Quickly, I shake my head. “Not at all. I guess the comment about the cheeseburger was just a stark reminder about how bad things were for you.”
He doesn’t have to, but Malik goes out of his way to downplay it. He holds up his sandwich, grinning. “Which is the reason I don’t want salads for lunch.”
“Noted,” I say softly, giving him a smile I hope isn’t overflowing with sympathy. Instead, I hope it merely conveys he has a friend who wants to help him in any way I can.
It’s an honor to Jimmy’s memory for me.
It represents a victory that Malik made it back while the bastards who killed my husband didn’t win.
Since things have gotten a little heavy, I decide it’s time for us to talk about our database project. I twist to grab my notepad out of my purse, which hangs on the back of my chair, when Malik says, “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”
There’s an actual tremor moving through me, knowing he’s going to ask about Jimmy. And while I never mind talking about my husband, whom I still love very much, it’s important to me that Malik has open access to me with full transparency about him. I imagine Malik is suffering from the loss of Jimmy and Sal, and he might need some solidarity.
I lock eyes with him. “You can ask me anything. Talk to me about anything.”
Something passes between us. There’s relief in his gaze, and a bit of fear that I’ve just opened a doorway for him. Mostly, I see the knowledge we both share something many others wouldn’t understand.
“How are you doing? I can’t imagine what it was like for you after—”
His words cut off abruptly before he can complete his sentence. It confirms the loss of lives—Jimmy’s and Sal’s—may have had as much of an effect on him as what he’d been through as a prisoner.
He’s just starting his recovery. I’ve been at it for a few months, so I feel like I can offer him something.
Hope.
“It was really hard at first,” I admit. “My body didn’t react to the stress and grief very well, so they had to put me on bed rest for the remainder of my pregnancy.”
Malik’s eyebrows draw inward with shared empathy. He places his forearms on the table, leans in, and ignores his food.
“It was hard going through the birth without Jimmy,” I say in a moment of total candor. I hadn’t talked about this with anyone much. “I mean… we’d gone to all the classes together. He was supposed to be my coach. It was his hand I was supposed to squeeze and nearly break during the contractions.”
Smiling at the image, Malik nods. It’s a silent encouragement to purge everything out because I have his undivided attention.
“I’d like to tell you Avery’s birth was an event of joy and happiness, but it wasn’t. I was so extremely sad Jimmy wasn’t there. Honestly, at first, I didn’t even want to hold her when she was born. It kills me to even admit that aloud.”
“It’s understandable,” Malik says.
I nod. “Yeah… I eventually understood that, and my mom didn’t give me any choice. She was there in Jimmy’s place. She was the first to hold Avery. She’s the one who put her on my chest. Forced me to hold her. And… Malik, it was like a veil got lifted when I finally looked at her. I mean, I expected this magical moment like maybe I’d see Jimmy’s face reflected back, but let’s be honest… all babies look alike with their smooshy faces.”
Malik busts out laughing. “Totally.”
I grin back, the heaviness fully lifted. “But when I looked at her, it was full love at first sight. In that moment, I knew I could grieve for Jimmy while still being filled with hope, love, and happiness over Avery. That it was okay to be happy. It was a clarifying moment. My daughter was what started my healing process. Every day, she has made me exponentially happier.”
His eyes jump back and forth between my own as he considers my words. “It takes time, right?”
Malik’s not asking the question to know if that’s the theory applied to my own grief. He’s asking for himself.
Reaching across the table without thought, I lay my hand on top of his. He doesn’t flinch or acknowledge the touch in any way, but he doesn’t withdraw either. “Yes… it just takes time.”
Then, to my surprise, his hand shifts, twisting slightly so he’s able to curl his fingers around mine. He squeezes. With the most penetrating look that has ever been bestowed upon me, he says, “I am so very sorry Jimmy died. I would have traded places with him in a heartbeat.”
“I’d never ask that of you,” I reply, giving him a squeeze back. “I believe God has bigger plans for all of us. I don’t try to pretend to understand them. It’s healing to accept it’s out of our control, though. The best we can do is live a good life in acknowledgment.”