Page 68 of Holding On

I don’t have the emotional capacity to process that she chose that asshole over Wells and me, but I’d be lying if I said it still didn’t hurt.

I feel like my fans are questioning who I am, let alone feeling like I’m not enough if my own mother wouldn’t choose me first. All those emotions are tied up in a messy, complicated knot along with the fact that my best friend fought like hell and still died.

“I’m sorry, Cami, I didn’t know I would be such a mess,” I blubber as I keep one hand on my belly and use the other one to cover my eyes.

“Mmm. We aren’t going to apologize for our emotions here, Tinsley. You and your feelings are welcome in this space, and if your body needs to release some of those, that’s welcome too.” Her voice has a slightly deeper tone that somehow comforts me even more—or maybe it’s just Cami.

“When it becomes too heavy, maybe try pushing your heels into the mat, or even open your eyes and focus on something in the room; remember that you are here in the present. You are capable, you are loved, and you are not alone,” Cami continues as though I’m not on the mat next to her losing my shit. I’m not even wiping away the tears now.

“Come back to your breath, it sounds so simple, but sometimes, when things are really complicated and hard, there can be tremendous comfort in something as simple as focusing on our breath. If you want, place one hand on your chest, while leaving the one there on your stomach.”

I don’t know why this small change feels so grounding to me, but this is why it’s so easy to trust Cami—she just knows, without judgement.

“Let’s take a few more deep breaths, and then if you want, we can take a break and try again later, or another day. There’s no rush here, Tinsley. Let your body and soul tell you what you need today—and let that be enough.”

I try to blink away the tears as I look at the exposed ceiling in the gym space on Jack’s rooftop. A fresh breeze fills the area from one of the cracked windows, just enough to feel refreshing, despite it being a February day. I don’t know how long we lie like that, but something about focusing on the rise and fall of my chest allows the anxiety in my gut to loosen, not a lot, but enough that it feels like my breaths are a little deeper.

Cami lies on her mat next to me, holding space and being present, but not pushing me.

“I miss my friend,” I say as I turn my head to look at Cami.

“I know, and I’m so sorry for the void she left in your life.”

“I hate the press.”

“Totally fair.”

“I’m scared to go to her funeral. But I can’t not go to it.” Fiona’s funeral is in Nashville in five days. Someone—Daphne, maybe—took care of all the arrangements for Dahlia, so all we have to do is show up. I’ve already told Dahlia I will sit with her, and she asked me to speak, something I didn’t feel like I could say no to.

“If you pull that feeling apart a little, what’s the root?”

“I’m scared there will be a scene that takes away from what Fiona deserves.”

“Is that something you can control?” Cami asks.

“No, not unless I do something to cause a scene.”

She gives me a small smile. “And is that something you would ever do?”

I shake my head slightly.

“What else?”

“I’m scared to face the reality…” My voice cracks as tears well up again.

“When she was in the hospital in New York, and you were here, she was fighting there, and you were hoping your friend would recover from here. You haven’t bridged that gap yet of where both of you were then and where both of you are now.”

I nod. “It will make it feel … final.”

“In some ways, yes. But also, I personally am a big believer that love—true love—never leaves us, regardless of what side of Heaven one half of the equation is on. So, in my opinion, as long as you carry her in your heart, and you believe that she carries you in hers, there is no such thing as a final goodbye. It’s just a pause until you come together again on the other side of Heaven.”

“How does that work?”

“It’s the power of love—and grief is only possible to dwell in a place where great love once existed. So, this pain? This grief that feels so heavy it might swallow you whole?” Cami reaches over and takes my hand. “That is only possible because of the great love you had with and for your friend. We can’t fight the grief, we have to make space for it to exist, but I think that’s a little easier when you understand why it’s possible to feel such deep grief.”

I swipe a tear with my other hand. “Because I loved my friend.”

Cami nods. “Because you loved your friend, yes. And so, you honor her when you carry that grief, because you acknowledge the love you had for her, your friendship, and why the loss of her life transformed yours.”