Chapter 107
Even though he was still a young guy, Bellamy just wasn't very good at technology. Or maybe he could be good at it, but he just didn't care enough to really play around with any of the apps on his phone. But when it came time to video chat, he was all about downloading Zoom and making that happen, even though she'd tried explaining to him that FaceTime would have been even easier.
Clarke was glad to be in a good mood with him that night. With the school board ruling going in his favor, she was actually downright jovial about things. Avery was feeling spunky, too, and must have napped while Madi had been watching her, because she was a lot more awake than she usually was at this time of night.
"Look at that. It's your daddy," Clarke said, setting Avery down on her stomach on the bed, right in front of the iPad she was using to show his image. "Say hi."
Bellamy waved at her, a huge smile on his face, and said, "Hi, Avery." In response, she made one of her gurgling noises and reached up to put her hand on the screen.
"Oh, look at her. She's reaching out to you," Clarke said.
"Oh, hey, baby," he said, putting his thumb on his screen as if he was pretending to stroke her little cheek. "I miss you. I can't wait to hold you again."
Clarke folded her hands and pressed them against her mouth, trying not to say anything for a moment or start crying. But it was so sweet seeing them interact, even if it was just virtually. She hadn't been sure if Avery would even be able to register who that was, or if she'd act like dogs did when you held phones up to their ears. But of course she was reacting. That was her dad, and she recognized her dad.
"I haven't missed any milestones yet, have I?" he asked.
"Nope." She picked Avery back up, not sure how long she could support herself on her stomach, and held her in her lap. "I think she'll wait for you to come home to do anything major. Won't you?" She kissed Avery's head and couldn't help but notice the way she still was reaching out for the screen and cooing.
"It's so good to see both of you," he said.
"You, too. You look great," she told him. "The beard is . . ." She didn't quite think words could adequately describe just how hot his beard looked, so she did the chef's kiss motion in conjunction with an exaggerated "Mwah!" to convey how much she liked it.
"You think?" He ran his hands over his chin and said. "That's good. I think I have the best beard in here."
You probably have the best of a lot of things, she thought, trying not to let her mind wander.
"So how was your day, babe?" he asked her.
"Oh, it was crazy." She'd had so much adrenaline going at that meeting that she couldn't even remember all of it now.
"What happened?"
She didn't feel like she could tell him yet, and since he was going to be able to keep his job, there was no harm in waiting to clue him in. "Nothing," she said, immediately correcting herself. "Well, nothing bad. It was crazy in a good way. I'll tell you about it when you're home."
"Okay, then."
"What about you, though?" she asked as Avery started trying to squirm all over the place in her arms.
"Well . . . I tried yoga," he revealed.
"And?"
He shook his head. "Never again."
She couldn't help but laugh as she pictured him in all sorts of strange poses.
"I talked a lot in group, too," he added.
"That's good."
"Yeah, I think so. And I had a good one-on-one with my therapist. We started diving in more to the anxiety stuff today."
Having a hard time holding onto Avery—she just wanted to be closer to that screen—Clarke said, "Well, I'm proud of you. I'm sure that's not easy."
"No, it's not," he agreed. "But actually, he said I'm at the point where I can have visitors now. So I don't know if that's something you'd be interested in, but . . ."
"Visiting you?" That wasn't something she even needed to think twice about. "Yeah, of course. If it's something you wanna do."
"It is," he confirmed. "But not 'til Thursday."
"Why? What's Thursday?"
"Our next music therapy day," he replied.
"Oh, I see. What's involved with that?"
"Well, sometimes they bring people in to play music, but this time we're doin', like, an open mic thing," he explained. "I was wondering if you'd maybe wanna sing something."
It wasn't exactly a performance venue she'd ever considered before, but why not? "Yeah. I'd love that," she said.
"Really?"
"Yeah, it sounds fun. I'll just have to decide on a song. Any requests?"
He shrugged. "Surprise me."
"Okay, I will." One idea had already sprung to mind, but she wasn't sure she remembered how to play it. "Should I bring my guitar?"
"If you want," he said, "but they have one here."
She wasn't sure she felt like hauling hers back and forth, so maybe she'd just use what was on hand.
"Well, it's light's out here in about five minutes," he said, "so I gotta go bring my phone back. But this was good for me."
"For us, too," she said, hoping they could do more Zooming in the future. Especially when Avery was still awake like this. "Okay, time to say bye-bye," she said in her baby voice to her little girl. "Say 'Bye, Daddy.' Bye." She took Avery's hand and waved it for her, and Bellamy waved back to her.
"Bye, baby," he said, looking at the screen confusedly then, clearly not knowing how to leave the Zoom meeting. Clarke ended it for him so he wouldn't even have to bother figuring it out.
The second his face was gone from the screen, Avery started to whine and cry.
"Oh, sweetie, it's okay," Clarke soothed, snuggling her, trying to comfort her. "It's okay." She understood the feeling, though. Not seeing Bellamy's face anymore made her want to cry, too. "He'll be home soon," she whispered, hoping that he was one of those people who would be able to leave that place in a month. Phone calls and Zoom meetings were nice, but they didn't compare to the real thing.
...
The night before she went up to visit Bellamy, Clarke felt like she was a teenager again, getting ready for a first date. Which was weird. First of all, because she was no longer a teenager, and second of all, because she didn't have a date the next day. Besides, she and Bellamy had slept together before going on their first date anyway, so . . .
There was the matter of what to wear, of course. She didn't want to show up looking too fancy, so no dresses or anything like that. But she also didn't want to show up looking too casual, so no shorts. Jeans seemed like the best bet. Plus, she knew Bellamy loved the way she looked in just a t-shirt and jeans, especially if it was one of his t-shirts. So Thursday morning, she went ahead and put on a plain white t-shirt that belonged to him and tied it in a knot on the side so that it was more for-fitting and not so baggy on her. She also wore the jeans that made her butt look the best because . . . why not? Bellamy had been working out every day for over a week, so she wanted to look good for him, too.
Since children weren't allowed to visit, she left Avery with her mom and made the drive up to Baltimore alone. She got a little turned around at one point, missed a turn, and Siri had to get her back on course, but she ended up getting there five minutes before she'd told him she would. When she checked in with the nurse at the front desk, she got a tag that said Visitor to wear, and the nurse told her, "He's been looking forward to this."
So have I, she thought. She was really hoping to see a noticeable change in him, even though they were still early in the process.
When she got back to his room, she saw that he now had a whiteboard on his door just like his neighbor did, but instead of displaying his name, his had three stick figures drawn on it that looked like a mom, a dad, and a baby. She wondered if Bellamy had drawn it himself, or if someone had put it there for him.
Heart beating a mile a minute, she knocked lightly, then listened to the sound of footsteps practically running to the door. When he opened it up, the first thing he did was smile at her. And that smile . . . it was infinite.
"Hey, Princess," she teased, trying to imitate his deep voice.
He swooped her up in a hug and claimed, "I don't sound like that."
"Yes, you do. That's my impression of you." She nuzzled her face against his shoulder and breathed in the scent of him as she hugged him back. It was a long embrace, didn't seem like either one of them wanted to let go. His whole body felt so strong and so warm. She'd never forget what hugs from him felt like, but for a while there, she had sort of forgotten how safe and secure they could make her feel.
Slowly, they pulled back from each other, and he said, "Come in," motioning her inside.
She walked in and took a look at his room, noticing that all the photos she'd packed for him were proudly on display. He also had a lot of . . . were those coloring pages? They were definitely coloring pages, and they were taped to the wall.
"Nice job staying inside the lines," she complimented him. With his big fingers, that must have been truly hard for him.
"Yeah, I'm pretty much the coloring master now," he said. "I've been doin' a lot of that."
"And the stick figures on your white board?" she asked.
"Yep, that was me, too. I'm the best artist in the family now."
She laughed, loving that he was joking around so much again. "And what were you watching?" she asked, motioning to the muted TV.
"Porn," he answered quickly. "No, I already tried that. We don't get porn here."
She gave him a knowing look.
"Fine, it was the History Channel," he admitted, turning the whole TV off. "Alright, so tell me, what am I gonna hear today?"
"It's a song you probably don't know, not like a big hit or anything," she informed him. "But you gotta listen to the lyrics."
"Okay, I will then." His eyes roamed over her a bit, and he complimented, "I like your outfit."
"Figured you would." She liked his, too. Black fitted tees on Bellamy were pretty much perfection. The again, most things were.
"You wanna come to lunch with me?" he offered.
"Well, since you've made the food here sound so tasty, how can I resist?"
He smiled and then, slowly, hesitantly, he held out his hand. She placed hers in it, and he led her out of the room and down the hall. Hand-in-hand they went. Hand-in-hand.
Lunch was already underway by the time they got in there. (He'd decided to stop and show her the gym first, in which the only thing that looked enjoyable to her was the yoga ball.) The menu said that lunch was supposed to be lasagna, but . . . it didn't smell like lasagna. Seafood lasagna, maybe, but . . .
"Who do you sit with?" she asked him as they filled up their trays just like they would have in the school lunch line.
"Those two older guys over there," he said, pointing towards the corner. "The bald one's Melvin, the big one's George."
"Melvin and George. And here I thought you'd be in with the younger crowd."
"Well, most of the younger guys don't have kids," he said. "They can't relate to me about that. But Melvin and George have grandkids. They've told me a lot of stories. I've learned a lot from them."
"Oh, yeah? Like what?"
"Like . . . when you go to the pumpkin patch, let the kid pick out any pumpkin she wants. But make her carry it back to the car so she never wants to go to the pumpkin patch again," he said, laughing. "And, uh . . . when your kids tell you they're having bad dreams, don't say, 'It's okay, reality's a lot scarier.' Because that'll just freak 'em out."
She laughed, too, eager to sit down and get to know these guys a bit better. "They sound funny."
"Yeah, they're excited to meet you," he said, grabbing a glass of water for his drink. "They've seen the pictures of you in my room. They think you're really pretty. Which, you know . . ." He looked her up and down. "Obviously."
For the first time in what seemed like a really long time, Clarke felt herself start to blush. It was pretty much only Bellamy who could get that reaction out of her. He knew the things to say and just how to say them.
Lunch was great, probably the most fun Clarke had had in weeks. George and Melvin were both a hoot. They talked a lot about their kids and grandkids, and they wanted to hear about Avery. She wasn't sure why, but she'd expected these people, being alcoholics, to not be so . . . uplifting. But they were. George had been there for two months and said he still had a long way to go, but he was still optimistic. Melvin had missed out on his granddaughter's first birthday but kept using her second birthday as motivation to get better.
Both of those guys, as it turned out, had some music talents, because they were the second ones up during the open mic session. Melvin played the piano, and George did his best impression of Elvis when he sang "I Can't Help Falling in Love With You." Bellamy reached over and put his hand on top of Clarke's while they listened to that.
"Very nice, George," the woman running the whole event said after he had done. "I didn't know you could sing like that."
He rubbed his stomach and said, "Big belly, big voice."
"And Melvin, great on the piano as always," the woman praised. "Who's up next?"
Bellamy quickly raised his hand. "Not me," he said, "but this is my wife, Clarke. Who I've mentioned a lot."
"A lot," somebody said, while someone else took a step further and said, "Constantly."
"She's got a really great voice," he bragged her up, "and she can play the piano and guitar, too, so . . . she's gonna sing."
Clarke nodded. "Yep."
"Great. Come on up," the woman said, ushering her towards the front of the small circle they'd formed.
"Okay." She went up to the performer's chair, picked up the guitar and pick, gave it a few strums to test it out, and said, "Alright, you guys have gotta bear with me here, 'cause I'm a little rusty on this song. I haven't played it in years, and I'm only gonna sing part of it. But it's called 'Better With You.'" She met eyes with Bellamy for a moment, because . . . this was for him. Definitely.
She started out by humming a couple notes, throwing in a few oohs, because that was what the singer sounded like at the start of it, but then she skipped ahead to the part she felt confident that she remembered how to play and began singing.
"If there's a way for us to learn to forgive
There's nothing that I, that I wouldn't give
There's still a space that I have buried away
It's deep in my heart, it's always your place."
She really hoped he was doing what he said he would, listening to the lyrics, because even though she hadn't written them, she still wanted him to know that the feeling in this song . . . it was what she felt.
"I'm better with you. You're better with me
I still miss all our nights
Even fights were all better with you
You're better with me
There is nobody else who can love me the way that you do
Better than you
I still miss all our days and the way you would carry me through
I'll carry you, too
There is nobody else who could love you the way that I do."
Sometimes she closed her eyes while she sang, and sometimes she looked down or at nothing in particular. But she also looked up from time to time, and whenever she did, Bellamy was just gazing at her with this look of wonder on his face.
"Who can love you the way that I do?"
She hummed out the same melody to end the song that she'd used at the beginning, and when she was done, Bellamy just looked . . . so happy. Like he got it. He understood why she'd chosen that song, and he felt the same about it and how it applied to them.
Everyone clapped for her, and George even looked like he was pretending to bow down to her. But her eyes never left her husband's. He was always her favorite person to have in the audience.
...
Normally, Clarke enjoyed music concerts. But this year, choir had been rough in general, because she was an alto like Josephine. And Josephine had been assigned to stand right next to her, too. Usually, Josephine skipped that class to go have sex with Dax, so it was really easy to avoid her when she wasn't even there. But she had to show up to the Cupid Concert—honestly, what a stupid name—or she'd end up with a massive failing grade in the gradebook. Her presence made the whole experience super uncomfortable for Clarke. Plus, she wouldn't stop talking. She hardly sang a note when they were supposed to, because she hadn't been to class and didn't know any of the songs, yet whenever their choir director took to the microphone to explain to the audience why they'd chosen their next song, Josephine was a fucking motor-mouth.
"So Bellamy's not coming back then?" she asked Clarke quietly. At last she wasn't just blabbering at the top of her lungs.
"No," Clarke hissed.
"Well, that sucks. I was totally gonna hook up with him."
Clarke couldn't help but roll her eyes. "You're, like, fourteen."
"Fifteen," Josephine haughtily corrected. "And you were probably my age when you first laid out the welcome mat."
Even though Clarke knew it was probably best not to even engage with her, she felt compelled to correct her on that. "I was sixteen, and he turned eighteen, so it was totally legal," she whispered, talking out of the side of her mouth so hopefully no one would notice. "Which it wouldn't be for you, so I don't know why you're so bummed he's not coming back."
"I don't know why you're not more bummed," Josephine said. "I mean, the guy fucked you for months, goes off to play college football, quits college football, and still doesn't wanna come back and be with you? That's gotta sting."
Clarke shifted around a bit, unable to move much on those narrow risers, and grabbed onto the collar of her choir robe, trying to loosen it. Was it hot in there or was it just her? Or maybe it was the fact that Mr. Nichols was hyping up the next solo, which just so happened to be hers. "Just shut up, okay?" she snapped, beyond annoyed. "I need to focus." If she let herself get too distracted, she'd do something embarrassing, like forget the words to her song.
"And now, for our final solo performance of the evening," Mr. Nichols said, "please give some applause to junior Clarke Griffin."
"Don't screw up," Josephine told her as the clapping started.
Ignore her, Clarke told herself, stepping down off the risers. She grabbed her guitar from where it sat next to the piano and sat down in the chair while her teacher lowered the microphone for her. "You'll do great," he said before walking off to the side. It was nice of him to try to pump her up and everything, but . . . she just wasn't feeling it.
The crowd fell quiet as she positioned her hands on the strings, ready to play. But when it came time to strum that first note . . . she just didn't feel like she could do it. It wasn't stage fright. Couldn't be. She'd been singing solos since her freshman year. Sure, it could be nerve-racking sometimes, but she was used to it.
God, it was so stupid to let a freshman bother her so much, but Josephine really knew how to get under her skin. As much as Clarke hated to admit it, she'd said some things just now that played on her insecurities. Like the insecurity of no longer being wanted by Bellamy. Josephine wasn't exactly wrong in what she'd said. He'd left her to play football, and now he wasn't doing that anymore. But he wasn't coming back to her, either. Whatever they'd had and however special it'd been at the time, it wasn't enough. They weren't gonna end up together.
Her throat felt dry, and she felt embarrassed as hell just sitting there with all those faces staring at her. How was she supposed to do this, though? The Cupid Concert—God, SUCH a stupid name—was all about love songs, and she'd gone and chosen a song about a relationship that had ended but a love that still existed. A song about how people were better with each other, how no one else could love them the same way. Could she have been any more obvious?
Mr. Nichols walked forward after about fifteen seconds of the most awkward silence ever, knelt down next to her, and asked, "Is everything okay?"
"I'm sorry," she whispered, handing him the guitar, "I can't." Hurriedly, she darted back up into the risers, hoping to just blend right back in with the altos and not get too many questions about this tomorrow.
"Alright, we'll move on to our next group number then," Mr. Nichols said, easing right past the awkwardness. He started to explain to the crowd why he'd chosen a Boyz II Men song—honestly, Clarke was still struggling to understand that choice herself—but the crowd wasn't listening as closely now. They were whispering amongst themselves, trying to understand what had just happened.
"Choke," Josephine said with a smirk.
Fuck off, Clarke thought. That girl had no idea what she was struggling with. But if Josephine fell in love, got pregnant, got dumped, and then had an abortion . . . then maybe it would all make sense to her.
...
Bellamy once again held Clarke's hand as they walked together back to his room. He couldn't seem to stop praising her for how well she'd sung today. According to him, she blew everyone else out of the water, even though she thought there had been a lot of other good singers and musicians do their thing. George honestly could have been an Elvis impersonator with that big baritone voice of his.
"That did feel really good to sing today," she said when they were back in his room. Music was . . . freeing, even for people who weren't struggling with addiction.
"Yeah, you did great," he said. "That's definitely the best music therapy session I've had so far."
"Speaking of therapy . . ." She looked up at the clock, disappointed that their time together had gone so fast. "Do you have your group stuff next?"
"Yeah," he said. "Visitors aren't allowed for that."
"Oh, no, of course not." She understood why there were limits to what she could do with him there. She didn't want to intrude or overstay her welcome, so she said, "I should probably go then. I had fun, though." It was strange that she could have such a good time in a rehabilitation center, but then again, she supposed that was the point. Everyone there needed to reminded of things that made life worth living, including Bellamy.
Still holding her hands, he moved a bit closer, and his eyes kept dropping down to her lips, like he was debating whether or not he should try to kiss her. Anywhere else, anytime else, it would have been something he did without thinking, but after everything . . .
"Can I call you tonight," he asked, "make sure you got home?"
"Sure." Part of her was relieved he hadn't kissed her, because it was possible that would mean they were taking things too fast. But part of her was disappointed, too, because . . . she missed kissing him. A lot.
He didn't leave her hanging, though, at least not completely, because he did lift her hand up to his lips and plant a kiss down atop her wedding ring. It was actually pretty romantic, kind of exuded some fairy tale princess vibes. Which was appropriate since she still his princess, after all. Since she always would be.
"Okay, I'm gonna go," she said, forcing herself to let go of his hands. She didn't want to keep him from his therapy. That was really important.
"Drive safe," he said as she backed up towards the door. "Ironic coming from me, I know."
"Ooh." She scrunched up her face.
"Too soon?"
"Maybe a little." If he'd only had one joke that day that hadn't landed, though, that wasn't so bad.
"Alright," he said. "Bye, Clarke."
"Bye." Walking out that door was a lot harder than ending the other night's Zoom call had been. But she still managed to do it, because she knew she had to. She had a baby back at home who would probably want a boob to suck on soon enough, and that downstairs bathroom wasn't going to re-paint itself.
As she walked down the hallway, she couldn't help but feel like . . . like the weird not-date that had still felt like a date was now over, and she was giddy that it'd gone well. If she'd been in high school, she would have already started thinking about what the second date would be like. But the equivalent to that was thinking about what it would be like when he came back home. She felt encouraged, honestly and truly. Because that man with the coloring pages on his walls and the cheesy doodle on his door . . . that man was her husband. It was really him.