Living With Regret by Lisa de Jong

comfort from his presence.
    He pulls the lone guest chair closer to the bed, wrapping his warm hand around mine again. “Get some rest, Rachel. I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”
    When I was younger, I filled that empty cardboard box with Sam, and once I started seeing Cory, there wasn’t room for him anymore. It’s not that I didn’t want him there … Cory wasn’t willing to share the space. Now, I need Sam again. I think I’ve always needed him, and I can’t believe he’s here now. Please don’t let this be a dream.

June 23, 2013
    “READY TO GET OUT OF HERE, TODAY?”
    I stare up at Sam, giving him the most honest answer I can. “I have mixed feelings about it. It’ll be nice to see something besides these four walls, but I know there’s going to be things outside of here—in the car, my house and room—that remind me of him. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
    He squeezes my hand. “Do you remember when my dad died?”
    I nod. I will never forget that day; it was during Sam’s senior year. The same year our friendship began to dissipate. He hadn’t called in weeks, and when my phone finally lit up with his name, I smiled. I missed him, but he’d made it clear that he thought I deserved better than Cory. His call was the last thing I expected. The reason for his call was even less predictable—his father had a heart attack.
    “I didn’t sleep in our house again after that. I couldn’t because it held memories, good and bad. I worked day and night to finish the apartment above the shop. I didn’t cry a single tear … I had it in my mind that I never would, but as soon as I went in the house to get my clothes and furniture, I fell apart. I needed it. I needed the memories.” He pauses, running his thumb over my knuckles. “Let yourself grieve, Rachel, because, in the end, it’s the only way you’re going to heal.”
    I know he’s right, but it’s going to be painful. I don’t think I’m ready. It’s easier to stay in a certain state of denial, to let him live in my dreams hoping it might actually be real.
    When I don’t respond, he continues, “Someone said something to me not long after that still plays in my head every single day. He said, ‘We’ve all been given a life, but we have to make a conscious decision to live it.’ And you know what? He was right. It’s not easy, but it’s what you’re going to need to do.”
    His words make sense. Too much sense. I remember seeing him so stoic at his father’s funeral. All I kept thinking was how if he didn’t cry—let out some emotion—he was going to fall apart in the worst way. I gave him a hug that day, told him I was sorry, but he sort of disappeared after that. I always wondered if he’d let himself feel the loss. I feel better knowing he did.
    Just as I’m about to respond, Mom walks in, dressed in a pair of black slacks with a perfectly pressed white silk shirt tucked into them. She’s gone back to looking perfect every day… her life has resumed while mine is stuck somewhere between hell and a hard place.
    “What’s he doing here?” she asks as soon as she sees Sam sitting next to me. He has stopped by after work every day since that first day he was here, but he came in earlier today because I wanted him here for this. When I was younger, on the days it was just Sam and I, life was good. I felt safe, and he could always put a smile on my face. Worries didn’t exist, not in those moments. I think, by having him with me, maybe today won’t sting so much. Getting out of here and having to face my old life is going to suck, there’s no doubt about that.
    “I asked him to come.”
    She opens her mouth but bites back her words, considering them carefully while looking between the two of us. “Sam, can you give me a minute with my daughter?”
    He looks at me, concern showing all over his face. Our conversation before she walked in wasn’t light, and we didn’t get the opportunity to finish it. I nod,