Nothing Matters (Family Matters Book 1) (24 page)

"I disgust her," I said.  "She can't stand me, doesn't even want me to touch her.  What am I supposed to do?"

"She's needs support," Mom said, "not rejection."

"She's rejecting me," I cried.

"I should go over there," Mom said, fussing, her doctor's voice coming to the fore.

"No, Mom," I pleaded, "please don't interfere.  Just give us a few days, and I'll fix it.  But I think we just need some time out."  And I did believe that.  For the two months before Cassidy died, we'd spent practically every waking moment together, mainly confined to a small hospital room, and the six weeks since she'd died, we'd never spent any time apart, other than me being at school.  I was sure a day or two apart wouldn't end our relationship.  In fact I believed it would strengthen it, that the words we were saying to each other were being said in frustration and exhaustion.

I'm just sitting around in the dining room waiting for dinner, which Mom is cooking.  Afterwards I plan on going around to James' place, just to hang with the boys.  I hear the doorbell ring, and moments later Dad ushers Cassian through to me.  It's a surprise to see him.

"Hi," I say, standing.  He intimidates me a bit because he's so tall and solid.

"Hi," he says, unsmiling.  "You got a minute to talk?"  I've never had a whole lot to do with Cassian on his own, but he's always been quite friendly and amicable in the past, but I'm sensing that's not the case today.  I'm guessing he's seen Magdala.  I offer him a seat at the table and I'm glad when he takes it because I don't want him towering over me.  "I've just been with Magdala," he says directly, not beating around the bush. 

"Yeah," I nod, suddenly feeling guilty, like I've abandoned her.  "Is she okay?"

"Is she okay?" he repeats, as if he can't believe I've just asked the question.  "What do you think?"

I sigh.  "I thought it was best to give her a few days on her own," I say, now frantically trying to justify my actions.

"A few days on her own?" he asks, in that same incredulous tone.  "She says she doesn't know if you're fucking coming back." 

"Cassian?"  It's my mother's voice, at the doorway.  She's obviously heard his outcry. 

He turns.  "Dr Surridge," he says, "excuse my language.  I'm sorry."  And he briefly lowers his eyes.  Mom acknowledges with a nod.

"I'll work it out," I say.  "I just think we need some time apart to think things out."

"Magdala is Cassidy's mother," he says, and there's now this authority in his voice which makes him seem like he's more than a year older than me.  "It isn't about what you want Flynn, it's about her."

"Cassian," my mother interjects, with her own sense of power.  "Flynn's trying to do the right thing in a very difficult situation."

"A difficult situation?" His tone is sarcastic.  "Finding a park in fucking Beverly Hills is a difficult situation," he mocks, an unapologetic glare towards my mother.  "Magdala has lost her baby.  Her loss is devastating, and you want fucking time out?"  He's now staring me down. "Look, how you deal with your grief is your own fucking business, but I think you need to move on.  You're not what she needs right now."

Now I'm aghast, I didn't think he was going to say that.  I thought he was going to beg me to go back to her.  I don't know what to say and Mom, who is still standing there, now steps forward, moving towards Cassian.

"I don't think that's your call to make Cassian," she says frankly.  "That decision is up to Flynn and Magdala."  I'm silently thinking, Well said, Mom.

"Well I'm thinking Flynn already made his decision.  When he moved back here," he says.  "Magdala is in hell right now and she doesn't need someone who's going to run home to Mommy and Daddy whenever he needs a bit of time out."  He's humiliating me, making me seem like a child, and Mom's interruptions are not helping my case.

"That's not what's happening," Mom defends.  "It's natural in circumstances like this that they each are in different stages of grief and it's a matter of time..."

Cassian is agitated.  He stands.  "I'm sorry Dr Surridge," he says, "but you can fuck your stages of grief.  I'm talking about my sister, and I know my sister fucking better than anyone.  I've watched her put her life back together after the rape, and I'm not going to stand by and watch you tear away at it now."  His eyes, insanely green eyes, are drilling into me.  "Just do me a favor and get over there and pack your things up, instead of trying to pretend it will all work out in a few days time."

"Cassian," Mom says, "this is not your decision to make.  Flynn and Magdala need to -"

"Mom," I say, louder than I intended, "Mom?"  A look of deflation covers her face when I say, "Can you just leave us.  Please."  I don't want Cassian to think I'm a puppet, controlled by my parents.  I want him to know that I can think for myself.  Mom leaves, but doesn't close the door.  I suspect she'll be listening from the other room.

"Did she send you over here?" I ask, trying to assert myself.

"No," he admits, "she doesn't know I'm here."  Now that's taken me by surprise as well.  I felt for sure he was confronting me on her behalf.  Now I'm not sure what to think, to say.

"I'll go and see her," I say.

"Flynn," he says, in a patronizing tone.  "You're not getting it.  This is about Magdala.  You're not what she needs, you're not good for her.  You need to get the fuck out of her life."

"But we can work it out," I try to convince him.  "I just thought we needed a break from each other."  But is it what I thought.  Suddenly I'm not sure why I left. 

"She isn't going to heal with you around," he says, and his voice is now kinder, more gentle, as if he's simplifying it for me.  "There will always be resentment, there will always be blame.  Who should have felt the lump?  Who should have called your mother sooner?  Who gave her the cancer?"  He pauses.  "Do you understand?"

And in a heartbeat, I do.  If we stay together we will forever be reminded of our darling daughter, everyday will be a living nightmare of what we went through.  Crazily enough, it makes sense.  Magdala isn't coping, can't get past it because she sees and feels the pain every single minute, every single day, with me and through me.  I'm hurting her more than helping her.  Somehow his words make perfect sense.

"So you need to pack your gear up and tell her you're moving out."  He says it matter-of-factly but there's a slightly threatening tone to it, one I feel like I daren't argue with.  I feel myself nodding involuntarily, as if I'm his puppet.  So much for defending myself, being able to stand up for myself.

He reaches into his front jeans pocket and pulls out his keys, indicating the conversation is over.  And he walks out the way he came, gesturing to my mother with a nod of his head as he passes her by.

I go down to my bedroom and see his car reversing out the driveway.  I open my closet and see the suitcase there, and aren't really sure why it's here and not at the beach apartment.  I think I moved to the apartment bit by bit, a few clothes here and there, never in just one big move.  I take it out to my car and drive to Magdala's, lug it up the staircase.  I knock on the door, even though I have my key.

She seems surprised that it's me.  "Have you lost your key?" she asks, a smile on her face, and then she sees the suitcase and her expression changes.  She opens the door fully and gives me a wide berth.

"No," I say, "I just didn't want to barge in."  I stow the suitcase behind the door.  She just watches me.  I'm thinking I should have left it in the car, until later.

"Are you moving out?" she asks in a flat voice, leaving me, going to the sofa, as if she doesn't really care what my answer is."No," I say, and she turns, looking interested again.  I add, "Not right now."  I go over to her, sit down.  "Have you been all right?"

She nods, but doesn't look me in the eye.  Something in the kitchen beeps and she stands up quickly, heads that way.  There's something different about her, but I can't put my finger on it.

"Do you want something to eat?"

"What have you got?" I ask.

"BLT," she replies.

"Yeah, sounds good."  Mom had been cooking a chilli which smelt fantastic, but I guess I'm going to miss that.  "If it's no trouble."  I get up and go into the kitchen, noticing that her surfboard and wetsuit are out on the balcony.

"Have you been surfing?" It surprises me because she hasn't been out for weeks, probably months.

"Yes."

"How was it?" I ask, tasting a slice of tomato that she's cutting.

"It was great," she answers and she tells me where she went and how it was.  She hasn't sounded enthusiastic about anything for some time.  It's almost like a light has flickered back on inside her.  I'm thinking, two days without me and she's back on track.  Fuck Cassian, he's right.  She doesn't need me.

We sit at the table and eat our burgers.  We have a normal conversation, about James, about working tomorrow, about Aaron's band's gig at the Halloween dance. She goes and wipes down her surfboard, then carefully brings it inside, drapes her wetsuit on the back on a kitchen chair.

"Are you going out tomorrow?" I ask, getting the ice cream from the freezer.

"Yes the forecast is good all day," she says and I feel jealous.  That she has something to look forward to.  That's she's going to be all right without me.

"Hey, have you been into this ice cream?" I joke.  The tub is half empty.  She peers in and laughs.  "Cash was here," she says.  I scoop some on a spoon and hold it out for her, thinking she'll take the spoon, but she just licks it off.  I so want her.  I want to forget about everything we've been through.  I want her like this again, happy, smiling, teasing me.  My heart feels like it's doing flick flacks.  I feed her more ice cream.  She's not wearing any make up but her skin looks like its glowing.  Her hair is natural, slightly disheveled, like its been wet from the sea, but she hasn't combed it since.  I love that.  I do love her, still love her. 

I take the empty ice cream tub back into the kitchen and when I come back I sit next to her.  She shifts and makes room for me.  I put my arm around her, she rests her head somewhere between my chest and shoulder.  I'm wondering if she knows Cassian came to see me, but I'm guessing not.

It's getting late and she looks at the time, looks at me as if she's figuring out what I'm going to do.  "Can I stay tonight?" I ask.

"You want to?" she asks and I nod and kiss her.  We go and get ready for bed.  While she's in the bathroom I check my bed stand, yes there are still some condoms in there.  I put one under the pillow.  She comes and lies down but keeps to her side of the bed.  I'm wondering what to do.  How right would it be to make love to her when I'm walking out tomorrow?  Since Cassidy died we haven't done it much, hardly ever in fact.  The night of the funeral we did, almost as if we were in a daze, hadn't understood that we'd just buried our daughter, and making love was something that had made the day seem normal.  Several nights when her tears had been incessant, she had turned to me, hoping sex would be a way to turn them off.  It had provided temporary respite.

I move closer, testing for a vibe, my hand stroking her hair.  She doesn't pull away.  I kiss her shoulder, her neck, her lips.  No resistance.  The kiss deepens and I realize how much I've missed our intimacy, that closeness.  My hand cups her breast.  Her body responds.  We can still work this out, can't  we?  We can rediscover what made us love each other in the first place, can't  we?  My hand goes lower, and she stiffens.  Fuck.  I've crossed the line.  I move it away, embarrassed.

"You're going to leave me tomorrow," she states, emotionless, and I want to cry out, "I don't have to, look how good we are together."  But it's like she knows, that she is better on her own, without me, and whether Cassian has told her that, or she innately knows, I don't have a clue.  I turn over, not denying it, and she spoons herself around me and kisses the back of my neck.  And I cherish that moment, because I know it will probably have to last me a lifetime.

MAGDALA

Flynn comes over on Friday night, bringing his suitcase with him, so I know what his intentions are. And I guess I anticipated it, so although my emotions range from initial elation at his return, it then falls to despair when I see the suitcase, but then stalls at inevitability, as though I had known the result all along.

The high from surfing is still racing through my veins, and the visit from Cassian has me remaining in high spirits.  And then I get a text from Jarryd which says:  did I see u out surfing today?

Me:  yes, first time in months

Him:  u looked awesome babe. 

For some reason I get great pleasure from that, and then he texts me where and when he will be surfing tomorrow, so I say I'll try to make it.  Jarryd is at college, but I haven't surfed with him since he graduated, as he'd moved out of his mother's house.  I'd seen him at Cassidy's funeral, he'd given me a hug and had sent flowers and a card.  I'd see on Facebook where he has been surfing, and I would like his posts, but we hadn't been in contact.

Flynn tries to place no importance on the suitcase, and is happy to have dinner with me.  We talk, and maybe because we know what's going to happen we are relaxed and there's no tension, no stress, no need to fight.  It's like we are resigned to the fact that we are are better apart.  For now.