I looked at the bottle of whiskey I’d brought and took a small sip. It burned all the way down in a way I didn’t like. It would’ve been too cliche to get drunk at a cemetery, so I poured it out on the grass and hugged my knees to my chest. I talked to Dad for what felt like hours. “You took my lungs, old man.” My chest constricted with lamentation.
“Remember that guy I told you about? I fell in love with him. I fell in love, and it almost killed him. It makes me sick.”
“Love is a cruel bitch, huh?” a dark voice said at my back. I turned around with my mouth gaping open, shocked to see Lance standing there. “Can I join you?” he asked.
“Y-yes,” I stuttered. The last time I’d seen Lance, he blamed me for Decker, and he had every right to. He settled in the grass beside me in silence. It seemed that neither of us knew what to say, though I was thankful for his company. I wasn’t sure I deserved it.
“I fell in love with Decker ten years ago. I never told him, but of course, he knew. Decker has this way of figuring people out.”
I nodded. I’d realized when I’d left the hospital that there was more than just betrayal buried in Lance’s hurt. He was devastated. At first, I’d convinced myself that Decker didn’t know. But I couldn’t find comfort in that lie. There was a reason Decker clung to our secret so fiercely. It wasn’t about betraying a friend, it was about breaking a heart.
“I never would have. If I’d known…” I began.
“I didn’t want anyone to know. No one wants to be the guy in love with his best friend. I tried convincing myself I’d get over him and filled my heart up with others so I could move on. But I never let go.”
I reached out to grab Lance’s hand. “He has that sort of effect on people, huh?” I asked. ”
“I’ve always loved souls. Been attracted to the way a heart beats more than the gender of a person. Men. Women. I’ve dated a lot. And Decker Harris has a beautiful soul, though I think you already know that.”
I nodded. “Why are you here? Don’t you hate me?”
“I did hate you,” Lance immediately replied. I nearly choked on the bile rising up my throat. His words were painful to swallow. “But not anymore. I can’t blame you for loving someone I can’t seem to fall out of love with. And I created this secret. I should have told Decker ages ago what I was feeling so we could work through it, but I didn’t. He was trying to protect me in his own way. Decker is always trying to protect the people he cares about.”
Soft tears slipped down my cheeks as I leaned to rest my head on Lance’s shoulder. “I’m going to stay here for a bit and figure my life out. I’d really like to give us another chance. I know it won’t ever be the sort of relationship we wanted, but I hope we can find a happy medium that works for both of us.”
“I don’t want that, Blakely,” he whispered. My heart broke, but I understood it. I didn’t want to be the source of his pain. I said in the beginning that I wouldn’t force him to be in a relationship with me. Pain was more effective than blood in determining who we let into our lives.
“I understand,” I choked out.
“No,” he began while turning to look at me. “That’s not what I mean. I don’t want you here. I want you back in Memphis. I want us all to work through this and get to a place where it doesn’t hurt. I want to ask your forgiveness and move forward. You aren’t like our mother, Blakely. You’re so much more.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck for a bone-crushing hug. I couldn’t even articulate how thankful I was to hear him say that. “I’d love that so much. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I know things are strained with Decker, and you don’t need my blessing, but I want to give it to you anyway. I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to love someone, and I think his happiness means more to me than anything else. You make him happy, Blakely. I love him enough to accept that. I just need a little time.”
“I don’t think Decker and I can ever get back to what we were. I always knew our time was fleeting. I’m toxic, Lance. I need to figure my life out before I do anything else.” Lance stared at me for a lingering moment, then stood, stretching out his hand to help me up. I readily took it, and he guided me through the various tombstones to Mama’s plot. Once in front of it, I felt a gnawing sort of agitation pop in my chest.
“Tell me something about her, Blakely. Don’t hold back.”
“She drank way too much,” I sobbed.
“Tell me more,” Lance demanded.
“She would bring men home. Some of them hurt me.”
“More.”
“She never wanted to be a mom. She was selfish. She only cared about herself.”
“Keep going,” Lance ordered.
I felt anger rising like a tidal wave of pain through my soul. I felt every distrust, every disappointment flood through me, leaking through my eyes and pounding through my clenched fists. “When she was sick, I felt wrong for hating her. I felt wrong for looking forward to being free.”
“You’re free, Blakely,” he whispered.
“I used to pray that I could leave her and this fucking town behind to start over, and then she died, and I felt like it was my fault. And then I felt like the worst human ever for not crying or grieving her like I should. She used to ask me if I’d miss her when she was gone, like wringing out my misery would somehow make death more palatable for her. And I lied. I told her I’d miss her, but I don’t. I don’t at all.”
Lance wrapped his arms around me and held me as I confronted all the anguish in my system. “You aren’t like her, Blakely. You aren’t toxic or selfish. You aren’t cruel. You aren’t wrong for feeling happy. You should be able to let go.” He pulled away while keeping his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look him in the eye. “You’re the best thing she’s ever done. Stop allowing her faults to twist your perception of yourself. We will get through this. You are not Sharron. You are you.”
We sat there at Mama’s grave for what felt like hours, swapping childhood stories. Some of it was painful to talk about, some of it was funny.
Most of it was healing.
Lance talked about Decker. When he first fell for him. Why he kept falling for him. We shared our mutual care for a man neither of us felt like we could have. We held hands as we cried, soaking Mama’s soil with tears that didn’t belong to her. We talked about our plans for the future. We talked about our hopes for one another. We talked about broken hearts and broken minds, about cancer and God and the suffering of people.
We bonded in a way that wouldn’t have ever happened if it weren’t for Mama. It was the only and most precious gift she could have ever given me.
“Ready to go home?” Lance finally asked when the sun had started to set. I nodded in response before standing up. It was time to go home. My real home. The home I shared with my compassionate, caring, and loving brother. He started heading toward the parking lot, but I stayed for a second longer to stare at Mama’s grave.
“Thank you for Lance, Mama,” I whispered to the ground, knowing she was somewhere between heaven and hell. A sharp gust of wind blew through, jostling my hair and slapping at my cheeks. It was cold and demanding, breezy, and harsh. I swear the cemetery smelled of roses and cigarettes. The air around me was a selfish swirl that racked against my skin and beat me raw.