Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
My room becomes my sanctuary, and I don’t go to school on Monday. My blinds are shut, creating a somber atmosphere to match the dungeon I’ve created in my head. Despite the constant cycle of nightmares, I force myself to sleep most of the day because it’s easier than fighting the pain.
The doorbell rings. I would ignore it, but it won’t stop. It’s followed by enough pounding to practically knock down our door.
I force my heavy eyes to stay open because they’re swollen from crying. My throat is raw from the lack of water, and my head throbs from sleeping underneath my pillow.
I peel back the covers, and as soon as my feet hit the floor, pain shoots through my sore and tired body.
I’ve been lying in the same position for so long I have cramps in my legs.
My hair is a wild mess, and I haven’t changed my pajamas in two days.
Still, I head to the entryway because I don’t have the energy to try and look presentable.
I open the door.
Sadie stands in front of me with her arms crossed. In her hand is a marked-up paper covered in red ink. Her jaw is clenched, and her mouth is pinched tightly in a frown. She waves the paper at me. “You promised.”
I thought it wasn’t possible, but my heart sinks further.
“I called and texted you a thousand times, but you ignored me.”
“I didn’t—”
The anger on her face is tainted by pain. “I thought you changed. I really did. I thought you were back to the old you. Remember that person? She cared about her friends.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I can explain.”
“Explain what? Explain how you forgot me?” Her voice cracks. She shoves the paper into my chest. “I flunked the test. Not everyone has parents who can pay for their college like you. I can’t afford culinary school without my scholarship, and after this test, I can kiss it goodbye.”
The paper falls to the ground.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Ask the teacher if you can redo it, and I promise I’ll help you this time.”
She shakes her head. “Your promises are worthless.”
“Please.”
“You forgot me. You of all people forgot me when I needed you most.” She takes in a ragged breath. “If you were my friend, you would’ve been there.”
I cross my arms. The whole weekend replays in my mind like a broken record. “That’s not fair. I had—”
“It’s always about you. What you need. What you want. News flash, the world doesn’t revolve around you.”
“Let me explain,” I say.
“There’s no point. The damage is already done.” She marches off.
I should run after her and beg her to forgive me, but I’m frozen in place. She wouldn’t even let me talk. I didn’t forget her on purpose, but at this point, I’m exhausted. If she wants to hate me, I’ll add her to the list.
I lose track of time and my days begin to run into each other because I refuse to go anywhere.
There’s no point in going back to school because, without Sadie, I won’t be able to finish my volunteer hours.
Even if I showed up, I wouldn’t be able to graduate anyway.
I’d have to repeat the year, no matter what.
New York is officially out of the picture. I’m stuck.
There’s a knock at my door, but my lips stay zipped tight, hoping that whoever it is will assume I’m asleep.
“Becca?” Mom says.
I tuck myself under my covers and close my eyes.
The door creaks as it opens. “I brought you some lunch,” she says. She ventures in and sets a dish on my bedside table, the silverware rattling on the edge.
I remain as still as possible, hoping she’ll take the hint and leave.
“You haven’t eaten all day,” she says. Her voice is flat and her tone is deflated. “I know you can hear me. I heard you walking around a minute ago.”
I open my eyes to glare at her.
She walks over to my window and parts the curtains in a swift motion, letting light stream into my room.
Grimacing, I shield my eyes with my forearm.
She walks over to my closet. “I want you to get dressed today,” she demands as she opens up the door.
“Maybe tomorrow.” I take my laptop and open it up, searching for a new movie to watch.
She rifles through my clothes. “This is cute.” She holds a blue T-shirt from the concert I went to with Ethan. “Put this on.”
The shirt flies through the air, landing on my lap.
I kick it onto the floor. “I said no.”
Mom picks it up and tosses it back to me. “It wasn’t a question.”
Biting my cheek, I try my best to control the annoyance building up in my chest. I have to taper it before it gets out of control and causes me to do something I’ll regret.
She’s trying to move on from what happened between us like she always does, but I can’t.
All I see is a mother who is mourning her son and wishing I was the one who died instead.
She opens one of the drawers to my dresser. It’s almost bare. “I guess you can wear these.” Her voice trails off as her eyes roam my room, spotting all of my piles of clothes that should be put away.
She doesn’t have to say anything. I can read her mind.
Mom rubs her temples. “There’s a sale at the mall. I think we should go. It would be good for you to get out of the house and get some vitamin D. It’s so dark in here you’re going to get depressed.”
Her words are almost comical. As if I could feel any worse than I do right now.
I’ve already reached rock bottom. I have no friends, I’ve failed at everything, and I don’t even have a future considering I’m another year away from my diploma.
For everyone wondering what’s at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, it’s this.
“I don’t feel like it.” I press play on my movie, ready to let it consume my mind.
It doesn’t faze her. She walks over to the laptop and pushes it closed.
“Hey!”
Crossing her arms, she says, “Get dressed and come downstairs.”
“I’m not going.”
Then she marches to my door, ready to walk out. “Yes, you are.”
I sit up. “Or what? You’ll drag me out of here? You’ll slap me again?”
She freezes.
“Then again, it didn’t change anything last time.”
She rubs her forehead.
“Did it make you feel better?”
“Stop!” Mom turns back around. This time, I see anger and devastation in her eyes. “You have no idea what I’m going through.”
“I’m pretty sure I do.”
She shakes her head before meeting my hard gaze and taking a deep trembling breath.
“When Ethan died, I didn’t just lose him.
I lost you too.” She pauses as her chest heaves.
“You want to know why I get out of bed every morning and force a smile? Why I act okay? Why I keep moving forward? It’s because of you! ”
I jump at her volume, catching my breath.
Me?
Her lip quivers. “I’m doing everything I can think of to bring you back to me, and I don’t know what else to do.” Her gaze drops. “Every day, you push me away, but I keep trying. I keep hoping that, maybe one day, you’ll come back to me.” Her teary eyes look at me. “I need you.”
My mother is standing in front of me more broken than I’ve ever seen her before.
I stare at her and my anger starts to melt away.
I never thought she acted this way because she missed me.
I didn’t even consider that she was trying to connect with me.
I spent so much time wishing Dad would say those words to me, I never realized I needed to hear them from Mom just as badly.
Tears fill my eyes, and I feel a sudden urge to confide in her.
I need her too. I suck in the sharp air around me, gasping for anything to help me breathe, but I’m left suffocating.
My head is spinning, and my chest is tight.
I’m breathing fast, but it isn’t registering with my lungs. They’ve stopped working.
“The wreck was my fault.”
Mom sits down next to me on the bed, putting her arm around me. “That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is,” I cry.
She turns my face, forcing me to look at her. “If you only ever listen to one thing I say, let it be this. It was not your fault. You did not make him take off his seatbelt. You did not make him run that stop sign. You did not make his choices for him.”
“But what if—”
“But what if it isn’t your fault?” she says.
Her tone is flat, her words smacking me in the face. I never considered that Ethan’s death wasn’t my fault. I’ve spent the last few months tormenting myself because I didn’t see any other possibility, but what if . . . it really wasn’t my fault . . .
I cry against her.
She pats my back. “Ethan was a strong, capable person who made some terrible mistakes. You didn’t make him take off his seatbelt.”
My tears scorch my skin. “If I wasn’t in the car that day, he’d still be here.” The horrible truth is like a poison seeping into every one of my thoughts. The words are thick on my tongue. I hate every last one of them.
She hugs me tighter, and even though normally I would pull away by now, I want it. I want her to squeeze me so tight that she’ll glue me back together.
“Do you realize how many things I wish I could go back and change about that day? If I had just insisted on him driving with us. If I had forced him out the door sooner. If I had asked him to take out the trash first.” I’m drawn to her and her sorrow.
For the first time since Ethan died, I don’t feel as alone in my sadness.
I feel understood. She laughs into my hair, masking a cry. “If I had just slashed his tires.”
When I try to laugh, I only cry harder. “Can you imagine what he would say if he saw us right now?”
She chuckles. “Is it really that weird for a mother and daughter to hug?”
I pull back and wipe my soaked face on my sleeve. “It is when I’m the daughter.”
Images of all the times Ethan tried forcing Mom and me to get along drift into my mind. All our passive-aggressive comments that forced him to play mediator. He was good at that. He always knew the right way to talk to both of us.
My face falls again, and I brace my heavy head with a palm on either side. My breathing is jagged, missing beats.
Mom drapes her arm around my shoulders. “What is it?”
“It just—it feels good to laugh about something that Ethan is a part of.” I pull my sleeves up to my palms and curl my fingers around the fabric.
“I needed to be reminded.” My head tilts, and I lean farther into Mom, nestled into her like a small child.
She holds me tight, calm and silent, letting me talk. “Mom?”
She hums in reply, tilting her head to look at me.
I look up at her, taking in her sparkling eyes full of every emotion, and her bright colorful lipstick that never fails to remind me that there are more colors in the world, and the wrinkles that frame her eyes every time she smiles or laughs. “You’re not going to lose me,” I whisper.
She smiles. With tears spotting her eyes again, she nods.
“But.” I lift my head. “Don’t get used to all this mushy stuff.”
Squishing every organ inside my body, she says, “Then I better get my fill now.”
I groan, pushing away. “Mom.”
“Just one more,” she says, pulling me back.
I don’t fight it. “This better hold you over for the next five years.”
“It won’t,” she says with no indication that she’ll let go anytime soon.
A thought pops into my head so hard and fast that I could’ve sworn it was delivered with a brick. When I lost Ethan . . . I lost Sadie.
Sadie lost me.
I’m sure she was mad about the math test, but that wasn’t what she was truly upset about the other day. She was upset I pushed her away in the first place. I abandoned her when Ethan died. She deserved better than that.
“Mom, can you drive me somewhere?”