Page 39 of Wild About You
Startled at being invited into this walk down Finn’s memory lane, I have to think about it for a second. I vaguely remember taking a field trip in elementary school to a planetarium in the next town over. It’s been a minute. “Hmm, I know the guy with the belt, and a couple of ladles that are also bears.”
Finn laughs. “Right, yep. Those are the official names.”
“I also know I’m a Scorpio,” I add with an air of superiority. “And—wait, when’s your birthday?”
“December twenty-seventh.”
“And that you’re a Capricorn.”
“Now you’re just showing off.”
I hear the smile in his voice and smile back into the darkness.
“Well, my favorite constellation is Ursa Major—the Big Dipper, aka the ladle that’s also a bear,” he continues. “I think at first I liked it because it was usually easy to find, and we’d try to locate it first, but then my dad…he kind of made it a whole thing. The big bear was him and the little bear, or Ursa Minor, was me. I guess it means even more to me now.”
I feel a lump in my throat, and it’s getting harder to keep my smile and voice from wobbling. “I take it you found the Big Dipper out here?”
If that’s an answer any old one-time-planetarium-visitor should know, Finn doesn’t act like it. He just nods and leans back to rest on one elbow, pointing with the other out at the sky. “Over there. See the four corners? And the handle…” I follow his finger and sure enough, I see it. “It’s made up of circumpolar stars—always visible in the Northern Hemisphere. Barring, you know, trees in the way, or light pollution or whatnot. So I knew I’d probably see it if I went stargazing here, I just…hadn’t. Until tonight.”
I nod, leaning back onto my elbows beside him. “You hadn’t, because it makes you think of your dad?”
Finn seems to consider it, then shakes his head. “No. I guess I just hadn’t felt like it. I don’t have to avoid things that make me think of him, because honestly, I’m always thinking of him. It’s pointless to try not to. But I don’t always feel so…despairing about it anymore? Like, I can get through my days without feeling like I’m swimming through a thick cloud of grief at all times. I can feel happy. But then something will hit me in a certain way, and I’m pulled under again and have to just ride it out. Tonight is one of those.”
I hear him sniffle, and without thinking too much about it, I reach out to offer his own sweatshirt sleeve. He gives a sad chuckle. “I’m good, thanks.” He exhales heavily. “Today was a really good day, and sometimes I think the good days are weirdly harder. When things happen that I wish I could tell him about, or that I wish I could experience with him, and I just get so mad and sad and heartbroken all over again that none of that is possible.”
He isn’t trying to wipe away the tears now. It’s humbling, the fact that he’s telling me any of this, let alone letting me sit in the sadness with him. “It’s times like this that I wish I believed in heaven. That would probably be so comforting, to think I’d get to see him again someday if I play all my cards right, spend eternity together. But I settle for talking to the Big Dipper. Rage crying under the stars.” He shrugs. “There are worse ways to cope.”
“Definitely,” I say with my own sniffle. I don’t want to wipe my gross tear-snot on his sweatshirt, so I pull my T-shirt hem out from under it and use that to dry off my face. Not that I’m done with the tears and snot yet. “You could be putting up an unhealthy mental wall to prevent yourself from thinking about your person or dealing with their loss at all for, oh, four years, until you suddenly realize you can’t put it off anymore and it’s been making you really sad all this time anyway and you should maybe do something about that before you emotionally implode. It’s good you’re not doing that.”
Finn nudges me with his elbow. “You say you put a wall up, but you got a whole tattoo in her honor. You’ve gotten yourself to theater school, like you dreamed about with her. You’ve been keeping her with you, even if you feel like you pushed her memory out completely for a while there. Grieving also requires us to go full survival mode sometimes.”
I swipe at my cheeks again, forgetting this time and using Finn’s sleeve anyway. “Survival mode, huh? Who says I wasn’t prepared for Wild Adventures after all?”
I smirk at him playfully, but Finn’s smile back is a little weak.
“Natalie, about that. I need to apologize to you,” he says, voice solemn.
His pained gaze turns to the stars as he rubs a hand over his head. Wanting to ease whatever’s making him feel bad, I almost ask, “For all the puns earlier?” But I refrain.
“I know I’ve been…difficult to work with. To put it lightly.” A quiet laugh huffs out of him. I look back up at the sky again, not wanting him to feel the pressure of my gaze. “I’m really sorry for all of it. It took a while to realize how much it’s been affecting me—the difference between my past hopes and expectations for Wild Adventures, my dad being here with me, versus the way things have turned out.
“I was never gonna come here and just…have a fresh, fun, dad-free experience. I’ve been constantly thinking of how x, y, and z would have been different if I was doing this with Dad. So I think I was primed to not like you because you aren’t him. Everything about you that was or is different from him was like a personal offense. When all along, in reality, so many of those qualities are what make you incredible. You’ve been the most accepting, open, down-for-whatever partner, or companion, or friend I could’ve asked for. I just wasn’t asking for anyone but him.”
I feel his gaze turn to me again, so I look back at him. “So…yeah. I’m sorry, and it’s completely my shit to keep working on, and I never should’ve punished you for that.”
Well, fuck.
The tears in my eyes spill over, tracking down my cheeks and blurring the sky behind Finn into an abstract painting of darkness and light. I definitely wasn’t expecting this tonight—or maybe ever.
“I…Thanks, Finn,” I say, trying again to hide the wobble in my voice. “That makes complete sense to me. Grief is a uniquely awful experience, and I bet everyone going through it says and does things they aren’t proud of sometimes.”
Finn sits up and reaches out a hand to me. I accept it, and he gives mine a squeeze. “And I’m sorry I keep making you cry. I’ll try to stop being such a downer.”
I laugh in spite of myself. “No, no, you didn’t—I’m not crying because of you.” I tip my head from side to side. “Well, I am, but I’m not. I just hate it that your dad isn’t here and you didn’t get to do this with him. I’d give up my spot in a heartbeat if it meant you could have that. You should’ve had it, and it’s not fair that the universe or cancer or whatever we want to blame took it away.”
My eyes stay locked on his.
“But also, it’s…I don’t know that anyone’s ever apologized for taking something out on me that isn’t my fault, even though now I understand where you were coming from. It means a whole lot.”