It’s been seven days since Nicholas died. Seven days since I kissed his lips or touched his hair. Seven days since I saw his smile and felt the warmth from his body as he held me to him. And now it’s over. The short time we had together, that felt so right from the moment we met, can never be gotten back. Not with words or apologies, not with the return of Joel. My Nicholas is gone forever.
Our last day together was definitely not one of our high points as a couple. The yelling and arguing, the accusations are not memories I want to keep in my head. Instead, I’ve been focusing on the good things, the happy times. I’m trying to remember the way Nicholas’ laugh lit up his eyes and the way he held me and told me he loved me. I’m remembering the little things — the touch of his hand, his excitement at my graduation, when he saw the baby move for the first time, his ability to down seven tequilas and still be standing.
The sun is streaming through the windows of the church where Nicholas was baptised and his parents were married. Its rays are making pretty stained glass patterns that begin on the flagstone floor and continue up the legs of the trolley and across the fine wood of Nicholas’ coffin. They’re keeping my Nicholas warm, I hope. His body was so cold the last time I touched it. They’re making him smile. Nicholas always loved the sun. He was an outdoors guy.
Behind us, the church is overflowing with people, most of whom I’ve never met but all who seem as shocked as I at his sudden departure. There’s weeping, gentle touches, kind words and offers of assistance should I need it. People are smiling at me in that way you do when you take pity on another person. I hate that smile; it feels condescending, like they’re trying to placate me. They’re scared I’ll flip again, so everyone’s treading on eggshells. I’m not going to lose it though. I’m not going to go on a screaming rant. I’m over that. Instead, I’m compiling a list in my head of ways I can live without Nicholas.
The list is extremely short.
I’m existing merely to get through this day so I can make the list a little longer. Maybe.
To my left, Joel sits mutely. He’s perfectly styled in expensive black shoes, a grey suit, white shirt and black tie. Even his blonde twists of hair have been tamed for the occasion. His eyes are shaded by dark glasses, which he refuses to take off. It’s been a big few days for him. He’s been hitting the bottle hard, I think. And though he still looks utterly melt-your-bones gorgeous I know it’s that front he puts on when he’s hurting. I see the real Joel beneath it. He’s worn that suit because it’s expected but Nicholas wouldn’t have cared if Joel showed up in board shorts. I should have told him to wear jeans. At least he would have been comfortable. Well, as comfortable as you can feel at a funeral.
Joel’s body is rigid, a complete antithesis of his usual fluidity and when I reach over to touch his hand he feels like ice, almost as if he’s dead too. I’ve tried to make this easier for him but I can feel the hurt bouncing from his skin wanting to stab me. He’s not my Joel; he’s a shell of something he used to be when Nicholas was alive. And I know exactly what he’s thinking. He’s blaming me for Nicholas’ death. He doesn’t need to say a thing for me to realise that. I blame myself every minute of the day.
The very expensive casket, paid for by Mr. Lawson, is in the aisle to my right. It has a massive wreath of lilies on the top. Nicholas loves lilies. I mean, they wouldn’t be mass planted in front of his house and office if he didn’t. He said his mother called them death lilies and could never understand his choice but Nicholas loves order, form and simplistic beauty. The lily encapsulates this perfectly. I stare at the arrangement. It’s hard to get my head around the fact he’s in the box below them, even though I’ve seen him there and sat with him for an hour this morning before the service, holding his hand. It’s harder to absorb that I’ll never see him again or hold him or kiss him. And baby Nicky having no father is the hardest thing of all.
I can cope. I’ve done it before… but a baby? How is a baby meant to be without a parent? I’m going to have to be both parents now.
During the service there’s a slide show montage of photos. It’s filled with Nicholas as a little boy, Nicholas receiving his degree and some awards, Nicholas and his family. It’s impersonal and I’m fine until the selfie of our unborn baby and us appears on the screen. The tears well in my eyes and I don’t bother with a hanky. I don’t care if they ruin the makeup Emily took so long to apply. I sniff and watch the images pass me by until another comes that stirs up a memory. It’s one I snapped of him on my iPhone. A quickly taken photo from a day when he was on site at Iris. He’s laughing into the lens. He has his hard hat on. It’s Nicholas all over. It’s this photo that makes me fall into a heap because I remember shortly after that he called me a minx and told me to stop distracting him when he was trying to work. My tears are silent yet I feel as if I may die from the pain of them. Only Joel’s arm that comes to rest around my shoulder and his hand resting comfortingly on my skin make me feel less lost. I can blubber into his sleeve and know he feels the way I do, that of all the people in the world, Joel is the one person who gets this grief. He understands because he loved Nicholas too.
The service seems to be over in an instant. Mr. Lawson speaks, Joel speaks, a priest says meaningless prayers I’m positive Nicholas never wanted and then suddenly the coffin is disappearing down the aisle to be taken to the crematorium. As the attendants wheel it by me, I have this urge to leap on it, to stop Nicholas from going. I want to keep him with me forever but I know I can’t, so I watch with tears falling down my face as Nicholas leaves me for the last time. I whisper a goodbye to him but I know that he’ll never truly leave. Nicky is with me. He has his father’s eyes and his father’s heart.
After the cremation, we go to the Lawson’s house for the wake. I’m glad that Mr. Lawson wanted to have it here where there was room for the three hundred friends and family Nicholas has suddenly acquired. I couldn’t face being at our house so soon. I haven’t been back since the birth. There are too many memories in that house and I don’t know if I’ll be able to cope when I’m there later. More to the point, I don’t know if I’ll cope with Joel being there. I mean, it’s his house too. He has to live somewhere. I can’t kick him out. I can’t make him stay in a hotel, even though he offered. That’d be plain weird. Besides, I need to keep him near me so I can keep an eye on him. Someone has to care for Joel. He’s more fragile than he appears.
The wake is a little more upbeat, like the weight of death is lifted. There’s a playlist of Nicholas’ favourite songs made by one of the building team from Iris. Jill and Mr. Lawson have done a great job catering with the foods Nicholas loved to eat. There’s photos scattered about the room and different groups are sharing memories, most of which don’t include either Joel or me. It’s funny how we can be such a major part of his life and yet have had seemingly so little impact on it. I guess my life with Nicholas was only beginning. We don’t have a past.
And we never will.
As I stand by the fireplace, people I’ve never met come to me to offer condolences. Strangely, the presence of a baby makes the whole thing a little less awkward. Instead of saying how sorry they are for the fiftieth time today, baby Nicky gives them another topic of conversation. I’m glad of it too. I’m not one for fake platitudes.
At the end of the queue two ancient aunties appear. They look like twins in their floral dresses and old-fashioned court shoes. They coo over Nicky and say without hesitation that he’s the spit of his father when he was a boy. They tell me stories of one summer when Nicholas and his cousins swung on the clothesline until they bent it in half, sending granny into a rage. They chuckle over the Billy carts he made when he was ten, how he forced his cousins to race down the driveway and crash into the bushes at the bottom so one broke an arm. They speak of elaborate cubbies Nicholas built out of scrap wood from the garden shed, much to his father’s disgust. Nicholas was into everything. He was always creating.
I am cheered. I like hearing these stories because I never knew much about his childhood. He sounds so normal, the opposite of the way his father wanted him to behave.
“Can baby Nicky and I come visit you some time?” I ask them. “I want him to know who his father was. I don’t know that much about him as a boy. You two seem to know it all.”
“We’d love you to come, lassie,” one of the ladies says. “Nicholas was such a scallywag. It’ll be fun to relive the old days again. I might even be able to dig out a few photos for you.”
“That would be lovely,” I say. “I’m sure Nicky would like to hear the stories about his dad when he’s old enough.”
“And what about you, child? What are you planning to do now?” Everyone knows my circumstance. They know I was living with Nicholas in his and Joel’s house. I guess they’re speculating about where I’ll go or if I’ll stay.
“I’m not sure what I’m doing,” I say. “I’ve been staying with my friend Emily and her fiancée since I got out of the hospital but I feel like I’m imposing, especially with the wedding being so close. I’ll have to go home soon.”
If I knew exactly where my home was.
We chat for a while longer and then, at last, the crowd begins to thin. I see Joel out on the terrace, leaning on the railing and I wonder if I should go to him. We haven’t spoken properly. He’s been so preoccupied and I’ve been avoiding him because I’m a little afraid of what we might say to each other. I don’t know why. I suck in a breath and head in his direction.
I pause beside him and look out into the garden. I sneak my hand in the direction of his, too scared to take his yet hoping he’ll reach for mine. Joel has his eyes trained somewhere in the distance. He’s ignoring my hand. I wish he’d look at me. I want him to tell me everything’s going to be okay, that we can get through this together. I want him to make some wise crack to break this awkward black ice between us.
I give up waiting and nudge his side. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“It’s heavy in there.”
“Yeah. Lotta people.”
And that’s the extent of the conversation for the next three minutes. It appears that the roses trailing the arbor are more interesting to Joel. And he’s not ‘a plant man.’
Then the baby begins to snuffle. I feel him wriggling against me and I cluck and soothe him. It’s enough to gain Joel’s attention.
“Can I see him?”
I turn toward Joel and gently pull the swaddling aside. The baby is nestled into my chest, his eyes closed, sucking his thumb. He’s wearing a little blue romper Emily bought because the clothes we originally got are too big for a premmie and even the one he’s got on is a little baggy for him. His blue striped beanie almost covers his eyes. The nurses assured me he’d fill out quickly though. I think they’re right. He already feels heavier now he’s getting the hang of feeding without the tube.
“This is Nicholas Joel Lawson.” I smile up at Joel. “Nicky, meet your old uncle Joel.”
“Hey, enough with the ‘old’.”
“I could have said playboy.”
“Slight improvement.” He looks down at the baby. “You named the kid after me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve got a thing for Joel Madden.”
A sort of chuckling snort escapes Joel’s lips and for a second he’s my old Joel, the one I love. He strokes the baby’s cheek. “Hey there, little fella. You gotta watch your mum. She’s a bit of a wise arse.”
“Don’t swear in front of the baby,” I chastise.
A tender smile bends Joel’s lips. He’s so gentle, so loving as he continues to stroke the baby’s head with his finger. It’s a different side of my wild boisterous Joel. “He’s adorable, Sadie. He looks like you.”
Together, we watch the baby for a bit more, both of us with these goofy maternal-proud type of smiles. Then I say, “Do you want a hold?” I know that sounds like a weird think to ask, given boys usually run a mile from the word baby, let alone want to hold a real one, but it seems like something Joel might want to do. This baby could be his connection to Nicholas.
“Um. Yeah. Okay.” He looks nervous.
Understandable. Baby Nicky is very teeny.
“It’s okay. You won’t break him.” I take the baby from his pouch and hand him to Joel. Joel’s big hands are like a cradle enveloping Nicky’s body. He holds him awkwardly to begin with, then lifts him to snuggle him into his chest, rocking him gently.
“You’re a natural.”
“Hmm, debatable. Don’t think I’ve ever held a baby.”
“First time for everything.”
The baby opens his eyes and looks up at Joel. He removes his thumb from his mouth.
“He’s a cutie, alright.” Joel smiles at me. It’s nice to see him smile.
“I know. Just like his daddy. He has that intenseness Nicholas had about the eyes.”
Joel stiffens. “Okay, you can have him back now. I don’t want to ruin my rep being seen getting gooey over a kid.”
Shit. I’ve hurt him. I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have mentioned the dead person in the room. Not even if it’s true.
I take the baby and settle him into his pouch. “Bit late for that. Besides, girls love men and babies. It’s like a guy with a puppy. Instant chick magnet.”
“Are you proposing to rent the baby out to me so I can pick up girls?”
I grin. “I never thought of that. It could be a great money-spinner. You’ll have to learn how to look after him first, though.”
Joel picks up his wine glass from the railing and takes a swig before replacing it. “What are we gonna do without him, Ariel?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble. “I’ve been trying to figure that out for the last week. I have literally no clue.”
“Are you coming home tonight? I’m lonely.”
“You’ve only been there a day or so.”
“It’s weird there by myself.”
“Imagine how weird it was for Nicholas and I without you.”
And this is the crux of the matter. I don’t want to go home because it’s less weird for Joel. I want to be there because Joel wants me. And not as a replacement for his best friend, but because he needs me and loves me for me.
“I don’t think I can,” I say. “Not yet.”
“Why not? It’s yours and the baby’s home. I saw you decorated his room. All your stuff is there.”
And Nicholas’ stuff. I don’t know if I can face getting into the bed without him. I don’t know if I can go into the baby’s bedroom and see the deflated balloons that are probably lying on the carpet. I can’t bear to think about him proposing all over again. Instinctively, my fingers go to my engagement ring and I twist it on my finger.
“When did that happen?” Joel gestures to my left hand.
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“Fucking shit timing.”
“You’ve got that in one.”
“Come home, Ariel. I just want you with me. In our home.”
“Technically it’s your home now,” I say. “I’m sure you and Nicholas had some sort of an agreement about what would happen in the event of death or something.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d be using it. It was a joke thing we did one night over a bottle of tequila.”
“So the house belongs to you. You should feel free to do as you please without Nicky and I getting in your way. Besides if I did come home where would I sleep? Where would you sleep?”
“You can have Nicholas’ room. You’ve moved in there already.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“No.”
I stare at him.
“Okay. Yes. It does, it makes me jealous as hell that you two got to play happy families but I’ll deal. Seeing that ring on your finger sends fucking daggers through my heart knowing I didn’t put it there. We just need to get things back to the way they were. It’s pointless you shacking up with Emily when you can be at home with me. We can’t get back what we had before if you’re bunking on the other side of the city.”
“Things can’t go back to how they were before, Joel. I can’t love you the same as before and I don’t want to hurt you like I did before. Everything’s changed. I’ve changed.”
Joel stares at me. I don’t think he’s considered the possibility that things can never be the same, that no matter what we do, our relationship is different now. Do we even have a relationship without Nicholas? For about the tenth time today, my eyes well with tears as I look into the face of the other man I love so much. We can’t just go home and pick up where we left off. It won’t work.