14 Ryan
I sit in my jeep longer than I should, parked on the street outside the place that used to be home. I’ve avoided this street- avoided the memories, the people, everything tied to her. If my parents wanted to see me, they came to me, or we met somewhere else. Anywhere but here.
Because I know what happens when I’m here. It hits all at once. And it’s too much.
After she left, I couldn’t be around Jamie or Christian. Everything about them pointed back to her, and it hurt too much to look at them and not see her standing there.
So I left. I didn’t explain it, didn’t talk about it- not to my parents, not to anyone. I just left and built something else.
At my new school, I was just another face. Without baseball, I didn’t stand out. There were no expectations, no history, no one who knew who I had been- only who I was now.
And that was easier.
I kept moving. Studied hard, graduated early, got a job. Built a life- one that always feels incomplete without her, but most people wouldn’t notice. Most days, I'm happy. Enough.
I love my students. I love teaching—introducing young minds to the stories I fell in love with. I love having a classroom full of loud, opinionated middle schoolers who somehow manage to be both hilarious and exhausting.
I've built something good.
I've even dated. Not much, but enough to know the problem wasn't them.
They were kind. Smart. Funny. And I liked them. I really did.
But eventually every relationship reached the same point- the moment where they were supposed to become part of my future. And every time, I realized I couldn't picture that future without Frankie in it.
It's not heartbreak anymore.
Not the sharp, suffocating kind that followed me around after she left.
It's quieter than that now.
But every time something good happens, there's still a moment when I turn to share it with her before remembering I can't.
No matter how far I get, some part of me is still reaching for her. And every time I come back here, that feeling gets a little harder to ignore.
Her front door swings open.
I freeze before I can stop myself, my breath catching on instinct alone.
For one stupid, impossible second, I think it's her.
That she's finally home.
But it's not.
It's Christian. His dark hair is shorter than I remember. His brown eyes are shadowed behind his glasses. He's still put together in that effortless way Jamie and I never managed, dressed in a suit with his tie perfectly straight and his glasses sitting exactly where they're supposed to.
But there's something harder about him now.
He doesn't look up. Doesn't see me.
He just gets into his car alone and drives away.
I sit there for another second before forcing myself to move.
The funeral home is quiet when I walk in, the crowd small and familiar in a way that feels almost surreal. I find my parents and slip in beside them.
People I haven't seen in years find me almost immediately, and I fall into the same conversations over and over again, repeating the same answers.
I stopped playing baseball years ago. I live across town now. I’m a teacher.
No, I haven’t talked to Frankie.
That one catches a little more each time I say it.
Christian is holding court near the front, accepting condolences with that steady, unreadable expression of his, and it sort of hits me that he’s the one that’s done all of this- planned the whole funeral. It makes me feel like shit, honestly.
I loved Gram too, but when I left them, I left her too.
I scan the crowd but I don’t see Jamie anywhere.
The service starts and there’s a noise at the back of the room. I turn with about a dozen others to see what’s going on.
Jamie. He’s stumbled in and is leaning against the wall.
He looks different. His dark hair is longer than it used to be, falling into his face, and there’s more weight on him now- a hardness that wasn’t there before. His eyes are locked on the casket at the front of the room, unblinking.
I turn back around and try to pay attention, but it’s impossible. There are too many ghosts in this room- and I’m not even talking about Gram, who probably will haunt all of us just for fun.
And then I catch sight of Christian, sitting in the front row. Alone.
It shouldn’t surprise me, exactly. His dad was never really around and other than Gram, Christian never really had anyone else.
Other than us.
Something hot and guilty burns in my gut. He carried all of us for years, and somehow he’s still sitting here alone.
Without really meaning to, I glance back toward Jamie.
He’s still leaning against the wall, but this time, his gaze wanders and when his eyes catch mine. For a second, neither of us looks away.
He doesn’t look angry.
Doesn’t even really look sad.
He just looks… empty.
I see a single tear slip down his cheek, and he wipes it away immediately, like it offends him. Then he turns and walks out, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
The service ends and people begin to drift out. Conversations pick back up in low murmurs as chairs scrape against the floor and coats are pulled on.
And that's when it hits me.
She didn't come.
Frankie didn't come to Gram's funeral.
For a second, I stand there looking around the room like I somehow missed her.
But I didn’t. Because she’s not here.
My chest tightens.
I spent so long convincing myself I was mourning a person. Standing here now, watching everyone leave without her, I realize I was mourning a future.
One where she stayed.
One where I did too.