Bring Me Back

by Micalea Smeltzer

  “Bernadette,” I say, cringing. “No way.” I skim through the B names and find nothing. “Carly. Hmmm, maybe.” I scribble it down on my piece of paper. It joins a very short list of names. Granted, I’m only on the C’s so it’s bound to grow.

  I make it to the H names before I have to set aside the book. I end up picking up What to Expect When You’re Expecting. It seems to be the go-to pregnancy book but most of the passages scare the crap out of me.

  After reading a few pages, I yawn and decide to call it a night. I pile the books on my nightstand and flick off the light.

  The boxes in the corner cast strange shadows across the walls and I find myself childishly imagining the bogeyman emerging from behind them. It’s a silly thought, I know, but it’s weird seeing the boxes there.

  The last two weeks have been spent packing up my belongings. Some things will go to the new apartment with me, others will be donated, and I’ll try to sell some. The house is slowly but surely emptying out. It’s a sad process and it kills me a little bit each time I pack something away. I keep reminding myself it’s for the best.

  I cross my hands beneath my head and close my eyes, willing sleep to come.

  After a few minutes, I drift away.

  “What about this?” my mom asks, holding up a wooden spoon. It’s stained and old, hardly anything anyone would want.

  “Toss it,” I say, sorting silverware into a box. I just got the call that there’s been an offer on the house. It’s a good one, great, even, so I accepted it.

  This is really happening now.

  My dad and Ryder are painting the apartment today. Ryder was kind enough to ask if I needed any help so I gladly accepted. Plus, I didn’t like the idea of my dad there painting by himself. I was afraid of him falling off a ladder or something. The man isn’t exactly the most coordinated.

  I finish with the silverware and move on to wrapping the plates and setting them in the box.

  The kitchen and master bathroom are the last rooms I have to pack. Everything else is pretty well taken care of apart from the closet. My clothes have already been moved to the apartment—aside from a few outfits—but Ben’s clothes still hang inside. I know I can’t take them with me, but I’m having a hard time letting go. I know I’ve kept much more important things that belonged to him, but getting rid of his clothes seems monumental. Maybe I’m just overthinking it. I tend to do that.

  I finish with the plates and tape the box shut before carrying it over to the front door.

  The house that was once so full—full of love, laughter, and happiness—now echoes with emptiness. It’s a shell of what it once was. Sort of like me. It’s sad, really, how much this place doesn’t feel like home anymore.

  I go back to the kitchen and begin sorting the pans. I’m trying not to think about the fact that tonight will be my first night sleeping in the apartment. My parents will in a hotel for the next two days before they head back to Florida. My mom is still talking about moving back here. I told her I don’t care if they do, as long as it’s what they want, but not to move because of me. So, we’ll see.

  “You’re quiet,” she comments as we work. I sit on the floor, going through the bottom cabinets while she works on the top ones, sorting glasses.

  “I have a lot on my mind,” I say with a sigh. It’s not a lie. I’m all torn up inside.

  Life is a confusing melody and right now I can’t hear the music.

  Nothing makes sense and I only hope that one day I hear the music again.

  “That’s understandable,” she says, wrapping a glass. I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and lay a pan on the donate pile. I don’t know if the hospice will even take pans but it’s barely used so I figure it’s worth a try. If not I’ll just toss it. “Why don’t you let me finish this and you can go do your bathroom?”

  I know what she’s really suggesting—clear out Ben’s things.

  I set a pot in the keep pile. “It’ll go faster if it’s both of us,” I reason.

  She clangs a glass against the countertop and I look up at her. “B,” she says sternly, “you’re avoiding.”

  I look away. She’s right. Moms are always right. It’s like they’re gifted special magical powers or something.

  “Fine,” I grump. “I’ll go do it.”

  I wobble as I stand, still not used to the growing belly in front of me.

  Boxes litter the downstairs, labeled with either room names or the word donate. I tiptoe around them and up the steps.

  The master bedroom is empty, the furniture already gone. I sold it online—I hadn’t wanted to take it with me. The new stuff was delivered yesterday to the apartment. It’s slightly more feminine in style since it’s just me. I figured since this was a new start I might as well get new stuff. Besides, a lot of the things Ben and I bought together would never fit in the apartment.

  I grab an empty box off the floor and head into the bathroom. Things like towels and washcloths have already been packed—except for one set while I stayed here—but all the toiletries are still there. I pile them into the box. There’s no rhyme or reason to my method. I just want to get this done and face the last obstacle.

  It doesn’t take me long to fill the box with hairspray, shampoo and conditioner, and various body washes and deodorants. Ben always made fun of me for hoarding deodorant, but it’s one of those things I never like to run out of.

  I carry the full box to the doorway and grab two more empty ones.

  I fill one with things from the medicine cabinet and that ends up being all that’s left in the bathroom. My heart races as I pick up the other empty box.

  I pad into the closet and flick on the light. It’s empty except for the one side. My breath catches at the sight of all of Ben’s clothes. They hang there, waiting for him to return, only he’s never coming back. I have to accept that fact.

  I step forward with determined strides. I drop the box on the floor and then grab a handful of button-down shirts still on the hangers and shove them in the box. My breath catches when I look down at them but I keep going. I shove everything that’s left of his—jeans, socks, boxers, shirts, all of it—into that one box. The box overflows, unable to hold that much stuff, but I don’t care. My throat catches and I choke on a sob. There’s a sweatshirt on top of the pile. One from our high school with his last name spelled out across the back. He got it for playing football. I pick it up and cradle it to my chest. The baby kicks my stomach, like she feels my turmoil.

  I sink to the floor on my knees and sob into his sweatshirt. I remember his sweet smile and kind blue eyes. I feel the whisper of his lips against my cheek and the stroke of his fingers through my hair.

  “I miss you,” I whisper, and the baby kicks. I think she’s saying she misses her daddy too. I press a hand to my stomach and feel her little foot press against my skin. “It’s just me and you baby girl,” I choke. “I hope that’s enough for you. I hope I’m enough.”

  I wipe my tears on my arm. I’m not wearing any makeup so there’s no smear of mascara, thankfully.

  I hold onto the sweatshirt. This … This I refuse to let go.

  I leave the box in the closet and turn off the light. Someone else can sort everything into separate boxes.

  I did my part. I made the decision to get rid of it all.

  Later that evening, my mom and I arrive at the apartment. The walls of the main living area are painted a beige color. It’s not much of a color change but it warms up the space from the stark white. I’m thankful that Justin was willing to let me change the paint colors—as long as he approved them first.

  For the bedroom, I chose a color that was in-between brown and gray. It was an odd color, but I liked it, and it made the light upholstered headboard even more of a statement piece.

  Ryder and my dad sit on the couch—a gray colored tufted design—drinking a beer. They’re both covered in paint. Ryder even has some sprinkled in his hair.

  “Hey,” he says, turning to smile at me as we ent
er the apartment. “Let me get that.” He jumps up immediately to grab the box from my hands.

  “I’m surprised you’re still here,” I say. “What about Cole?”

  “My mom insists he’s fine.” Ryder waves away my concern. “I’ll pick him up as soon as I leave here. There was something I wanted to show you first.” He checks the label on the box and sets it in front of the bathroom.

  “Oh,” I say, surprised. “What’s that?”

  “Come here.” He nods towards the door that leads into what will be the nursery.

  My brows furrow in confusion. He takes my hand and leads me to the door before swinging it open.

  “Oh my God,” I gasp. An antique chandelier has been installed in the middle of the room, and as impressive as that is, that’s not what takes my breath away. The walls are painted in horizontal stripes of a cream color and a pale pink. It’s perfect, and exactly what I wanted without even saying anything. “Ryder,” I breathe. “It’s gorgeous. Why? How? This must have taken forever.”

  He shrugs. “I know you’ve been having a hard time and I’d hoped this would make you happy. I’m glad I was right.”

  I throw my arms around his neck. “Thank you.” My voice muffles against his skin.

  He hugs me back—his hands solid and strong against me. “You’re welcome,” he whispers. “I’m happy you like it.”

  “Like it?” I repeat, letting him go. “I love it. It’s like you read my mind. This is perfect for what I have in mind for the baby.” My hand falls to my stomach where she kicks. I laugh. “I think she approves.”

  He smiles adorably.

  My mom finally steps into the room, and she gasps the same way I did. “This is gorgeous.” She turns around, looking at each wall before pointing at the ceiling. “That’s beautiful, where’d you find it?”

  “Flea market,” Ryder answers. “I had to fix it up a bit, but it was a good find.”

  “You go to flea markets?” I ask, fighting laughter.

  He chuckles and ducks his head so that his paint spackled hair falls into his eyes. “Yes,” he says. “You should come sometime.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  He grins and quickly sobers. “I better go.”

  “Oh, right,” I say, shaking my head. “Thank you so much for spending your day doing this.”

  “There’s nothing I’d rather do.” He strides toward the door. “Besides, your dad is a pretty cool guy.”

  “He didn’t grill you anymore, did he?” I whisper-hiss, opening the door for him.

  “Only a little bit.” I groan at his answer. “Don’t worry,” he adds, “I didn’t mind.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him again.

  He nods. “I’ll see you.” He waves before starting down the steps.

  I close the door and find my mom already going to work organizing the kitchen. “We better order pizza,” she says. “I don’t think there will be time to make dinner.” She’s right. It’s already after five, and right now, everything we need is in a box somewhere.

  “Yes,” my dad cries from the couch. “Pizza.” He rubs his stomach and licks his lips.

  My mom rolls her eyes. “You’re ridiculous. But since we’re busy you can order.”

  “What do you want, Kid?” he asks me.

  “Sausage and green peppers,” I say.

  “You hate sausage.” My mom laughs, pulling a skillet out of a box.

  I shrug. “Must be a pregnancy craving.”

  She shakes her head. “Better ask for extra sausage then, Dan.”

  While my dad places the order and my mom’s busy in the kitchen I decide to unpack the bathroom things. I have almost everything completely in order. My closet needs some work, and my desk needs to be better organized, but at least this place actually looks livable.

  I scoot the box into the bathroom and sit on the floor. I organize things into drawers and trash a few things I should’ve gotten rid of before.

  By the time the pizza arrives I’m almost done and starving.

  My dad pays for the pizza before I can get off the floor.

  “Geez, you’re speedy,” I say, making my way over to the small table. It has a stainless steel tabletop with acrylic chairs. I liked the fact that the chairs were clear, considering how small the space is. They seem to just disappear into the background.

  “I didn’t want you payin’,” he says, clearing his throat. He sets the box down on the middle of the table.

  I gasp. “You got breadsticks too?” He nods. I pat his arm. “Good man.”

  He laughs and grabs glasses and fills them with water. As he scoots around my mom, he bends and kisses the side of her forehead. She closes her eyes and smiles. Their love is a special one. It’s the kind of love I had with Ben. It’s rare and beautiful.

  I pull out a chair and sit down. They join me a minute later.

  “Thanks for being here,” I tell them. “Not just tonight, but through all of this. I’m going to miss you.” Tears fill my eyes.

  “We’re not leaving yet, Kid.” My dad chortles. “Save the tears for Friday.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, wiping away my tears. “I can’t help it.”

  “I’m glad we could be here for you.” My mom reaches over, pressing her hand to my cheek. I place my hand over hers, holding it there.

  “I’m so sorry I was such a bitch to you early on,” I tell her.

  She laughs. “Oh, Blaire. I hardly batted an eye at it. You were going through so much of course you were going to be testy, but someone had to push you and I knew it had to be me.”

  “Thank you,” I say again. “I love you.” I lean over to hug her.

  My dad chuckles.

  “Dan,” my mom scolds, even though he didn’t say anything.

  I let her go and sit back. “You guys are going to come back when the baby is born, right? At least for a week?”

  “Of course,” my mom says, shock in her tone. “We can’t wait to see this beautiful grandbaby.” She points to my stomach.

  “Not much longer now,” I say. I’m fast approaching the eight-months mark. “Casey and the girls want to throw me a baby shower.”

  “You should let them,” my mom says, picking out a slice of pizza.

  I grab a slice too, my stomach rumbling. “But it would only be us,” I say. “It’s not like I know many other people.”

  She levels me with the look. “Blaire, what about the people from Group?”

  I wrinkle my nose. “I doubt they’d want to come to my baby shower.”

  “Who knows?” She shrugs. “Maybe you should ask. What better way to forget about death than to celebrate life?”

  “She has a point,” my dad says around a mouthful of pizza.

  I breathe out, “Okay.” I nod. “I’ll see.”

  “Good.” She smiles and reaches over to squeeze my hand where it rests on the table.

  We finish eating and clean up. They stay for another hour, helping me unpack the last of things, before they head to their hotel for the night.

  The cable guy hasn’t been by yet so the TVs aren’t hooked up and my internet isn’t set up, either. It leads to an eerily quiet apartment. I’m only surrounded by the sounds of my breaths and the beating of my heart. I haven’t been by myself like this in years and I don’t like it.

  I get in bed and will sleep to come, but instead I toss and turn.

  I cover my eyes with the crook of my arm and groan. I’m never going to get any sleep feeling like this.

  I grab my cellphone off the nightstand and text Ryder.

  Me: Are you up?

  I hold my breath, waiting for his response. I jump when the phone rings in my hand, flashing his name on the screen.

  I swipe my finger across the screen. “Hello?”

  “Hey,” he says, and I hear rustling in the background like he’s rolling over in bed. “What’s up?”

  I swallow thickly. “I’m sorry I called—”

  “It’s okay that you called,” he
says quickly.

  “It’s weird being here … by myself,” I say, drawing the sheets up to my chin. The ceiling fan whips around above me. “It’s too quiet.” I glance to my right where Winnie sits in the window. Apparently, windows are her favorite spot. Even so, she glares at me. First I took Ben from her and then I took her away from her home. If she didn’t hate me before she definitely hates me now.

  Ryder’s breath echoes across the phone. “We’ll talk until you fall asleep then. That way you won’t be alone.”

  I roll to my side. “Thank you. I know this is silly, I’ve been sleeping by myself for a while now, but there were always other people in the house. Now it’s a new place and it’s so … empty.” I shake my head even though he can’t see. “Not empty like there’s nothing here—but empty of memories.”

  “You’ll fill it with memories,” he says. “One day at a time.”

  “Will you help me?” I ask. “To fill it.”

  I can’t see him but I know instinctively that he’s smiling. “Absolutely.”

  I close my eyes then, feeling better already. “Don’t hang up yet,” I tell him.

  “I won’t.” I yawn and he chuckles. “Finally getting sleepy? I’m not boring you, am I?”

  I laugh. “No, but you are making me feel better.”

  “You make me feel better too,” he says.

  We both grow quiet and only the sounds of our breaths fill the phone. I don’t feel so alone now. I eventually drift off to sleep, and it’s one of the best nights of sleep I’ve had in a long time. I know it’s because it felt like Ryder was there with me.

  Goodbyes suck.

  My lower lip wobbles as I look between my mom and dad. I met them for lunch before they have to leave to catch their flight. I don’t want them to go, but I know they have to. It’s such a turnaround of thought compared to when they first arrived. I couldn’t wait for them to leave—practically begging them to go—but they’ve both been there for me through this whole tragic process and I don’t know how am I going to make it without them. I feel like they’ve been my crutch, and now I have to learn to stand on my own two feet.