyes, but her main instinct has been "don't let Mateo see you cry" for so long that she forgets Mateo isn't there with them.
Michael looks lost in thought but doesn't move his eyes from her, taking her in as much as he can.
Jane takes careful steps towards him, as if she's afraid it's all just a trick, a projection. A hallucination her mind has made. She's barely aware of anything else other than him, as if everything else is the dark part of the stage and the light's only shining on the two of them.
He finally speaks: "I'm sorry, Jane-" and the sound of his voice breaks something in her. Her steps aren't slow nor carwful as she rushes to him, hugging him with all her might, and all the sobs she's swallowed come rushing out, tears falling.
She's got questions, sure. So many. And she wants them answered. But not now. Not just yet. She wants to let herself to just be happy, for one simple moment, as he's there with her again; his hands around her waist, face in the crook of her neck. He breathes her in as she does him, and they're attacked with every memory they've ever made together.
She wants to have that one moment. Everything else be damned.
She'll deal with it later.