Chapter 12 #2
They ask about school. I provide the bare minimum, focusing mostly on my classes.
It would be a betrayal to do anything else, to be here in her house telling the truth—that for the first time in a long time, maybe even longer than they all realize, I’m happy.
Soon we shift to the real reason I’m here—remembrance.
I joke about how much Mabel would hate the mountain chill, the fact that it’s not even December and I’ve woken every morning this past week to a solid dusting of frost across the quads.
That’s all it takes for the dam to break.
One sister tells a story about that time she threw a temper tantrum when they tried to leave her in ski school, and then her dad brings up the Christmas Eve when she packed a suitcase before bed, absolutely positive Santa would be giving her the one item she asked for on her Christmas list—a trip to the beach.
The memories stir, one after another after another, some I wasn’t a part of, some I remember as if they were yesterday, some forgotten yet so clear the moment one of her family members brings them up.
It’s laughter and happiness and rose-tinted glasses, until the underlining of grief becomes too difficult to ignore.
I make my escape from her house, because I can.
It’s the guilt I don’t think I’ll ever be able to outrun.
The shame at being the one who survived.
It’s all-consuming, eating me from the inside out as I drive through the maze of winding graves and park.
I stare at her headstone for at least five minutes before I find the courage to step out of my car.
She would’ve hated it—the same dull gray as everyone else’s, bearing a cross and angel wings, nothing unique, nothing flashy, nothing her.
Flower bouquets line the grass, covering the entire bottom half of the slab.
From family. From friends. They’re beautiful, but I can still see her roll her eyes with a scowl at the varying autumnal shades, so generic—which is why I’m here with sheets of stick-on gemstones in my pocket.
Silently, I drop to my knees and get to work.
When I came back in August, I don’t think I stopped talking.
She was still my person then, the only one I knew how to unveil my soul to, the closest thing I ever had to a sister.
I told her how worried I was about school and heard her mocking answers in my head.
I filled her in on all the town gossip, felt her sneer when I mentioned who her ex was caught hooking up with after graduation.
Now, I don’t know what to say.
So I don’t.
I place every sparkle, then pop the cork on the mini-bottle of champagne I stole from my parents and dump it onto the grass.
Lastly, I unscrew the top on the vial of sand I bought online.
Supposedly it’s from Santa Monica. I hope she can feel the California sunshine on her cheeks, no matter where she is.
All I feel on mine are tears, the wetness biting in the cold.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, the only two words I can find, and I’m not even entirely sure what they mean. I’m sorry for surviving? I’m sorry for being happy? I’m sorry for moving on with my life?
When I get home, I go up to the bathroom without a word and fill the tub. Then I spend an hour dunking my head beneath the water just to relive that night, again and again and again, punishing myself with the memories.
My therapist has a field day with that little tidbit when I see her on Saturday. We’ve been doing video calls while I’ve been at school, but it’s not the same as being in her office, surrounded by her probing silence. Getting it off my chest helps, but not enough.
My father takes one look at me when I get home and grabs his car keys without a word.
My mom is out dropping Ollie off at a friend’s house, which is for the best. Dad can make up an excuse for me later.
It takes all of five minutes for me to shove my stuff back into my bag.
With every mile we put between me and my hometown, the knot in my chest loosens.
“You want to talk about it?” he asks after about fifteen minutes of silence.
“Not really.”
“Will any of your friends be there tonight?”
To keep an eye on me, he means. To cheer me up. I nod and keep staring at the barren trees flashing by the window, hoping he can’t read my lie. “Yeah. I know a few people who live too far away to go home. We’re all going to grab dinner together. I’ll be fine.”
He watches me one moment longer, then turns the radio up.
I sink back into my seat. Truthfully, no one I’m close to will be in the dorms tonight.
But that’s how I want it. I need one night to fall apart when my mom isn’t in the next room, when Nova isn’t five feet away, when I’m alone, so no one will see me crumble.
That’s not exactly how it goes, though.