Chapter 13
I stare at a black ant crawling along the toe of my shoe.
It’s weaving itself into confused circles on the dark suede, looking lost and unsure.
It dances across my interwoven laces, likely searching for food and warmth.
I can’t help but wonder how it’s surviving these brutal winter temperatures.
It’s so small and fragile—so insignificant. It doesn’t stand a chance.
“Dean.”
Cora and I were ants. Small and fragile—lost in a cold, scary world. Set up to fail.
We had each other, though.
The ant is all alone.
“Dean.”
I register my name catching on a sharp gust of wind that sails by, almost knocking me off my feet. I look up from my place on the sidewalk to find Mandy spearing me with those worried eyes I’ve become so familiar with over the past two weeks. “Yeah?”
“Are you ready to go inside?”
Her microbladed eyebrow arches with concern, and I realize I zoned out in front of her parent’s house, sympathizing with an ant. I glance down at the insect, only to find that it has since left my shoe and disappeared into the cement cracks.
I hope it beats the odds.
Mandy plants a smile on her crimson lips when I nod my head, then she steps over to take my hand in hers. She is warm, and yet, a chill sweeps through me.
“It’s going to be fine,” she says idly, sensing my resistance as she threads our fingers together. “It’ll be good to have a little normalcy again.”
Normalcy . Nothing about the last five weeks has been normal, that’s for sure. And I can’t imagine this forced family dinner with her parents will feel anything close to normal. “Yeah. I guess.”
Mandy blinks her fake lashes at me, trying to mask her apprehension with another smile. “Do you need a minute?”
“No.” A minute won’t change anything. A minute doesn’t erase the damage done. A minute isn’t going to teleport me back to the safety of my own bed, where I can comfortably avoid my current reality and battle my demons in private. “Let’s go inside.”
I move forward because it’s the only choice I have.
We walk up the cobblestone pathway to the bright blue Colonial-style house in a picture-perfect neighborhood.
I’ve walked this path thousands of times before, but today I spot a little gnome statue next to the row of shrubs lining the front of the house.
He looks rusted—worn from the elements. “Is that a new statue?” I inquire of Mandy as we reach the porch step.
“Richard the Gnome?” She scrunches up her nose. “He’s been there for, like, two decades, Mr. Observant.” Mandy shoots me a wink, attempting to be playful. “Cora named him Richard because she said he looked like Richard Marx.”
I nibble on the inside of my cheek. I can’t help but wonder how many other day-to-day things I walked right by without ever affording a glance or a thought.
We step inside the all-too-familiar home and are greeted with the smell of garlic, rosemary, and a hint of pine. I turn to see a magnificent, fresh tree in the sitting room to our left, decorated in golds and reds and priceless, homemade ornaments.
Most of the time, I don’t even know what day it is, let alone the fact that it’s almost Christmas.
“Oh, Dean.”
My head snaps up to find Bridget and Derek Lawson rushing towards me from the kitchen.
Bridget’s long, brown skirt trails behind her as tears well in green eyes that bear a striking resemblance to Cora’s.
Her blonde hair is cropped into a pixie cut, her crow’s feet creasing as she casts her worry and love all over me.
Derek is behind her, his salt-and-pepper hair telling his age despite his youthful appearance. He has Mandy’s eyes—hazel, more slanted, adorned with thick, brown lashes.
They are my second parents. My own father passed away almost twelve years ago from a heart attack, and my mother is in the dementia ward at Sunrise Assisted Living.
I spent most of my high school afternoons here, studying with Mandy, playing board games, laughing our way through karaoke nights, and eating home-cooked meals.
Bridget and Cora loved cooking together. Their meatloaf was one of my favorites.
Bridget places her kind hands against my cheeks, cradling my face like I’m her very own son.
I should have been five days ago. December 5 th was supposed to be our wedding day—instead, I spent thirteen hours buried beneath my bed covers, ignoring Mandy’s phone calls and only getting up to take a piss and munch on stale, saltine crackers.
“You look better,” Bridget says, her watery smile impressively veiling the obvious lie.
The Lawsons visited me at the hospital in those strange, hazy forty-eight hours post-rescue, but I haven’t seen them since. I haven’t seen anyone except for Mandy, who stops by my townhouse unannounced more than I’d like her to. She has a key, though, so there’s not much I can do about it.
I’ll never tell her I thought about stealing that key and flushing it down the toilet.
“I feel a little better. Still adjusting.” I go with the lying theme. It feels simpler. “Thanks for having us over tonight.”
“Mom, give him some space. He’s not an exhibit,” Mandy scolds, pulling her snowy white hat with a furry pom-pom off her head, sending her hair into a static-infused mess.
Bridget reluctantly steps away and Derek paces over to me, squeezing my shoulder with a firm, affectionate hand. “It’s great to see you up and about. The girls made meatloaf—your favorite.”
The girls ?
I hear the patio door slide open from the back of the house, squeaky and familiar, followed by the sound of exuberant paws skidding across the hardwood floors.
Blizzard must sense my presence because she careens towards me in the entryway, all sixty-five pounds of her, and promptly lands on my feet, rolling over for a tummy rub.
I crouch down to scratch her belly, releasing my first genuine smile in weeks.
Blizzard’s tail wags furiously beneath her.
I can’t believe this old girl still has so much energy—she’s got to be twelve or thirteen by now.
But her excitement at seeing me walk through that front door has never wavered over the last ten years. Not even a little.
As I rise to my feet, my eyes land on the figure standing in the kitchen and my breath hitches in the back of my throat.
Corabelle .
Mandy hangs her coat up on the nearby coat rack and clears her throat, leaning in close to her mother. “You said Cora wasn’t coming tonight,” Mandy mutters in a low voice as she tames her flyaways, her eyes dancing over to me with apology.
It’s true I wasn’t ready to face her yet.
Maybe I’ll never be ready.
“Sorry, sweetie, but your sister texted me a few hours ago and said she changed her mind.”
Their conversation begins to fade away as my eyes lock on Cora’s from across the foyer.
Memories flow through me, making me feel itchy and slightly panicked, but there is also a profound comfort that stabs at my heart.
She is a vision of life and light and survival.
Her hair is golden blonde, shiny and healthy again, curled loosely over her thin shoulders.
She’s always been petite, but her frame looks even more frail and willowy in a deep purple dress that probably fit her better five weeks ago.
The neckline hangs low, revealing her bony collarbone and remnants of a few lingering, faded bruises.
Cora twists her hair over one shoulder and my eyes drift to her exposed neck. The same neck I peppered with sorrowful kisses and soaked with my tears of shame.
My jaw clenches and my heartbeats accelerate, my hands turning clammy as I swipe them along the front of my blue jeans. I’m not sure what to do, so I merely acknowledge her with a quick nod and swallow down all the things I cannot say.
But I don’t miss the flash of hurt and dismissal in her eyes before she spins around and busies herself in the kitchen.
I flinch when Mandy’s fingers begin tugging the sleeve of my winter coat, yanking me out of my messy thoughts.
“Take your coat off. Stay a while,” she beams at me, then follows her parents into the family room, chattering on about her shift at the hair salon like it’s another ordinary day in Normalville.
I stay rooted to the snowman welcome mat, staring at Cora’s back as she leans over the kitchen counter, facing away from me. Her head is bowed, her shoulders taut. She is gripping the edge of the countertop as her hair falls over the sides of her face in waves.
I want to run to her. I want to take her in my arms and whisper into her ear that everything is going to be okay. We survived. It’s over.
But I don’t.
I can lie to Mandy and her parents and my friends and my boss and my therapist… but I can’t lie to her.
We all sit around the formal dining table, and for a moment, everything feels like it used to.
It’s easy to pretend between four walls adorned with pretty paint colors, lace drapes, recessed lighting, and holiday decorations scattered throughout.
It’s easy to pretend in the company of the family I’ve come to care about over the past fifteen years while they discuss politics and trending Netflix shows as if nothing is amiss.
But the facade cracks when my eyes float over to Cora, sitting across from me, smashing her meatloaf into something unidentifiable with the tines of her fork as the candlelight illuminates the dark circles under her eyes.
I push my own mushy meatloaf into my mashed potatoes, realizing I’m doing the exact same thing.
I reach under the table to give Blizzard my dinner roll so it appears that I’m actually eating the meal that probably tastes delicious.
“… about the pregnancy.”