Guava 28, Cola 15: Grief
Title: Grief
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Guava 28 (kiss and make it better), cola 15 (nothin' says lovin' like something from the oven ), My Treat (Someone bakes a treat for a sad/sick friend), malt (gandolforf's easter egg: Dear God, how have you been then? I'm not fine-f**k pretending - "God Am" by Alice In Chains), rainbow sprinkles (Dennis and Arelie).
Word Count: 1547
Rating: PG.
Summary: Arelie grieves, and Dennis helps.
Notes: This is a couple minutes late because I posted it in the wrong place at first. Go self.
Some days it was just all too much to bear. February 3rd was always one of those days.
It didn't help, thought Arelie as she stared out her window, that it was always so bleak. Even in California February was a dark and rainy month. Now that she had moved north and east, it had only gotten worse. Snow if she was lucky, sleet if she wasn't, ice all over everything, unrelenting unremitting grey clouds choking the sky as far as she could see.
Arelie usually spent as much time in her heated house as possible during the winter. On February 3rd, she never went out at all.
She dropped the curtain, turned away from the window. The problem was that there was nothing to do, or nothing she had the concentration for, anyway. She'd called in sick to work, so nothing there. She could continue the scarf that she was making for Dennis-- knitting was pretty undemanding-- but she didn't want anything of this sorrow to touch him. Usually on the third, she baked listlessly and gave it all away, but she'd run out of flour. She could cook, but she hadn't been hungry all week.
There was nothing to do, and so she brooded.
She sat down on the couch, and turned on the television just to have something to stare at. Mistake-- some soap opera star loudly and histrionically accused a man of stealing her baby. Arelie just managed to slap the power button before she bolted to the bathroom, where she threw up what little she'd eaten that day.
She shut and flushed the toilet when she was finished, then sat back against the wall, feeling terrible.
The tile was cool and hard beneath her legs, and she closed her eyes, rested her forehead against the smooth porcelain of the bathtub beside her. So much grief, still. She'd managed to let go of Farid-- his name sparked little more than a brief pang of sorrow now, like the thought of her long-dead mother. Why couldn't she let go of this?
Maybe she'd just stay here for the rest of the day.
With the perfect timing of a universe out to get her, someone rang her doorbell.
Arelie considered ignoring it. In fact, she'd decided to. It was February 3rd and there was nothing worth moving for. Maybe next year she'd just stay in bed... but her visitor was persistent, and had she but known it, equipped with a key.
"Arelie?"
She jerked upright. That was-- what was Dennis doing here?
"In here," she called, shakily, and levered herself up, using the toilet as an aid and then a seat. "The bathroom."
His dear, bespectacled face appeared around the doorframe a moment later, brow creased with concern. "Can I come in?"
It was a bit late to ask that, Arelie thought, but motioned him in anyway.
Dennis set a baking dish down on the sink, then knelt in front of her, taking both her hands in his and rubbing them gently with his thumbs. "You look awful."
Better than she felt, probably, but she wasn't going to tell him that. "What are you doing here?" she asked, instead. "I thought you had afternoon class."
He shrugged. "Written exam today," he said. "I went by your office to see if you wanted to go to lunch, but they said you weren't feeling well, so I left the exam with my TA to come check on you." A brief embarrassment stole across his face, and he lifted his chin to indicate the baking dish. "I made you lasagne, but I'm pretty sure you won't want it just now."
Arelie stared at him, then at the lasagne, then back at him, and without warning burst into tears.
"Oh, love," Dennis said, and somehow contorted himself enough to put his arms around her and let her weep into his shoulder.
She had no idea what she'd done to deserve Dennis, but it must have been something extraordinary.
He didn't speak until her deep, painful sobs had subsided, and when he did speak it was very soft and gentle. "Oh, love," he said again. "What's the matter?"
"It's today," she said, and all at once decided that she would tell him. She'd never told anyone before, except the Jacksons, of course, but then she'd never told anyone about Farid before Dennis, and he hadn't judged her for that, when it would have been his right to do so. Besides, he deserved to know. If she claimed to love him at all, then she had to tell him.
No matter how hard it would be.
"What's today?" he asked, stroking her back and hair.
She sniffled and buried her face further in his shoulder. She couldn't look him in the face, not for this. "My daughter's birthday," she said, only slightly muffled. "Ahava'd be seven years old today."
For a moment Dennis was silent, but his hand went on stroking her back in the same gentle, soothing movements. Nothing to fear, she thought, and closed her eyes against the sorrow.
"Did she die?" he asked, after the silence.
Arelie shook her head. "No. No. I gave her up. I had to. She was Farid's daughter, and I couldn't... I gave her up." Tears welled up in her eyes again, at the memory. "I never even touched her, Dennis. I never even held her."
"Oh, love," he repeated, and kissed her temple. "Oh, love."
"I failed her," she said, and now she was crying again, the tears rasping her throat. "I failed her so badly. I couldn't keep her, I couldn't care for her, I couldn't even touch her because I knew I wouldn't let her go. I had a baby and I couldn't take care of her. I wanted to try so badly but I knew that I couldn't. I knew it. I failed her so, so badly."
"No," Dennis said, so vehemently that she jerked away from him, startled. "No, you did not fail her. You gave her up for adoption, right?"
"Yes," she said, stuttering just a little. "Yes. The Jacksons. Maria and Lawrence. They wanted her so much, they..." She choked up again at another memory, Maria staring at the ultrasound screen with so much love in her eyes. "They love her. I know they do."
Because every year, just before Ahava's birthday, Maria Jackson sent Arelie a letter full of pictures and news on Ahava's life. And every year, on Ahava's birthday, Arelie put that letter unopened into a box and put the box back under her bed. Someday she'd look at them all, when she had the strength.
Someday.
"Then you didn't fail her," Dennis said, oblivious to her thoughts. "You couldn't care for her so you found her people who would. How is that failing her?"
"I'm her mother," Arelie said, and started to cry again, just a few tears this time. "No. No, I'm not her mother, Maria Jackson is, but I should be her mother. I should have taken care of her. I should have... I should have found a way."
He was silent for another moment, then said, "Did I ever tell you that I'm adopted?"
Now that she thought about it, she did remember something of the sort. "Yes. I thought because your parents died."
Dennis shook his head. "No. I don't know about my birth father, but my birth mother is still very much alive. She was fifteen when I was born, you see." He smiled a little crookedly. "She told me that she tried to keep me, but when I was three months old she just gave up and the McCutcheons got me. Anyway, my point in telling you this is that my birth mother honestly did the best she could for me, and I always knew that. Even when I was very young, I knew that she loved me very much, and that was why she'd given me to the McCutcheons." He reached up and ran a thumb gently along her cheek. "I'm sure the Jacksons have told Ahava the exact same thing."
"But I gave her up," Arelie said.
"And there's no shame in that." He rubbed his thumb across her cheek again. "You did the best thing you could for her." He waited a moment, then added, "There's no shame in grieving for her, either. There's no shame in any of it."
This time, when Arelie started to cry, it hurt just a little bit less.
"Thank you," she said, when she'd finally cried herself out and lifted her face from his shoulder. "For being here."
"Of course," Dennis said, and kissed her forehead, then got up with a groan and a creaking knee. "Come on, let's go eat the lasagne. You'll feel better when you've eaten."
"All right," she said, because he was right, and accepted his hand up. She rubbed her hands across her face, then gave him a rather half-hearted smile. "Are you doing anything tonight?"
Dennis shrugged. "Eating lasagne with you and then maybe grading. Why?"
"Maria sends me letters," she said. "About Ahava. I've never... I have them all, but I haven't opened any. I... I'd like to read them now. Would you stay and do that with me?"
"Of course," Dennis repeated, and hugged her gently. "Anything you need."
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Guava 28 (kiss and make it better), cola 15 (nothin' says lovin' like something from the oven ), My Treat (Someone bakes a treat for a sad/sick friend), malt (gandolforf's easter egg: Dear God, how have you been then? I'm not fine-f**k pretending - "God Am" by Alice In Chains), rainbow sprinkles (Dennis and Arelie).
Word Count: 1547
Rating: PG.
Summary: Arelie grieves, and Dennis helps.
Notes: This is a couple minutes late because I posted it in the wrong place at first. Go self.
Some days it was just all too much to bear. February 3rd was always one of those days.
It didn't help, thought Arelie as she stared out her window, that it was always so bleak. Even in California February was a dark and rainy month. Now that she had moved north and east, it had only gotten worse. Snow if she was lucky, sleet if she wasn't, ice all over everything, unrelenting unremitting grey clouds choking the sky as far as she could see.
Arelie usually spent as much time in her heated house as possible during the winter. On February 3rd, she never went out at all.
She dropped the curtain, turned away from the window. The problem was that there was nothing to do, or nothing she had the concentration for, anyway. She'd called in sick to work, so nothing there. She could continue the scarf that she was making for Dennis-- knitting was pretty undemanding-- but she didn't want anything of this sorrow to touch him. Usually on the third, she baked listlessly and gave it all away, but she'd run out of flour. She could cook, but she hadn't been hungry all week.
There was nothing to do, and so she brooded.
She sat down on the couch, and turned on the television just to have something to stare at. Mistake-- some soap opera star loudly and histrionically accused a man of stealing her baby. Arelie just managed to slap the power button before she bolted to the bathroom, where she threw up what little she'd eaten that day.
She shut and flushed the toilet when she was finished, then sat back against the wall, feeling terrible.
The tile was cool and hard beneath her legs, and she closed her eyes, rested her forehead against the smooth porcelain of the bathtub beside her. So much grief, still. She'd managed to let go of Farid-- his name sparked little more than a brief pang of sorrow now, like the thought of her long-dead mother. Why couldn't she let go of this?
Maybe she'd just stay here for the rest of the day.
With the perfect timing of a universe out to get her, someone rang her doorbell.
Arelie considered ignoring it. In fact, she'd decided to. It was February 3rd and there was nothing worth moving for. Maybe next year she'd just stay in bed... but her visitor was persistent, and had she but known it, equipped with a key.
"Arelie?"
She jerked upright. That was-- what was Dennis doing here?
"In here," she called, shakily, and levered herself up, using the toilet as an aid and then a seat. "The bathroom."
His dear, bespectacled face appeared around the doorframe a moment later, brow creased with concern. "Can I come in?"
It was a bit late to ask that, Arelie thought, but motioned him in anyway.
Dennis set a baking dish down on the sink, then knelt in front of her, taking both her hands in his and rubbing them gently with his thumbs. "You look awful."
Better than she felt, probably, but she wasn't going to tell him that. "What are you doing here?" she asked, instead. "I thought you had afternoon class."
He shrugged. "Written exam today," he said. "I went by your office to see if you wanted to go to lunch, but they said you weren't feeling well, so I left the exam with my TA to come check on you." A brief embarrassment stole across his face, and he lifted his chin to indicate the baking dish. "I made you lasagne, but I'm pretty sure you won't want it just now."
Arelie stared at him, then at the lasagne, then back at him, and without warning burst into tears.
"Oh, love," Dennis said, and somehow contorted himself enough to put his arms around her and let her weep into his shoulder.
She had no idea what she'd done to deserve Dennis, but it must have been something extraordinary.
He didn't speak until her deep, painful sobs had subsided, and when he did speak it was very soft and gentle. "Oh, love," he said again. "What's the matter?"
"It's today," she said, and all at once decided that she would tell him. She'd never told anyone before, except the Jacksons, of course, but then she'd never told anyone about Farid before Dennis, and he hadn't judged her for that, when it would have been his right to do so. Besides, he deserved to know. If she claimed to love him at all, then she had to tell him.
No matter how hard it would be.
"What's today?" he asked, stroking her back and hair.
She sniffled and buried her face further in his shoulder. She couldn't look him in the face, not for this. "My daughter's birthday," she said, only slightly muffled. "Ahava'd be seven years old today."
For a moment Dennis was silent, but his hand went on stroking her back in the same gentle, soothing movements. Nothing to fear, she thought, and closed her eyes against the sorrow.
"Did she die?" he asked, after the silence.
Arelie shook her head. "No. No. I gave her up. I had to. She was Farid's daughter, and I couldn't... I gave her up." Tears welled up in her eyes again, at the memory. "I never even touched her, Dennis. I never even held her."
"Oh, love," he repeated, and kissed her temple. "Oh, love."
"I failed her," she said, and now she was crying again, the tears rasping her throat. "I failed her so badly. I couldn't keep her, I couldn't care for her, I couldn't even touch her because I knew I wouldn't let her go. I had a baby and I couldn't take care of her. I wanted to try so badly but I knew that I couldn't. I knew it. I failed her so, so badly."
"No," Dennis said, so vehemently that she jerked away from him, startled. "No, you did not fail her. You gave her up for adoption, right?"
"Yes," she said, stuttering just a little. "Yes. The Jacksons. Maria and Lawrence. They wanted her so much, they..." She choked up again at another memory, Maria staring at the ultrasound screen with so much love in her eyes. "They love her. I know they do."
Because every year, just before Ahava's birthday, Maria Jackson sent Arelie a letter full of pictures and news on Ahava's life. And every year, on Ahava's birthday, Arelie put that letter unopened into a box and put the box back under her bed. Someday she'd look at them all, when she had the strength.
Someday.
"Then you didn't fail her," Dennis said, oblivious to her thoughts. "You couldn't care for her so you found her people who would. How is that failing her?"
"I'm her mother," Arelie said, and started to cry again, just a few tears this time. "No. No, I'm not her mother, Maria Jackson is, but I should be her mother. I should have taken care of her. I should have... I should have found a way."
He was silent for another moment, then said, "Did I ever tell you that I'm adopted?"
Now that she thought about it, she did remember something of the sort. "Yes. I thought because your parents died."
Dennis shook his head. "No. I don't know about my birth father, but my birth mother is still very much alive. She was fifteen when I was born, you see." He smiled a little crookedly. "She told me that she tried to keep me, but when I was three months old she just gave up and the McCutcheons got me. Anyway, my point in telling you this is that my birth mother honestly did the best she could for me, and I always knew that. Even when I was very young, I knew that she loved me very much, and that was why she'd given me to the McCutcheons." He reached up and ran a thumb gently along her cheek. "I'm sure the Jacksons have told Ahava the exact same thing."
"But I gave her up," Arelie said.
"And there's no shame in that." He rubbed his thumb across her cheek again. "You did the best thing you could for her." He waited a moment, then added, "There's no shame in grieving for her, either. There's no shame in any of it."
This time, when Arelie started to cry, it hurt just a little bit less.
"Thank you," she said, when she'd finally cried herself out and lifted her face from his shoulder. "For being here."
"Of course," Dennis said, and kissed her forehead, then got up with a groan and a creaking knee. "Come on, let's go eat the lasagne. You'll feel better when you've eaten."
"All right," she said, because he was right, and accepted his hand up. She rubbed her hands across her face, then gave him a rather half-hearted smile. "Are you doing anything tonight?"
Dennis shrugged. "Eating lasagne with you and then maybe grading. Why?"
"Maria sends me letters," she said. "About Ahava. I've never... I have them all, but I haven't opened any. I... I'd like to read them now. Would you stay and do that with me?"
"Of course," Dennis repeated, and hugged her gently. "Anything you need."