Emily stared forlornly down at her plate of food, pushing it around her plate with her fork. She really wasn't all that hungry – the sight of food causing her stomach to turn – but she'd agreed to breakfast knowing that Derek would insist upon her eating something. So far, all she'd been able to stomach was a piece of plain toast.
Derek had tried to gently cajole her into eating something more substantial, but didn't have the heart to argue with her, knew she didn't have much fight left in her anyway. Neither of them did. It wasn't as if he was all that hungry either anyway.
Together, they occupied the booth furthest from the door in silence, but for the occasional clinking of fork on ceramic. He didn't really feel like talking just then – wasn't used to this kind of awkward silence between them – but the elephant sharing the booth with them seemed to be the one calling the conversational shots... He knew that sooner or later, they were going to have to have a conversation about what had happened, to evaluate where their relationship (if it could even be called that) stood, but with everything so raw and festering with the freshness of their grief, it didn't really seem like the right time.
As if reading his mind, Emily stammered out a quiet, "Where, umm... Where do we go from here?"
He'd hoped he had a little more time – time to make sense of his own thoughts on the matter, what he wanted, let alone what was wise – before they had this heart-to-heart. What he hoped, though, and what he was getting, seemed to be at odds with each other lately...
"We as in you and me? Or we as in...we?" he asked, needing to be certain. He could see the path ahead branching out in opposite directions and wanted to know which one she was looking towards. He knew what he thought, what he felt, but he also knew this would have to be on Emily's terms and right now, he wasn't all that sure what those terms were...
She shrugged slightly. It seemed she was no clearer as to the answer than he was.
There were a lot of things he could have said in that moment – things like I love you – but he wasn't sure it was the time or the place, whether she was in a place to hear them. What he ultimately did say was a weak, "Maybe we should first figure out where here is..."
She nodded, but once again didn't seem to have the answer.
"Where's Emily?" Fran asked as Derek pulled the truck away from the curb and into traffic exiting the airport's arrival area.
"Sleeping," he said, merging into the next lane. "She needed the rest." (He'd been reluctant to leave her by herself, given everything, but he also had a feeling that she was holding so much inside and, perhaps, a little time alone might give her some time to have the imminent breakdown he suspected was brewing just below her perma-pristine exterior.) (And, if he'd cried by himself on the drive to the airport, well...that was between him and God.)
She nodded as if she'd suspected as much (and he got the feeling that she read between the lines far better than he would have liked). She studied him in silence for a few moments until he grew visibly uncomfortable under the weight of her seemingly all-knowing stare. "How are you doing?" she asked at length, her tone making it clear that she wanted the real answer and not a well-practiced platitude.
"Mama..." he started, faltered.
"I can tell when you're lying," she interrupted, "So don't even think about telling me you're fine."
He heaved a sigh, nodded slowly. "I'm..." He paused, thought for a moment. "I don't know, Mama," he finished lamely, "I don't know how I'm doing..."
She clicked her tongue sympathetically, reached across the centre console to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder. "That's understandable," she said. "It's not a really a situation anyone is prepared for in life."
He gave a small humourless laugh because no fucking kidding... He felt tears pricking at his eyes in spite of himself. It had been a long time since he'd cried in front of his mother – after his father had died, he'd taken it upon himself to be the man of the house, to be strong for his mother and his sisters, to never show weakness or be afraid. And maybe it wasn't weakness to cry in front of her, but it sure felt a lot like letting her down in some way. "God, Mama," he managed to utter between hitching breaths, "How can it hurt so much to lose something I didn't even know I had? Hell, didn't even know I wanted..."
"Sweetheart, I think you've wanted this for a really long time, but you just couldn't admit it to yourself..." Fran said gently.
"Mama..." he protested, but it was weak, without any of his usual fight behind it. He sighed heavily, turned to fix her with a beseeching look as they pulled up to a red light.
Fran responded with a pointed look. "I don't want to push you, but I think that you're going to have to address your true feelings – sooner or later – in order to get past this..."
"Please don't," he begged weakly. "I will deal with my shit, but I just can't right now. All that I care about right now is getting Emily through this crisis in one piece. She needs me to be her rock and if the way for me to do that is by bottling up everything I'm feeling until a later date, then that's what I'm going to do."
Wearing a deliberate frown, Fran said, "Derek, that doesn't sound very healthy..."
He nodded slowly, weakly. All he could say, though, was, "It's what I have to do."
And, though she very much seemed to want to say more on the matter, she knew better than to push him too hard.