The Best You’ve Ever Had

Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Layla

The hours stretch and contract in a disorienting blur, like time in a funhouse. The windowless, sterile environment of the hospital grows more claustrophobic with each passing minute. We sit in uncomfortable chairs, enduring the same nineties movie playing on loop in the corner of the room, as if it’s meant to offer some form of comfort. Ben and his parents sit beside me, their bodies present but their minds adrift in their grief. A vacant look fills their eyes as they stare blankly at the small television screen.

I fetch them cup after paper cup of bitter coffee and pulpy orange juice, trying to keep myself busy and feel useful. The fact that I can’t alleviate this situation gnaws at me. I’m a problem-solver to my very core, but this is beyond my ability to fix. Something of this magnitude can’t be mended with stale blueberry muffins and bland chicken noodle soup from the cafeteria.

After what feels like an eternity, a tired-looking doctor steps out of the room and calls Brandy’s name. Their entire family leaps to their feet simultaneously and hurries over to the doctor. One half of me clings to hope, while the other braces for the worst.

Despite my efforts to tune out the drone of the television, I can’t make out what the doctor is telling them. All I can see are Ben and Dante’s backs, nearly identical with their broad frames and heads full of dark hair. Brandy stands beside them, twisting her hands nervously, her anxiety radiating off of her like heat from a blazing fire.

Their heads nod as they listen intently, clinging to every word, caught between optimism and dread. The defeated slump of their shoulders tells me the news isn’t good. The doctor nods and walks away, back where he came from down the long hall.

The three of them turn to each other, their eyes full of tears. Brandy and Dante embrace tightly, breaking down as they cling to one another, fully understanding the depth of each other’s pain. Ben tilts his head to the ceiling as if he can stop his tears from falling if gravity isn’t part of the equation. But it’s no use, because even from several feet away, I can see them. I can see every note of pain, every chord of grief, in his expression. My own eyes fill with tears that I don’t let fall. I can’t escape the pain, yet I’m too cowardly to face it head-on like everyone else. Not because I don’t care, but because they need support. If there’s one thing I can do for them right now, it’s being strong to help them through this.

A nurse steps out and nods at Brandy and Dante, signaling that two visitors can come back to say their goodbyes. Ben watches his parents walk through the hospital doors until they slowly close shut. With his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he stands stock-still, his back turned to the waiting area. It’s as if his body is in denial, frozen in place.

Standing from my chair, I make my way over to him, still wrapped in his coat. When I reach him, he won’t look at me. His eyes are buried in the palm of his hand as he tries to breathe, but his breaths come out ragged and frantic. It’s like he’s just awoken from a night terror, except reality is his nightmare.

“Ben,” I whisper softly, my voice breaking. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

His eyes finally meet mine, filled with a pain so raw it takes my breath away. He swallows hard, trying to compose himself, but the tears well up and spill over. My heart tears into two at the sight of him. His perfect hair is a mussed up mess, from hours of nervously running his hand through it. His dark eyes are nearly black, and lashes thick with tears shed. But most of all, he looks so helpless—vulnerable and unsure of what to even do next.

The overwhelming sense to comfort him hits me square in the chest. So I wrap my arms around him, as if I can burrow deeper and alleviate his grief. His mouth lands on top of my head, kissing my hair and breathing me in with a shaky breath.

“Is he gone?” I whisper.

I can feel the Adam’s apple of his throat bob, before he replies, “Yes. He went into cardiac arrest.”

I bury myself deeper into him. “Shit. I’m so sorry.”

“I just, I can’t…” he trails off, choking up with a sob. I throw my arms around his neck, pulling his face down into the crook of my shoulder. His tears fall onto my skin, and I simply hold him for minute after minute as he cries into me. I hold him tighter than I’ve ever held onto anything. Because I can be his lighthouse home. In the darkest of night, he’ll be able to find his way back. I can be steady, loyal, and dependable—guiding him for as long as he’s still looking for that light, and path back to shore.

Maybe that’s the only solution when things get hard. To be there, unwavering, throughout it all. Because even though today may be one of the worst days of his life—he’ll survive it. And I’m going to be the one to show him that he’ll make it through this.

We stand in the suffocating stillness of the waiting room, clinging to each other like we’re one, when it hits me. He feels like home—comfortable and familiar.

The realization sends a chill through my bones because I’m not that type. I don’t get attached. If life has taught me one thing, it’s to never get comfortable, because there’s always bad shit waiting for you right around the corner.

Yet, every corner I turn, it always seems to come back to this—to Ben. Blunt, honest, and somehow perfectly meant for me.

As we go through the motions of the night, I have no words to offer him. Perhaps there is no right thing to say. Maybe there’s not any words, in any language, that could lessen the grief and pain. It’s all about actions. Being there, and letting them cry on your shoulder. Stroking their hair until they finally drift into a fitful sleep. Making their favorite dish so they will have the appetite for food.

Maybe love isn’t about being loud and flashy, but it’s about being there.