by Sarah Sutton
My chest now pinched so tight as I imagined Mom’s cheery smile, the pitch of her voice. Remembered Dad’s laugh, his confident pumpkin-seed baking.
“Mmm, those seeds are smelling so good.” Mrs. Avery inhaled deeply as she headed toward the kitchen. She left me behind, my legs unwilling to follow. “Lucas and Delia love them. Speaking of, you can take a hot chocolate thermos home and give it back to Lucas tomorrow at school if you want.”
I hadn’t smelled the scent of baked pumpkin seeds in years. The sparking sensation of it almost made my world feel turned over, as if it toppled on its side and I’d lost my footing. I could imagine Mom, plain as day, smiling at me from the table. Dad leaning against the countertop, trying to convince the two of us that baked pumpkin seeds were the best thing in the world. “Especially with cinnamon,” I could practically hear him say in that deep tone of his.
And he’d smile like he’d told a joke, that wide and happy smile, completely contagious.
He’d flip my hair over my shoulder and say, “Once you try them, you’ll see, Blaire.”
Everything in me shuddered as a fissure worked its way through my chest, cracking a jagged line from my stomach to my throat.
“Mom, who are you talking—Blaire? What are you doing here?”
I looked up to find Lucas on the other end of the hallway, poking his head out from his bedroom door. His dark hair was ruffled, as if he’d just gotten done running his fingers through it. I could almost imagine him tugging at their ends.
Lucas could look at me and know. As he came closer, eyes tracing whatever expression rested on my face—I was too numb to be able to feel it—the line between his brows thickened. “What’s wrong?”
So many things, I wanted to say. Donnie and I are fighting, and we never fight. And I miss you—I miss you so much that it hurts to breathe. I got a letter from my dad, and I’m too afraid to open it—too afraid it’s going to make me forgive him.
I kept my mouth shut, not letting the words escape.
“Here’s the pitcher for your grandmother, and the thermos for you,” Mrs. Avery said as she came back out into the hallway, offering me both items. She spotted Lucas. “Oh, I pulled your pumpkin seeds from the oven. They looked done.”
His blue eyes flicked over to her. “Thanks, Mom.”
Mrs. Avery’s attention went back to me—or, namely, back to the items she still held out to me. The thermos and the pitcher. I hadn’t taken them. “Blaire?”
In that moment, I felt like a ghost, a shadowy figure spotted from the corner of someone’s eye, easily dismissible due to an overactive imagination. There, but not there. Seen, but not seen. Because Lucas and his mother saw me clearly, standing directly in front of them, but they didn’t see me. Breaking apart, dissolving to the thoughts that rummaged in my brain, lost in the wave of negativity. Drowning.
I took the thermos and the pitcher, my fingers shaking as they curled over each item. Though my hands quivered, my voice did not. It sounded stiff and formal, but not shaky. “Thank you, Mrs. Avery. I’ll make sure to give the thermos to Lucas tomorrow.” My boots squeaked on the wood floor as I stepped backward. I slipped the thermos into the crook of my elbow to open the door. “Have a good night.”
As I stepped out into the October air and sucking in a shallow breath, the action felt dooming, absolute. And I couldn’t figure out why. Why would shutting the door on Lucas’s house feel like a final goodbye?
It didn’t take long to figure out why. Because for the first time when I walked away, Lucas didn’t follow.
I stared at the ceiling fan that hung from the middle of my room, counting the lazy rotations it made. Shadows cast strange images on the walls, and sometimes when the occasional car would pass, their headlights would glance off my window. My eyes drooped, but I couldn’t quite close them all the way. Couldn’t quite turn my brain off.
My body had been still for a while now, long enough for there to be an ache blooming in my hip. I knew I needed to go to sleep—I had school in the morning—but I was a light bulb with a broken switch. I was a bottle of soda, shaken up, ready to explode.
I could’ve screamed—screamed a rasping noise that scraped my throat raw. The pressure of it built in my chest. It rested there, on the tip of my tongue, and yet…it never came out.
I watched the fan spin once, twice, around and around.
Why was everything falling apart? Why couldn’t some semblance of my old life remain? When things had been easy, good, happy. No trace of those things existed now. Donnie, Lucas, Dad. All the boys in my life.
What would your perfect life look like? my brain whispered, its soothing voice almost hypnotic as the ceiling fan spinning. Donnie, Lucas, Dad—how would those pieces fit into your life differently than right now?
Well, for one thing, Donnie would be on my side of things. I took his never-budging loyalty for granted. Or, apparently, his loyalty was budging. Either way, I’d have him in my life. I’d have him not be mad at me. I’d win his forgiveness, and we’d go back to normal.
Lucas. My perfect life with Lucas…what would that look like? I could imagine him pulling up in front of the apartment, Crushed Beanz coffees already in the cup holders, the scent filling the car. His hand warm in mine, squeezing my fingers playfully as he walked me to class. His skin against mine, lips offering a glancing kiss.
And as for Dad, he definitely wouldn’t be sending me letters. He’d left, and he thought he could send a letter and everything was better? Not cool.
Though, maybe my perfect life with him had him in it. Present. Back home, waking me up on Saturday mornings with a plate of breakfast set at the table. Warm eyes. Teasing grin.
But perfect lives didn’t exist. Entertaining the idea was self-torture.
My gaze drifted from the ceiling fan to fall to the corner of my bedroom, to the exact place where my backpack sat half-zipped. The skulls printed on the fabric basically screamed keep away, but I couldn’t get the elephant in the room to disappear.
It was after midnight—October 30th. Two years ago to the day, Dad had finalized everything. Called Gram and asked if we could stay the night. Started packing. Started planning his life without me. And on October 31st, it’d officially be two years ago that he’d left.
Gram had told me to read the letter. Lucas had told me to read the letter. If Donnie knew about it, I was sure he’d be saying something as well.
Mom would’ve told me to read it too, but in a much different way. Don’t read it for him, she’d say in that tone of voice that always put my raging insides in a time-out. Read it for you. You’re driving yourself crazy wondering. The stress of it is changing you, honey. Just read it so you can sleep.
The blades on the fan spun, an endless cycle.
Just read it so I could sleep.
I slipped the covers back as silently as I could and exposed my legs to the cool air. The heater must’ve kicked off. I didn’t bother pushing my toes into my slippers before walking to my backpack. The room was filled with a blue sort of darkness, but I had no trouble finding the orange envelope underneath my textbooks. I drew it out, blood humming, and made my way back to my bed.
Just so I can sleep, I told myself as I lifted the envelope, tracing the handwriting with my index finger. B L A I R E. All capitals.
I didn’t have to respond; I didn’t have to forgive him. I wasn’t reading it for him, for Gram, for Lucas, or for Donnie. I was reading it for me.
With a hard jerk, I slid my finger along the seal, tearing it open.
Dear Blaire,
I’ve never written a letter before, so I hope you can forgive how messy it is. I wrote you a note once, on the back of a gas station receipt. “Blaire, you know I love you. I can’t be in Hallow anymore. I’m sorry.” I think about how you must’ve woken up on the morning of Halloween, expecting me to be there, but I was gone.
I wish I could say I know what you think, but I don’t. I can’t read your mind anymore; I can’t even imagine what you must
be thinking and feeling, seeing this letter. But I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you. I hope and pray to God you never thought that. Your mother was the love of my life, you know. Losing her was…hard, for both of us. I wish I’d spoken to you more after she passed, Blaire. Maybe things would’ve been different if I had spoken to someone—to you.
I made some bad decisions after she died. I wasn’t in my right mind. Gram will attest to that if you ask—if she hasn’t already told you. I knew it wasn’t in your best interest to be around me. And I know what you’re thinking. That sounds like complete bull crap. I know. But if it came down to who you were better off with, it wouldn’t have been with me.
You’re probably wondering why I’m reaching out now, but I’ve been sober ninety days. I told myself I couldn’t reach out until then. I know it’s not fair of me to say, but I will be there if you need anything, Blaire. Whatever you need. If you want me to come home, I’ll come, in a heartbeat. If you want to never see me again, I’ll stay away. Just no matter what, know that I love you. And I’m sorry. For everything.
Dad
* * *
I didn’t leave my room.
The clock read seven-thirty when Gram knocked on my door Friday morning, probably wondering why I hadn’t emerged yet. I’d still been curled up on my bed, pressing Dad’s letter to my chest. I’d been like that for a while—long enough to hear the birds begin to chirp, to see the sun peek through my curtains. She knocked twice, but I couldn’t lift my voice high enough to answer. I waited for her to poke her head in, to ask me if I was getting around for school, but she never did.
Everything sounded muffled, muted, numb. I tried to take stock of how I felt, but my thoughts were fluid, water slipping through my fingers, fog dissipating in a morning breeze.
Everything was quiet; everything was still.
My bedroom was nothing fancy. After two years to the day of living with Gram, I’d never gotten around to fully decorating it. My old bedroom had been much bigger than this one, so I’d ended up having to donate most of the furniture when the house had gone up for sale. I’d always struggled with the idea of making this bedroom feel homey, like mine, but now as I stared at my surroundings, I wished there was something in it that brought me comfort.
I didn’t have any pictures of my parents hung up, no pictures of Lucas or Donnie, no posters. Clothes littered the ground, my hamper overflowed in the corner, but nothing screamed me. For two years, I’d lived in this room and hadn’t done a single thing to make it mine. Hadn’t painted the walls, hadn’t even bought a rug.
It wasn’t like I’d ever be able to move back home. The house had sold within the first year.
I felt disconnected from the world lying on my bed, listening to the dull thumping of my heartbeat in my ears. A fire lit behind my eyes, a silent cue tears would should be flowing, but I hadn’t cried yet. For some reason, I couldn’t. I’d been pushing it all down for so long that I’d almost forgotten how to cry.
What was Dad doing right now? Waiting for the postal service to drop off the mail, hoping he’d receive a letter from me? Sitting by the phone, hoping it’d ring? Eating cereal? Going to his day job? Did he even have a day job?
That man seemed almost like a stranger now. He’d written that he was ninety days sober, but the Dad I remembered had never struggled with addiction. Not that I’d known. Was it something triggered by losing Mom? Was it alcohol or something else? Could that be why he’d left in the first place?
I had so many questions, and none would get answers. Not unless I wrote a letter back.
My cord was totally unplugged from the outlet, disconnected from the energy that’d fueled me.
My bedroom door creaked open, and I’d been lost in my thoughts for who knew how long. It’d been a while since Gram last checked on me; she must’ve decided she needed to make sure I was visibly okay.
Footsteps came further into the room, loud on the creaky floors, until my bed dipped as Gram sat down. I had my back to her, the orange envelope tucked out of sight.
“This day sucks,” a voice said, a voice that was not Gram’s, and I jerked to look over my shoulder. Donnie sat on the edge of my bed, his dark hair spiked up every which way, exactly how he liked it.
And…I had no idea what he was wearing.
He was in one of those black, full-body suits, but also had strapped a pair of wings to his back. Not butterfly wings or fairy wings, though—no, they were moth wings. They looked kind of like butterfly wings little kids normally wore, but painted dark colors. He had a faux fur scarf around his neck, one he’d totally stolen from our costume trunk. On his head, he wore a crown of pipe-cleaner antennas, bent at strange angles.
“I know,” Donnie said seriously, expression unflinching. “You’re amazed at my costume.”
I didn’t even know what to say. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at school?”
“Well.” Donnie pulled up one leg, resting it on my bed, and angling his body toward mine. “Gram called Aimee, who came and signed me out of first period. Which kind of sucks, because today was our Halloween party, and I was definitely going to win best costume.”
Despite everything, I found myself wanting to smile, though it never made it to the surface. “Why would she sign you out?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think?”
My stomach tightened, discomfort making me shift. “I’m not allowed one mental health day without everyone freaking out?” I asked, voice crossing over into the realm of irritation. “You didn’t have to leave school because I didn’t get out of bed this morning.”
“You know, it makes sense now.”
“What makes sense?”
“Why you’ve been in a terrible mood.” Donnie’s gaze slipped away from my face to rest by my side. “Aimee told me about that.”
The orange envelope had completely slipped into view, demanding attention. I scrambled for it, trying to press it behind my covers. It didn’t matter; Donnie had already seen. “Aunt Aimee knows about it?”
“I’m assuming Gram told her,” he said, leaning his palm onto my bed. “But what I don’t get is why you didn’t tell me.”
I pushed up to lean against my headboard, pulling my legs to my chest. Donnie deserved a better answer, but I didn’t have one. “I don’t know.”
“Okay, why didn’t you tell Lucas?”
“I don’t know,” I said again, my irritation morphing into a sterner sort of frustration.
But Donnie wasn’t done pushing. “Why did you break up with Lucas?”
I let out a sharp sigh. “Because we almost went all the way.”
If I could’ve taken a picture of that exact moment, I would’ve. Donnie jolted, his wings flapping with the movement, eyes circling wide. He seemed to be frozen, lips parted as if at any moment he’d begin to speak, but he didn’t. At least, not for several moments.
And then— “I’m sorry, what?”
I cringed, wrapping my arms around my legs. “Do I have to say it again?”
“I mean—I don’t—” Donnie stopped, closed his mouth. Took in a breath. Tried again. “When?”
“The night before I broke things off.”
“Why would that make you want to break up with him?” His voice changed in an instant, from confused to angry. “Did he pressure you—”
“No!” Now I buried my face into the space between my knees and my chest, the shadows there eclipsing the flush that swallowed my face. My toes curled against my blankets, already cringing. “I…I was the one to—you know. Go for it.”
I could practically hear Donnie’s frown. “So…he rejected you? That’s why you broke up with him?”
It was easier to talk to him with my face covered, easier to pretend like I wasn’t talking to him about this. “No, he didn’t reject me. Gram called me and we stopped.”
Donnie snorted a little. “You got blocked by your grandma.”
My shoulders slumped as I looked up at him through
the barest of slivers between my forehead and my arm.
Donnie sat back a little, the momentary amusement on his face filtering into a sober expression. “So if he didn’t reject you, why did you two break up?”
“You know, I’d done a fantastic job at not being sad,” I said, fully lifting my head, nudging my hair from my eyes. My focus fell on a crack in the plaster wall on the other side of me, and I didn’t look away. “After everything had happened, I was fine. I mean, it sucked—the stuff with Mom and Dad. I was just starting to get used to my new life and enjoy where I was at when Dad’s letter came in the mail. And everything just…fell apart.”
Donnie traced his fingertips on the blanket near the side of my foot, not close enough to tickle but close enough to feel it. “How so?”
The feeling I’d gotten when I’d seen the envelope for the first time swept back into my system, and a soreness crept into my throat, making it nearly impossible to swallow. “It reminded me you can love someone with all your heart, and they can still leave you.”
My mind drifted back to that day, when realization had doused me like a bucket of ice water. I’d pulled the letter out of the mail slot without thinking twice, carrying it all the way up into the apartment before actually looking at it. And when I had, the air in my lungs had thickened, like I’d breathed through sludge.
“I loved Dad with all of my heart, and he could still just walk away. And I realized Lucas could, too.” The words had dropped off to a whisper, my eyes burning from staring at one spot for so long. The soreness in my throat intensified, each breath I took in nearly choking.
“That’s why you’ve been pushing him away,” Donnie grasped. “You were pushing him away so he couldn’t leave you first.”
Hearing him say it aloud sounded awful. Selfish. Cruel. Stupid. I wanted to jump to deny it, because no way all of my feelings and motives boiled down to that single idea, but no words came out.
That night when I’d left Lucas’s house, my body still riding the high of what almost was, I’d been on top of the world. Saying those three words in high school felt ridiculous to me, but I did love Lucas. I could see a future with him. Sure, the future had been cloudy with uncertainty, but I’d been able to see one.