Chapter 9 Emma
EMMA
I thought it’d be at least a couple days before I went back, yet I’m here not even twenty-four hours later, staring at the golden door handle, contemplating whether I really want to do this or not.
My heart clenches as I grip the handle and turn, steeling myself for what’s to come.
The door swings open and I’m immediately greeted by the permanent warmth of the house.
“Hey, Em. In here.” Leo calls from the living room.
Following the sound, I step into the room to find him sitting on the couch with Mia nestled against his chest, fast asleep. His expression is soft and gentle when he looks up at me. He seems to be so comfortable snuggled up with her, as if being next to her is where he was always meant to be.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my volume close to a whisper so I don’t wake Mia.
“I’m nap trapped… if it wasn’t obvious.”
The corners of my mouth lift in a slight smile. “She’s so lucky to have you, Bear.”
He gives a small grin in response and rubs Mia’s back, his hand looking giant against her little body.
Behind the gentleness, there’s a certain sadness in his eyes.
Our family has never been one to enjoy talking about heavy subjects or emotions.
I think it’s a result of the sheer amount of grief and trauma we’ve experienced—my heart disease diagnosis at such a young age, the death of our dad, and eventually our mom, as well.
We also don’t talk about Mia’s mom, Vanessa, and how she left Leo for another man when Mia was only six months old.
He hasn’t been the same since, and I don’t blame him.
That sadness is always tucked in tight behind his eyes, just another item added to a list of all the horrible things that have happened.
Despite everything though, he took on the responsibility of both parents, becoming everything that little girl needs and more, in the same way he did for us siblings when we were younger.
All he’s ever done is hold the weight no one else could carry—no complaints, no hesitation, just quiet strength and tired eyes.
The same fierce admiration for him that I’ve always had rises to the surface as I watch him be Mia’s safety, as he once was for me.
“I’m gonna go up for a bit,” I murmur. Leo nods in understanding.
The steps creak beneath my feet as I ascend the stairs, each one feeling heavier than the last. When I reach the pale blue door, I hesitate.
My hand hovers over the doorknob again as my heart pounds in my chest. The last time I was here, I was an angry teenager with a newly dead mother, packing up my entire life in two suitcases and vowing to never return to this god forsaken town.
Taking a deep breath, I push the door open, the room greeting me like an old friend.
It’s exactly how I left it—the same pale blue color as the door on every wall, along with posters of punk bands I haven’t listened to in years.
I walk over to an old, white desk on the left side of the room.
There are several old sketchbooks stacked on top that I am scared to look through, not knowing the gut-wretching drawings of memories that they might contain.
Lightly running a finger along the covers, I make my way to the dresser in the far corner.
There are several photos taped to the mirror above it.
A photobooth strip of Liv and I making funny faces, I think from seventh grade.
A photo of all three of my brothers picking me up horizontally.
It must’ve been the Christmas before Mom passed.
She wasn’t feeling well but hadn’t gotten the diagnosis yet.
We were doing everything possible to make her laugh and feel better during the holidays, not knowing it would be the last one we had with her.
I grab the last photo off the mirror. It’s a silhouette of a boy in front of a lake during a sunset with the most beautiful pinks, oranges, blues and purples I had ever seen painting the sky. I remember taking the picture and saving it, knowing it was something I wanted to paint eventually.
The boy in the photo is Alexander Cruz.
I set it down on the dresser as a knot forms in my gut, moving along the rest of the room to hopefully distract myself.
Portraits of Mom in different mediums adorn the walls: charcoal, graphite, oil pastels, watercolors, acrylic and oil paints.
She was so beautiful that I used her as my muse any chance I got.
The greatest compliment I’ve ever received is that I look exactly like her. I don’t see it, but it’s nice to hear.
I walk over to the bed and it’s still covered in the quilt Mom made me when I was ten years old.
The blue and purple colors have faded, but the memories are as vivid as ever.
As I sit down and run my hand over the fabric and stitching, I can almost feel her hands guiding mine as she taught me how to sew.
Mom’s voice was always gentle and patient, always the calm in the storm.
She’s been gone for so long, but in this room, it feels like she’s still here. If I just remember hard enough, I can hear the sound of her voice and laugh. But it’s not enough. She’s still out of reach.
A knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts and I look up to see Cam leaning against the doorframe. He must’ve stopped by on the way to the restaurant. His expression is clear as mud, but I know him well enough to still recognize the concern behind his eyes.
“I went to check on you at the yellow house but you weren’t there. Figured I’d find you here,” Cam says softly.
I try for a smile, but it doesn’t quite land. “Guess I couldn’t stay away from this room forever.”
He steps inside, sitting next me on the bed. “You never really dealt with it, did you?”
I don’t pretend to misunderstand him. He’s referring to the all-consuming grief. It was easier to run from it, or bury it under a new life in a different city. But now, sitting here surrounded by the remnants of the past, I realize how much of it I never let myself actually process.
I shake my head. “No, I didn’t.”
Cam exhales, nodding slowly. “I don’t think any of us truly did, to be honest. We just kinda… kept going.”
A tear slips down my cheek but I wipe it away quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice. “I miss her, Cam.”
His hand lands on my shoulder, grounding me just enough. “Me too, Em.”
The weight of everything presses down on me, but before I can drown in it, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see a text from Liv.
Liv
Meet me at the bakery. I’m sure you could use some sugar and caffeine.
I look at Cam, who gives me a knowing look. “C’mon, I’ll give you a ride,” he says. “We can talk more later.”
I nod, standing up and taking one last glance around the room before heading downstairs with him.