Chapter 13 Naomi #2
That’s when Mom returns with the stack of old photos. She settles back into her chair and fans them out on the table, next to her plate.
There’s me and Adri as kids, me in my high school graduation gown, Ty and me in front of the house right before prom, young and clueless.
When I peek at him from the corner of my eye, he swallows hard. I see that he remembers that night too.
"You still have these, Mrs. Medina," he says, quieter now, like the memories are just as overwhelming for him as they are for me.
"What, you think you’re not family?" Mom piles more rice on his plate.
I watch him shift in his seat, trying to keep it together the same way I am.
"So you’ve been gone all this time," Adri croaks, sarcasm and challenge in his voice. "Never thought to call. And now you show up with flowers?"
"Just leave it," I tell my brother, the words coming out sharper than I intend.
Ty looks at me, appearing almost grateful. Or maybe guilty.
Adri laughs, harsh and humorless. "Now she defends you?"
"Maybe stay out of it," Ty snaps back, and suddenly, it’s all out there, hanging in the air. "For once."
I bite my lip, feeling exposed, angry, and a little betrayed.
Mom’s confused. The photo of me in her hand is suspended above the table as she shifts her attention from Adri, to me, and then to Tyler.
"Are you two ever going to make up?" I ask. "What is this kindergarten behavior?"
Adri’s chair scrapes back when he stands. He throws his napkin on his plate. "You’ve got some nerve, Brady. I’ll give you that."
Mom slams her fist on the table, startling everyone. "Adrian, enough!"
The room goes quiet, but I can hear my heart thudding in my ears. No one moves. No one speaks. The meal cools on our plates, and Mom surveys us like we’re naughty kids in time-out.
I steal a glance at Tyler. His face is unreadable, but I know he’s wishing he’d never shown up.
A part of me agrees.
I excuse myself, needing to gather my thoughts.
I slip out to the back yard and press up against the oak tree, hugging the rough bark like a memory I can’t let go of. It smells of old sap and something sweeter underneath. Teenage hopes. And I desperately want to go back to those times, go back to my youth.
But sadly, time doesn’t change its nature for anyone, no matter how hard we wish for it.
Tyler and Adri stay inside to help Mom clear the table. I can hear them talking in the kitchen, but it’s all very clinical. Just instructions on what plate goes where and some single-syllable answers.
Sometime later, I hear the screen door slam, then soft, careful footsteps approach.
I feel him beside me before I see him.
"Naomi." His voice floats across the dark like a ghost. I think about letting him haunt me for a while before I turn around.
He’s watching me with those terrifyingly honest blue eyes. There’s enough light to see his expression, and it’s the same one he had after I slapped him the other day. Baffled and scared. He takes another step toward me to close the distance.
I look past him at the far-off lights of town glittering like stars that got lost on their way to the sky. I breathe in the desert air, letting the last of spring coolness sink into me, letting it numb me to what just happened inside.
"I'm sorry," Ty whispers. "I meant to talk to you, but I didn’t know where you lived, so I figured your mother would tell me," Ty admits.
"And you chose to crash our family dinner?"
"That wasn’t my intention."
"Don’t you understand what you’re doing?" I lift my chin and stare at him. "It’s already difficult, trying to let him go, trying to get over the fact that he’s truly not in this world anymore. And with you showing up…digging up all these old memories…it’s like digging up his grave."
"I’m sorry," he whispers again.
"How are we supposed to move on?" I gesture at the house, as if pointing at the past itself. My voice is trembling. So are my hands. "How are we supposed to heal when you keep coming back into our lives and stirring up everything."
He stands there, his hands shoved in his pockets, looking more like the kid I used to know than the man I don’t.
"I am sorry." He rubs the back of his neck, awkward and sheepish. "I got caught up in seeing you. In remembering. I didn’t think it through. I didn’t think about—"
"How it would mess with my head?" I cut him off, trying to sound angry instead of hurt.
"I know. It’s just…seeing you again. After all these years. I’m sorry, Naomi."
"You keep saying you're sorry, Ty. But are you really?" I ask. "Why are you back now? Is this some sort of mid-life crisis?"
There’s a long pause filled with something tense, something heavy. "My feelings for you haven't changed, Naomi. Not in all these years."
The words hit me like a jolt. I knew, of course. I knew that kiss was full of history. But hearing him say it is different.
"You left," I say, my voice small and accusing.
"I did."
"You wanted to." The bitterness seeps out before I can stop it.
"I didn’t want to leave you." He sounds so sincere, I almost believe it.
But then I remember how it felt that morning I went next door—how emptiness lodged itself into my chest and around my heart.
I turn away, looking back at the tree. He carved our initials here on my eighteenth birthday. It’s not just the bench in the park. They’re still faintly visible, though the bark has tried to grow over them, erase them.
I feel like this tree. Trying to cover us up but never really succeeding.
"You don’t get to just come back and say things like that," I blurt out, my back still to him. "You don’t get to mess with my head again."
He moves closer, close enough that I can feel his presence like a heat I haven’t felt in a long time. "I know I hurt you. But I never stopped caring."
I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting to block out everything he’s saying. "I don’t know what to do about any of this now," I whisper, and when I turn to him again, his eyes are so intense with despair, I almost have to look away.
We stand there, apart but pulled together by all the things that have never been resolved.
"For what it’s worth," he husks out, "you’ve always been there, Naomi. Always in the corner of my mind. And I tried. I really did. I tried to erase you, to let you go. But you won’t go. Why?”
"I don’t know, Ty," I say, my voice unsure, my heart even more so. "But I’m not the one with an answer to that question."
"So, what do I do with all of this, then?"
"Beats me. You left once. I’m sure you can do it again."