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Standard disclaimer.
Mrs. Jackson was gone.
I had to get used to that. But, how could I?
She meant so much more to me, than just my patient. She was the mother figure and grandmother I craved and missed, respectively.
I felt as though, a piece of my heart had broken off and died.
I needed to get out of this room...to let her family grieve in private...to say goodbye.
Backing out of Mrs. Jackson's room, I recited my own silent and painful good-bye, for the genuine, wonderful, woman she was.
For the impact she'd made on my life.
I gathered my flowers and coat and walked home in a numb fog, as I considered Mr. Jackson's words.
Making a life with someone was all-encompassing.
You either took a chance, or put up road blocks.
Whichever way...you were taking a risk, gambling with fate.
Toying with your own happiness.
My phone buzzed with a text.
Marley: What's new?
Me: Mrs. Jackson died today. I can't believe she's gone. On my way home now.
Marley: I'm so sorry. I'll meet you at your place.
Marley came bearing Chinese food.
She let me cry on her shoulder, over a bottle of wine.
She knew how fond I'd grown of Mrs. Jackson and how the lady had slowly infiltrated my life.
Mrs. Jackson made me question my ideals, as if she were a reflection of the person, I hoped to become, despite my upbringing, my hardened heart, and my meaningless flings.
Me and Marley ate ice cream and watched bad TV, and I told her everything.
About my tattoo, making up with Sam, making love, and feeling love.
And it felt good, to let someone in.
"For whatever it's worth, I'm proud of you, bitch," Marley said, throwing away our empty food containers.
"For what?" I asked, before taking the final sip from my wineglass.
"I've known you a long-ass time," she said, topping off our glasses and then sitting back down. "And your life can be divided into a before and after period."
I kept my mouth shut, reflecting on her words.
"The Mercedes before Tom, was fun, optimistic even, despite your mother not really acting like much of a parent, most of the time. Even after your grandma died, you still seemed to have hope about the future."
I did.
I missed my grandma desperately, but she made me want something better for myself.
"The Mercedes after Tom, was hardened, broken, and closed off. And I got it. God, I so got it." She adjusted herself on the couch, in order to face me better. "Despite all of that, you still tried to have some fun. It's just...the fun was different."
"Different how?" I asked.
"Like you were just filling a need...taking care of business."
I nodded, because, she was right. So right. About all of it.
I had just been going through the motions, except, when it came to school, my job, and Adrian.
"First," I started, "I hate that you just marked my life, with that bastard's name."
"Why not say his name out loud?" she asked. "You want him to remain anonymous? Let's out that asshole! Tom! Tom! Tom! The fucking bastard!"
I laughed, while taking another sip and almost choked on my wine.
"Second," I said, after clearing my throat several times, "Your life could be marked by a before and after, too, my dear bitch-ass friend."
Marley's eyes darkened, at the reminder of her brother's death, and I grabbed her hand.
"But shit, I admire how you handled it, Marls. I wish I'd been more like you. You got help and never changed who you were," I said. "I mean, I saw how you were different, because I've known you for so long, but you didn't let it...take you down."
"I love you, ass head," Marley said and grabbed me for a tight hug. "Thank you for finally letting me in. Promise you won't shut me out again, or Sam...or anybody."
She was right.
I had closed myself off in ways, even I, hadn't realized.
"Promise," I said, but still I hoped, I could hold up my end of the bargain.
Besides, if I hadn't promised, Mrs. Jackson might come for me in my dreams and kick my ass.
Later on, I took a glance at the time, and it was already nine o'clock.
I realized, Sam would've been home for a couple of hours by now.
And I'd never even called him. Never responded to his flowers and note, and never invited him over.
Looks like I fucked up again.
I put my head in my hands, feeling my brain abuzz with worry.
All at once, there was knock on my door and my stomach bunched into a hard ball.
I was afraid it was Sam coming over, to give me a piece of his mind.
To tell me I'd hurt him again.
Marley answered the door and it was him. She let him inside.
My heart strained against my rib cage.
I wanted to race into his arms and push him away at the same time.
My emotions were all over the map.
I wanted him so badly, it terrified the hell out of me.
"Hey," he said. He stood in front of me, and my fingers tangled in the afghan, draped across my legs.
I couldn't look at him.
If I saw his eyes, I'd find hurt, pain, anger, I thought.
But if I looked deeply enough, I'd also find love. The flip side of fear, Mrs. Jackson had said.
Sam knelt down and lifted my chin with his fore finger.
My gaze slid up to meet his.
His eyes were soft and concerned, not angry.
"Sam, I'm sorry, I..."
"I'm here to relieve Marley," he started. "She called and told me what happened. And, we agreed to do a shift change at nine o'clock."
I stared at Marley, confusion in my eyes.
"That's right, dill weed," she said, her voice smug. "Now, make room for him and let him feed you some more ice cream."
I looked between Sam and Marley, my heart swelling tenfold.
She grabbed her coat, kissed my cheek, and headed for the door.
"You're in good hands now," she said. And then she was gone.
Sam immediately wrapped me up in a hug.
"I'm so sorry you lost your friend. I want to be here for you tonight."
I was so relieved, he wasn't mad or hurt.
He wasn't pushing me to think, or talk about anything that happened today, or yesterday.
He understood I was grieving and left it at that.
"Sam, I wanted to call you, to tell you those flowers were amazing, and invite you over."
"Shhh..." he said, wrapping us in the blanket. "We have plenty of time to talk about all of that. For now, let's just be together."
We lay on the couch, staring into each other's eyes, saying nothing and everything all at once.
Then, I told him stories about Mrs. Jackson, and how she was a pain in the ass, but also how she pushed me to be a better person.
Kind of like, what he had been doing...without him even realizing it.
He was just being him.
Loving me purely. Easily. Incredibly.
Later, we retreated to my bedroom, to watch bad reality TV, and he held me all night.
Before we drifted off to sleep, he whispered in my ear,
"Mercedes, I want us to work through the sad and hard parts together. To always find our way back to each other."
I nodded.
Understanding Sam was here for the long run, he didn't intend to go anywhere and somehow, my heart felt lighter.
Sleep came easily that night, as I laid, wrapped, in his strong, capable arms, and the assurance of his love for me.
Next morning, I woke with the initial shock and sting of losing someone.
But, underneath the surface of my raw emotions, were the underpinnings of truth.
Of love. Of friendship. Of hope.
As I lay awake in Sam's arms and listened to his soft breaths, my eyes focused in, on his drawing across the room.
I considered his bedtime confession and wondered if in fact, we had weeded through all the baggage in our paths and finally found a way to each other.
It felt like we had. And even if we hadn't, we were on course to do so.
We both had class that morning, but agreed to meet back at my place in the afternoon.
Neither of us was scheduled to work, and we wanted desperately to spend the day together.
I called my supervisor, to ask, if she'd heard about any of the funeral arrangements for Mrs. Jackson and whether I could have the time off to attend.
She assured me that I could.
Before we hung up, she said,
"You know, every one of us has had a Mrs. Jackson in our lives. A person we've grown close to, despite trying not to. And it's a good thing. In fact, it's a necessary part of life. It means we're human, Mercedes."
Now, isn't that the truth.
Sam and I went out for a late lunch and then tooled around the local art museum together.
He showed me his favorite artists and helped me appreciate, some of their earlier works.
It was comforting to be with him.
To do normal things with him.
To start folding him in to my life.
We made love that night on my terms.
I was on top, and it was fast and frantic, soft and sexy, and everything in between.
Afterwards, we lay wrapped up in each other's arms.
"I'm not sure, I'll ever tire of this," Sam said, still winded.
His hand skated over my breasts, to my stomach, to my thighs, making me quiver with need again.
And for the first time in years, I felt a flicker of joy.
Incandescent.
Radiating inside me and through me.
His fingers reached for my face, and he kissed me slow and melting, his tongue tangling with mine, in a way that felt so private.
So profound. So right.
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