Delaney James seemed to have it all-a Manhattan townhouse, a thriving career as a fashion journalist, and a handsome, high-powered husband, but when he announces he's leaving her, Delaney's picture-perfect life unravels. Heartbroken and in need of a...
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Death can do irrevocable damage to a person's well-being. It can also make someone take stock and reevaluate their life, which in turn, may cause them to say some crazy things.
When we were seniors, one of our classmates, Brian Dwyer, died in a car accident. He'd been on the way to pick up his younger sister from a New Year's Eve party when he was hit head-on by a drunk driver. Luckily, his sister wasn't in the car, but Brian died on impact. He didn't even see it coming. He wasn't a close friend of ours, but we knew him simply because we'd all been in school together since the sixth grade. We were all affected by his death, but Greyson took it harder than all of us. When I asked him why, he said it was because it was the first time he realized he's not invincible – that none of us are. Brian's accident made him realize that we could lose each other at any moment, and that even though we were young, we weren't promised tomorrow. The night of Brian's funeral, we sat in the sand at Dawson's Beach and Greyson made me swear that if anything ever happened to him, I'd move on. He made me pinky promise I'd make a life for myself, and that I'd be happy.
I can't help but ask myself, does that promise still apply even though we're no longer together?
I've been on autopilot since the moment I heard the words come out of my father's mouth – You need to come home. For Greyson – but no matter how numb I feel, I can't shut off my mind, and a million thoughts run through my head on a minute-by-minute basis. Was he scared? Did he get the chance to say goodbye? Was anyone there to console him, or hold his hand? Did Greyson get to speak to him before he took his final breath? My imagination runs wild, and I assume the worst, and as much as I need answers to so many questions, I also don't want them. I'm barely holding it together – a glass figurine, perfect to the eye, fragile underneath – and to know that Greyson was alone when his life came to a halt will surely be the hit that will shatter me beyond repair.
My heart has been broken, but despite how I feel, my grief needs to be put aside so I can be there for the McKinnie's. They're the ones who need comfort and support right now. Not me. Not my heart.
As I stare at myself in the mirror – dressed in a raven black, capped sleeve skater dress and black heels – bile rises in my throat, and I close my eyes as I swallow it down. Beads of sweat break out across my forehead, and I suddenly feel lightheaded, so I grip the edge of my vanity and let out an unsteady breath.
"Delaney," my father calls from the bottom of the stairs. "You almost ready?"
"That's a loaded question," I mumble to myself.
What am I getting ready for, exactly? To say goodbye? To celebrate a life that ended way too soon? To watch the McKinnie's mourn? To see someone important to me – someone I love – be put into the ground?
No. I'm not ready. I'll never, ever be ready.
I'd flown home on the first available flight a few days after my father called with the news. I'd spent the first day and a half in bed, crying, and when I wasn't crying, I was staring into space. I was exhausted, but I couldn't sleep. I just watched the sun rise and set from my bedroom window as tears seeped uncontrollably from my eyes. I only left my bed to go to the bathroom. The thought of food was enough to make me want to vomit, and when Nico came into my room with a burger and fries from Shake Shack, I did.
