Natalie 6

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NATALIE POV

My mom had planned everything for her burial. All I had to do was sign some papers. Then two days later, before I had even come to terms with her death, I attended her tiny funeral service. I didn't participate in her viewing. Instead, I sat outside in the hall. Ryan had sat outside with me, silently providing me comfort, which I felt numb to.

Somehow yesterday, the Wilsons had convinced me to move in with them and put most of the apartment's stuff into storage. They even hired people to pack everything and move it to a storage facility.

My whole life has changed in three days. All my plans have disappeared. It feels like my life is gone, even though it's just my stranger of a mom who is gone.

 

 At her funeral, I hadn't realized they were starting to lower her down into the dark until Ryan asked me if I was ready to go. I didn't reply; I just started walking towards their SUV.

A couple of days later, Mr. Wilson asked me to speak to him in his home office.

"Have a seat, Nat," Mr. Wilson says kindly, gesturing to a comfy-looking chair.

I sit down and look at him expectantly. I haven't been talking much, which doesn't seem to bother them.

"Well, Nat, since I changed your address and home phone information at school, people have been calling me," Mr.Wilson states slowly as if he is worried I won't understand him.

"What people," I ask quickly.

 Mom and I never had anyone around us besides her boyfriends. So I don't know who would be reaching out to me now. 

"Well, for one, a bank. Your mom had a safety deposit box that they need you to go close out. And then a couple also contacted me, saying you are their granddaughter. They weren't at your mom's funeral, so I wanted to talk to you about them," Mr. Wilson explains calmly.

I instantly feel rage at the mention of those people. I cross my arms and almost growl out. But I know Mr. Wilson, and he likes respect at all times, so I take a deep breath calming myself down before I answer.

"They are judgy jerks," I state, knowing that isn't calm enough for Mr. Wilson.

He just raises an eyebrow signaling me to elaborate on my immature comment.

"They kicked my mom out at 17 when she refused to abort me. They never reached out to her, and the only reason I know that much is because of a school project in third grade. We were supposed to interview our grandparents, so I asked mom about them," I say in a rush.

Mr. Wilson's eyebrows lift so high they aren't even visible under his hair. He sighs and seems to think about my response for a moment.

"Well, they said they wanted to get to know you. Are you comfortable with that," Mr. Wilson asks me cautiously, and I immediately shake my head.

"No, I dont want to be around people who wanted me dead," I say while staring Mr. Wilson straight in the eye.

He nods his head for a few moments before sitting back in his chair.

"Natalie, I understand you're angry and hurt, but everyone must learn how to forgive," he says softly.

For the first time, I scowl at the man in front of me before basically verbally exploding.

"What the hell do you know? You have this perfect life and perfect family. I don't have to forgive two people who didn't give a crap about their child or me. They didn't care about us until now!!!! Why do they care now? Because she is dead? That's not love! That's guilt. They want to talk to me now because they feel guilty," I scream out, banging my palms on his shiny desk.

I feel tears stream down my face, but I don't wipe them. I don't care right now if he sees me cry. Mr.Wilson gets up and comes around the desk. He sits in the chair next to me and grabs my hand. He begins patting it awkwardly.

"Natalie, you won't get the answer to those questions unless you ask them. You need to heal, and healing starts with letting go of the past enough to talk to them," he says calmly.

I shrug while wiping my runny nose on my hoodie sleeve.

"It's something to think about, ok," he says before standing back up.

He returns to the other side of his desk and sits down. I feel guilty yelling at the guy who took me in. He must think I'm a complete brat.

"So Nat, when do you want to close your mom's safety deposit box? The manager who keeps calling acts like they need the box immediately," he says with a smile and an eye roll.

He is trying to lighten the mood after I completely disrespected him like father, like son. I smile and roll my eyes back to break the tension.

Why are they so nice? It makes me feel so bad when I lose my temper.

"Umm, can we go tomorrow? I want to get back to school Monday," I say, slightly embarrassed about my behavior.

I need my routine back. I need to feel some control again.

"Sure, my vacation ends after tomorrow, and that will be the last thing we need to settle, I believe." He replies, looking happy.

As soon as I exit, I see Ryan waiting for me in the hall. The concern is all over his face.

"Hey," I say while giving him my fake smile.

Ryan instantly knows it isn't a genuine smile and comes to hug me.

"I'm fine, okay, just stop," I say before he can engulf me in the hug.

 He looks at me closely. I see sadness and worry etched in his beautiful eyes.

"Ryan, I'm fine. I just want to work on the school work you brought home for me," I say too quickly.

It's his turn to force a smile.

"Okay, let me know if you need help on the algebra," he says before walking away like a wounded puppy.

Why can't he tell that he has me wrapped around his finger? Ryan is the best man on this planet in my eyes. His compassion over this past week has made me melt. But I know I can't tell him I like him. I mean, I'm the judgemental, hot-tempered, butthole of a friend he views as a sister. It's just breaking my heart more, knowing he is too good for me. Too perfect!!

He notices all the little things about everyone. I didnt notice that my own mom was battling cancer. On a scale of 1-10, match for Ryan, I am a 0.

 I walk to the guest room, which is now my room. When I enter, I spot my picture. Mom and I only had one picture of us taken formally. I was about 5 or 6 in the photo, and mom was beautiful and young-looking.

 It is the only thing I added to the room beside my clothes, toiletries, and makeup. I let the movers box everything else up. I figured if the stuff was out of sight, it was out of mind.

*****

Mr.Wilson and I show up at the bank at 1 pm the next day to empty my mom's safety deposit box. The manager takes me to an office and unlocks my mom's box.

"I'm so sorry for your loss Ms. Marshall. I will be outside the office. When you are finished, just open the door." He says politely before exiting.

I open the box slowly. I have no idea what is here or why she would need one of these. The first thing I see in the box is a note.

Dear, Natalie

I'm sorry, baby girl. I tried to win, but the cancer was too strong. They are giving me a couple more months. I'm still fighting. I will go down swinging for you. I dont want you thinking I'm weak. I did get my funeral taken care of with money my parents have sent me over the years. There is so much I need to say, but I just don't know how. I wish we had been closer. I know it's my fault we aren't. Please forgive me for my selfishness over the years. I had so much self-pity I pushed you away, and I didnt even forgive my idiot parents when they begged to meet you. There is $10,000 in this box for you from them. Achieve all your goals, baby girl. You are the stronger out of us—my little twin.

Love mom

My heart immediately breaks for my mom. She knew I thought she was weak. She knew I felt like she indulged in self-pity. She read me like a book while I didn't even care to try.

I wipe my tears just to have them fall heavier as I see the other items in the box. Pictures of mom and me when I was little. Back when she called me "little twin."  Back when I always tried to be just like her.There is also a bracelet I made for her in first grade for mother's day and, true to her word, $10,000. When I finally cried my last tears, I put the bracelet, pictures, and letter in my purse. Then I opened the office door.

Mr. Davidson cones back into the room with a hesitant smile.

"Sir, I need to open a saving account with the money my mother left me," I state while returning his slight smile.

"Of course, Ms. Marshall," he replies.

Thirty minutes later, Mr.Wilson and I are driving to the Wilson's, and I can't wait to hit my pillow and sob.