The Best of Friends

by Lucinda Berry

A surge of desire passes through me. It’s hard to believe I can still be attracted to him after more than twenty years together, but he’s sexier now than he was when we were in high school.

He wanted to speak to a lawyer before we talked to anyone that night, but I wouldn’t let him. Sawyer’s death was a terrible accident. Just like what happened to Jacob. Our boys were screwing around. Being drunk and stupid with a gun. That’s all. Nobody

But someone did get hurt

was supposed to get hurt.

All they do is shoot people, so he’s become totally desensitized to it. I hate those games.

The thing nobody tells you about grief is that time moves on. Or my personal favorite that nobody stops telling you—time heals all wounds. As if I want time to go anywhere. I want the world to stop. For every person to quit moving around me. For the screens to quit flashing and the zombies to stop walking so slowly down the streets that they almost get hit by cars. I don’t want the cars to drive or the buses to come, because every minute feels like I’m leaving Sawyer behind and living the life he was supposed to have. It’s swirling. It’s coming. Not here.

Grief

Vaping in bathrooms is for kids in public schools.

Wow

“Can you hear me, Jacob? Answer me,” I hiss in his ear. Nothing. I slap him, hard—harder than I meant to. I quickly scan the room, like someone might’ve walked in without me noticing and seen me hurt him. We’re alone.

I just hit my son.

🤷🏽‍♀️

“I’m telling you—Jacob and Sawyer were in a relationship.”

“I’m your best friend. I’m always here for you.” I plant a kiss on her cheek. “No matter what.” Even if Jacob killed Sawyer,

It’s been five hours since they turned off Jacob’s life support, and Andrew and I are glued to our spots next to his bed.

Paul’s still barely talking to me. He acts like I gave Reese heroin. I get it, I do, but the medicine was prescribed for a real diagnosis by a doctor who’s been his pediatrician since he was five days old, and I always gave it to him exactly as prescribed.

We saw the nurses transfer him many times, but we nearly dropped him onto the wooden floor when we tried the techniques we’d seen them use. It’s not like there is a quick way to learn, so we’re poring through YouTube videos and earmarking the ones that look like they’re made by reputable professionals.

There’s tons of sex stuff, and I quickly scroll past it, wishing there were a way to filter it out, but there’s not.

Jacob is head over heels in love with Sawyer and doesn’t care who finds out.

“I did it.” His voice is wobbly, unsure. “I killed Sawyer.” His eyes furtively scan the room until they land on me, searching for connection.

“Jacob shot himself.”

“And then I shoved the gun in his gut. I didn’t mean for it to go off.” He chokes on his sobs. “It wasn’t supposed to go off.” He puts his head in his hands, too racked with grief to continue. His shoulders hunch together, and he clutches his stomach like he’s in pain while he sobs.

This is why guns should be locked and placed where the kids can't find them.