Page 18 of Aftershock

Lexi put her phone on the floor next to her and looked at me understandingly. “There is no ‘one’ solution,” she sighed. “But you'll figure it out.”

“But how?”

“I don’t know,” she huffed. “Go meditate, or climb Mount Everest, or help the blind…”

She was still angry.

“Lexi,” I flicked my eyes toward the back of my head. “Seriously.”

“I can’t live your life for you, Autumn. That’s something you’re going to have to find out for yourself.”

“And if I can’t?”

Her eyes softened once again. “You will.” Huffing out a breath of air, I nodded slowly, unconvinced of her words. “I’m serious,” she argued. “It might take two weeks, six months, or five years, but you’ll get through this. I barely know you, and even I can tell you’re too stubborn to give up without a fight,” Lexi laughed softly.

She was right about that. I had been fighting for years, but it felt like I was losing. Every punch the world threw seemed to knock me off my feet, and I was tired of having to get back up. I didn’t know if I could keep going. None of this felt worth it.

“And if there is no solution?”

“Then that is your answer.”

It didn’t feel like an answer. I needed something concrete and certain, not abstract and poetic. But what if there really wasn’t an answer?

“Earlier, I spoke to my mom on the phone and told her I didn't want to go to the funeral anymore. I want to believe I was just being dramatic, but deep down, I can't help but wonder, ‘why would I go to a funeral for the man I hate?’” I confessed.

“It may seem like you hate him now, but dealing with the guilt and the regret of not going to his funeral will cause your pain to get worse. Even if you never forgive him, you owe it to yourself to get closure with the person who hurt you,” Lexi sighed. “Go to the funeral. Say goodbye to your dad the way you wish he said goodbye to you.” Lexi’s tone stiffened, and her face became firm as she began to speak again, “Then leave. Leave and close that chapter of your life.”

“Is it really that easy?”

“No,” she responded immediately. “But it will get easier.”

“Did it for you?”

“Honestly, I thought I had moved on from my father, but maybe I wasn’t as healed as I thought I was. Sometimes repressed shit still creeps back up,” she admitted. “But I think talking to someone who’s lived through something similar is helping me more than I realized.”

“Why? Because I’m more fucked up than you ever were?” I joked.

“No,” she laughed. “Because I finally feel like I’m not alone.”

That’s when I figured out why she wanted to help me so much. She was trying to help herself, too. The advice she gave me were the words she so desperately wanted to hear when her father died.

“But you have friends, and your sisters, and your fans.”

“My friends don’t understand what it feels like to lose a father, my sisters were never close to him, and my fans try to support me, but they will always be an arm's length away.”

“What about your mom?”

She shrugged. “Why didn’t you talk to your mom?”

“I—uh,” I stuttered. “I don’t know.”

“Because you didn’t want her to see how broken you truly were.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but couldn’t. “Lexi,” I frowned, “You know we aren’t the same, right?”

“And that’s exactly how we help each other.”

I stared at her, still confused. “You want to help me after I just treated you like shit?”

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