25. Daphne
25
DAPHNE
I hold on to my composure until I get home. Years of suppressing emotion for the win! I lost my parents tragically, and I will not dishonor their deaths by claiming dropping my boyfriend off at the airport was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but this was hard because I had a choice this time.
“This is your fault,” I tell myself. “You could have gone with him or asked him to stay.”
I could see in Logan’s expression that all I had to do was ask him not to go, and he’d be here with me in our home right this moment. But I’d worry he’d resent me and get bored being here. He enjoys traveling and doing new things. He said he doesn’t want to be stagnant. Is that what I am? Stagnant like a murky pond with green scum on top? Why would anyone swim in a scummy pond?
I gaze around the living room. Other than the new couch, it’s the way Gran left it after she passed. Same clock in the corner, same pictures on the walls, same ugly green carpet. Logan insisted I change the sofa. He borrowed his cousin’s truck and dragged me to the IKEA in South Philly to buy this cute red couch. Gone is the floral monstrosity from the Ford administration that used to anchor the room. No more plastic seat covers, no stiff cushions, just comfort and color. I’m able to put my feet up on the cushions without guilt, something I never felt right doing on Gran’s sofa. I’ve added my books to the shelves and a couple pictures of me and Logan, but it’s mostly how it was when she was still alive. My home is like a calm, peaceful lake. No gigantic waves to capsize a canoe, no scary monsters under the surface waiting to drag you under. Is our home scummy and stagnant to Logan? Am I? Is that why I’m not worth staying with?
Walking into our bedroom, my bedroom, I see Logan left a couple of shirts behind for me. I tear up when I grab the green plaid flannel he wore yesterday. It smells like him. I think about putting it on, but then spy a stuffed moose Logan won for me at a carnival a few years ago and dress him in the shirt instead. This way, I can cuddle the moose, and the shirt won’t have to be washed.
Taking off my sweater and jeans, I pull on the T-shirt Logan wore with his sleep pants this morning while we had breakfast. All I have left of the man I love is some dirty laundry. I never even told him I loved him. He thought I was asleep when he whispered he loved me in bed Friday night, but I heard him. Why didn’t I tell him I loved him too? I thought I was protecting myself by keeping the words to myself because it would hurt more when he left me, but it hurts anyway, and now I don’t have memories of us telling each other those precious words. What if something happens and I never get to look in his eyes and see his reaction when I tell him how I feel? If I see him again, no, when I see him again, I’ll tell him I love him. In person. I’m not doing our I love yous over the phone or in a text. These are face-to-face words.
Taking a deep breath, I imagine my therapist, Claire, asking me if what I’m thinking is true, or if I’m falling into my habit of catastrophic thinking. I have been working hard to not let myself spiral when I get these thoughts. I may not be able to stop myself from thinking them, but I have the power to not let them overwhelm me.
“Okay,” I tell myself, “I will take tonight to wallow, eat copious amounts of ice cream, and cry while watching Howlbark movies. I am not pond scum. Tomorrow is a new day. I will control what I can control. I am strong and will survive what I cannot control.”
Grabbing my carton of Turkey Hill Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream and a spoon, I crawl into bed, turn on the TV, and scroll through my DVR to find a sickeningly sweet Howlbark movie to watch.
“Why is my pillow lumpy?” Sitting up, I feel around my pillow, and to my surprise, I discover a small box. There is a small, folded note taped on top.
I use my fingertip to open it and read out loud. ‘“Daph, I saw this and knew you had to have it. You have my heart, Logan.’”
I lift the lid off the basic white jewelry box. It’s the wrong size and shape for a ring box, and I’m glad. If Logan was giving me a ring, then he damn well better be here putting it on my finger.
“Oh my gosh,” I gasp. On a bed of cotton rests a delicate, openwork silver heart with a diamond in the center. It’s from the Sunset Beach Gift Shop, so it’s a Cape May diamond and not a genuine diamond, but that doesn’t make it any less precious. I use the delicate silver chain strung through the heart to lift the necklace from its bed and hold it up to scrutinize it. The light catches the stone, causing it to sparkle. I love it. I want to put it on so I can feel it against my skin while I fall asleep, but I’m afraid I’ll snap the dainty chain. I force myself to put it back in the box and wait for the morning to wear Logan’s heart close to mine. Even if he isn’t here with me in person, I still have something from him with me.
I’m not really alone.
Unless he gave me this as a goodbye present. Maybe he’s not giving me his heart. Maybe this is just a trinket, and it doesn’t mean anything.
I hit play and take my first spoonful of ice cream. Normally I savor the dough bits, letting them melt on my tongue, but this time I chomp through them.
I try to watch A Winter Christmas Penguin Princess for a Reindeer Prince without my interest being piqued. Okay, it wasn’t named that, but they may as well have been. I decide to dip into my stash of non-winter movies and pick one about a city-slicker cougar shifter career woman traveling to the great outdoors to do something outside her comfort zone with a hunky wolf shifter outdoorsy guy offering sage advice and a chaste kiss an hour and fifty-five minutes in.
“Oh wow, it’s a charmingly quirky blonde wandering the big city, bringing sunshine and light everywhere she goes. Ugh. I hate her.” I roll my eyes but still watch the whole thing, smirking at their kiss five minutes before the end of the movie. This movie was great. I’ll never admit it, but the scenario in the movie sparked an idea I’m eager to follow up on. As the credits roll, I grab the remote, stab it toward the TV, and hit the off button. I need to sleep anyway so I’m not a zombie at the office tomorrow.
The house is so quiet. It was just a week, but having Logan here, puttering around, making noise, and knowing I wasn’t alone became my new normal. I miss it. I grab my moose and cuddle him close. I smell Logan on the shirt I dressed Mooster in. It’s a comforting mix of his clean soap scent, our detergent, and Logan’s basic aroma. I bury my nose in the shirt’s collar and breathe deeply.
“Oh, Mooster. I don’t think I can do this.” After murmuring a prayer that Logan stays safe in his travels, I drift off to sleep.
* * *
“Mom?” I ask groggily. “What are you doing here?” I check my phone for the time—three in the morning, the witching hour.
“It seems like you need me, so I came to check on you,” she answers.
“Okay…um, hi?” I don’t know if I’m dreaming, if my mother’s ghost is visiting, or if I’m going crazy. Maybe a combination of all three? Whatever it is, they look like my mom in her black-and-white striped T-shirt and jeans. If I look down, I’ll probably see the black Converse sneakers she loved to wear when not dressed in a suit and heels for the office. My parents were only thirty-six when they died. Now that I’m an adult, I realize how young that was. Her copper bob shows no signs of gray. She’s still beautiful.
“Hi, honey. Gran and Dad send their love. Gran likes the couch.”
“She does? I was afraid she’d be upset I got rid of her sofa.”
“Daphne, she wants you to make this house your home or use it as your launch pad. She didn’t intend for you to keep it as a shrine to the past when she left it to you. She wanted you to use it for your future. Keep it, sell it, whatever you need it for. Same for me and Dad. We never intended for you to become an accountant if that wasn’t what you wanted. Yeah, we talked about you taking over Foster Accounting, but that was our dream, and we wanted you to have an easier path than we did. We would have been fine if you’d majored in something else or did the tour guide thing. We want you to be happy. Dad and I are worried about you.”
I sit up with my back against the headboard.
Mom sits at the foot of my bed, just like she did when I was younger.
“You are? Why? Is something going to happen?” My heart beats faster. Is this visit a warning something bad is going to happen? Oh no. Logan. Am I going to lose him too? My breath comes in short pants. One of my anxiety attacks is coming on. I haven’t had one in years.
“Daphne, breathe. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Come on, do it with me.” Mom leads me through the breathing exercise, and I’m surprised she knows it. The attacks didn’t start until after she died. As if she read my mind, she replies, “I’ve been with you in my own way. I’m so sorry you’ve gone through so much and felt alone. Dad and I didn’t want to leave you. We would have stayed if we could have.” She reaches out and holds my hand. It’s warm and feels solid.
“I know. I’ve missed you both so much. I’ve been so alone.” I swallow past the lump in my throat.
“No, you haven’t. You’ve had Logan,” Mom replies.
My gaze shoots up from where it was resting on our joined hands. “You know about Logan?”
“We do.” Her lips curve into a wry smile I inherited from her. “It’s about time you guys did something about it.”
“What? How much do you see? Tell me Dad doesn’t know. Oh my goodness, Gran!”
Mom lets out a hearty laugh. It’s not genteel, like tinkling bells. It’s more like an over-exuberant donkey. I’ve missed that laugh.
“Don’t worry. You have your privacy. We have our own things to do, and we aren’t watching you make out with your boyfriend.” She shudders. “It’s enough that I have to see your Gran and Pop make up for lost time. I don’t need to see my little girl getting jiggy with it.”
It’s my turn to shudder. No one needs to hear their mother use the word “jiggy.” Haven’t I suffered enough? Oh my gosh, am I making a joke about losing my parents? What the hell is wrong with me?
“Nothing is wrong with you, Daphne. You’re allowed to find humor and joy and be irreverent. It doesn’t mean you don’t miss us or didn’t love us. That’s why I’m here. We want you to be goofy and have fun and go on your adventures. Don’t be afraid of the future. Embrace it. If there are bumps along the way, you’ll deal with them. Plans shift. And so does your boyfriend. He’s gorgeous as his eagle, by the way. You’re strong and resilient. I think you’ve forgotten that, so I’m here to remind you. Don’t waste your life being safe. That doesn’t mean go out and be reckless. We’re in no rush to have you join us.” She laughs. “Sorry, couldn’t help it.”
A chuckle slips out. What else can I do? My mom is sitting here on my bed, holding my hand and making jokes about being dead. I’m not sure if I’m never eating chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream before bed again or eating it every night if this is going to happen.
“You know what I mean,” she says. “Don’t be reckless, but live your life. Fall in love, have a family, follow your dreams, go on adventures. Love is an adventure. It’s the best adventure you can have.”
My phone buzzes, and I reach over to see I have a text from Logan letting me know he arrived safely. It’s just before seven in the morning now. I look around the room. “Mom?”
Silence. I’m alone.
Did I dream her visit, or was she really here? My boyfriend turns into a bird, so I don’t think my dead mother visiting me is that outrageous in the big scheme of things. Whatever the truth is, she told me what I needed to hear.
“Thank you, Mom. I love you.”
I never thought a Howlbark movie and a visit from my mother’s ghost would offer the key to my future, but I guess stranger things have happened. Grabbing a pen, notepad, and my laptop, I make lists and google until it’s time to get ready for work. I have the start of a plan, and I’ll work on it more when I get home from work tonight.