Till Death do us Part

Man in Black

“Evie? Oh, my God it is you! What brings you all the way to Indiana?”

I pulled back from her bone-crushing hug so I could really look at her. The last time I’d seen my best friend, Pattie Swanson, we’d been waving our college diplomas in the air. “I thought you said I could come and see you ‘any time the fancy hit me’, as you put it.”

She grinned, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulders, the neon red strands catching the light of the sun. “Well, of course you can! Get your butt in here!” she pulled me into the small ranch house, the one she shared with her fiancé.

Pattie’s story was an interesting one. Sophomore year in college she got pregnant, had the baby, and insisted she could care for it while also juggling her classes. They boyfriend who knocked her up broke things off the minute he found out there was a bun in the oven, and though close friends insisted she force him to participate, she didn’t want to. I didn’t blame her, either. Who wanted a reluctant father?

But, anyway, college was hard because of the additional stress. She was too stubborn and proud to admit it out-loud, but being her roommate and best friend nearly from the moment we met, I could tell. It was wearing down on her, and it would only been a matter of time before she broke. Then like someone had written her into a flipping fairytale, she met her knight in shining armor.

Quiet, huge, tatted-up art major Bryan Willington. He never said a lot, and could often be found alone sketching throughout the campus. He was the kind of guy to skip words and physically handle the problem if someone pissed him off. Girls didn’t date him because he was . . . well . . . he was scary. And being approached by him at night would usually end with the other party running away and shitting their pants.

Not Pattie. Of course not Pattie.

Nellie was her baby’s name, and she was just as difficult as her mother. Pattie used to walk her around outside to get her to sleep, so she wouldn’t wake anybody up in the dorm. Whether it was midnight, two, four in the morning, she would drop everything just to take care of her baby. I’d never known anybody who got such little sleep, or worked harder.

But one night, when she was out walking the grounds, a bunch of drunk douchebags tried to rough her up. Bryan happened to be out sketching at the time (when it came to art, sleeping fell way below the priority line) and overheard what was happening. He beat the crap out of the three guys, asked Pattie if she was alright, and the rest was history.

Not the perfect fairytale, but sometimes imperfection was better.

I could see into the living room from the foyer where I kicked off my shoes. Bryan was sitting at an easel with Nellie on his lap, and they were painting together. It was absolutely adorable, and wonderful, how Bryan didn’t even question the fact that she wasn’t his own kid. He didn’t even question being a father at twenty-two. He just did it, because he loved Pattie, and because he loved Nellie, and when you put it like that it was so simple.

I wished my life could work out like that. Simple facts with simple solutions. Nothing had ever just been easy.

“Hey, Bryan,” I greeted. He turned his head, flashing a brief smile before turning back to his daughter’s work of art. Pattie shut the door, and before anything else was said she wrapped me in another large hug.

“I’m so sorry about your mom,” she murmured. “How are you doing? Is your leg any better?”

I shrugged. I’d officially abandoned my crutches. They’d gotten to be way too much of a hassle. “Surviving,” was my answer, and it had so much truth to it.