“Did you want to do anything today?” Dad asks, peering at me through his reading glasses from over the top of the paper. His hair is turning more salt than pepper with each passing day, but he’s still a handsome guy.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I was thinking I might take a shower and then, you know…” go back to bed.
“What about a walk around the neighborhood?” Mom puts in cheerily. “It’s not too cold today.”
Isn’t it enough that I’m eating? I’m worried I’ve opened the floodgates, but they look so damn pleased, so hopeful, I can’t say no.
“All right,” I finally say. “Maybe a short one. I’ll go get dressed.”
As I’m rounding the staircase to head up to my bedroom, I can hear my mom’s squeal. I’ve given her an inch—I just hope she doesn’t try to take the full mile.
Ten minutes later, we’re all bundled and headed out the front door. It’s not as mild as Mom promised, but I’ve spent the last few years in NY. I can handle it.
“Ooh, doesn’t that feel good?” Dad says, coming up beside me rubbing his gloved hands together, as if he’s sitting before a fire. “Nice, brisk air. Good for the senses.”
I give a half smile and then look down at my feet. I’d rather be in my bed, but I won’t tell him that.
Mom comes up on my other side and snakes her arm through mine, so we’re linked. She’s wearing this ridiculous red headband that covers her ears and matches her red scarf. “They’re saying it might snow later today,” she says.
“Great.” I have the urge to remind them that I’m not six-years-old anymore, and I don’t have school, so there’s no snow day to get excited for. But I hold my tongue.
“Remember how excited you used to get for the snow?” She gives a little laugh. “Of course, you’ve been up north for a few years, so it’s probably nothing to you now.”
I shrug. I don’t know what else to say. I have no feelings on the weather one way or the other. I could be in the frozen tundra or a burning desert, and it wouldn’t matter. I still wouldn’t have Kyle.
We walk in silence—well, I walk in silence. Mom and Dad are chattering on like they always do. It grates on my nerves. It shouldn’t. I should be happy that my parents are some of the ones who made it. More than half my friends come from broken homes. I’ve got the happiest, most in love parents on the planet. Yet I want to cover my ears and sing, “Lalalalalalala!” at the top of my lungs right now.
I know what it is, but I don’t want to admit it. Admitting that you’re jealous of your parents is just lame. But I can’t help it. Kyle and I used to be like them. We used to laugh and banter and…
“Oh, look!” Mom says, pointing up the street to a man in the distance. He’s in running gear—short-shorts, beanie, high socks and a fleece cardigan—and he gives my mom a wave.
“Who’s that?” I can’t help but wonder.
“Oh, you remember Brandon Todd, don’t you?”
Brandon Todd? I do remember him. He was a huge nerd in high school, but Mom always made me be nice to him because we were neighbors and our parents were friends. We spent a few holidays together over the years, but all he ever wanted to do was try to beat me at ping-pong in the basement. He rarely did. I was really good at ping-pong.
As he gets closer, I start to wonder if I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have him mixed up with someone else. This couldn’t possibly be Brandon. This guy looks…totally normal. No weird pre-pubescent stubble, no almost-mullet. And the absence of a Hackey Sack is really throwing me off.
“Hi, Mrs. Brooks,” he says, leaning in to kiss Mom on the cheek, even though he’s still doing a light jog in place. Then he extends his hand to Dad. “Mr. Brooks.”
“Brandon darling, look who’s here!” Mom moves behind me and shoves me toward Brandon.
I stumble, trying to stop myself from careening into him.
“No way,” he says, drawing out the aaaaaay part. “Is that Jess?”
I go to tuck my hair behind my ear, forgetting I’m wearing a toboggan hat and that my hair is all tucked up underneath. So now my hand is awkwardly flailing about.
“Hey, Brandon,” I say. “Nice to see you again.”
“Nice? Really?” He stops running and puts his hands on his hips. He’s not even winded, and I wonder how often he runs. “You couldn’t wait to be rid of me back in the day.”
I shrug, letting a half smile come to my lips. “Yeah, well…that was high school. I’m all grown up now.”
“Yeah, me too.” He says this, not in a cocky way, but in a confident way. And it’s true, so I can’t deny it. He’s not the same dorky Brandon from high school.
“Hey, look at that!” Dad is holding out his hand, and I see that a few snow flurries have started to fall around us. “Snow’s already starting.”
“Ooh!” Mom’s squeal sets off a dog in someone’s backyard. “So exciting. Brandon, why don’t you pop over later for some hot chocolate?”
My head snaps sideways and I glare at my mom. What is she doing? Surely she’s not trying to set me up, not after what I’ve been through. For Christ sake, it’s only been four months. If this were the Victorian era, I’d have eight months to go before I could even think about another man.
“I don’t want to impose,” Brandon says. I meet his eyes. They’re still green. That much is the same, at least. He’s staring at me, as if trying to read my mind. Does he know about Kyle? My mom is a pretty big gossip. Surely she’s blabbed about my loss to the entire neighborhood.
“You wouldn’t be imposing at all,” Mom says.
“Of course not,” Dad adds. “Besides, I was hoping I could have you take a look at my computer. It’s been doing something funny lately.”
They’re not gonna give him an out.
“Well, as long as I can help out,” he says, flashing Mom a smile that, if she were thirty years younger, would be interpreted as flirting. But I can tell he’s just trying to make her feel good about herself. That’s nice of him. Not that my mom looks old, but she is pushing fifty, so it’s probably nice to have a young whippersnapper like Brandon pretend to flirt with you.
“Wonderful.” Mom stretches up on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. “We’ll see you in a bit then.”
“Sounds good.” Then he turns to me, his green eyes intent and soul-searching. “It’s great to have you back, Jess.”
I turn away. It’s a little too intimate for me. “Thanks,” I say. “See ya later.”
FOUR
Part of me wants to scream at my mother. I know what’s she’s doing and I don’t like it. She’s disrespecting me. Kyle. How could she invite him over? Furthermore, why? I’m not in the market for someone new. It’s possible I never will be. I know that sounds ridiculous to say. I’m only twenty-one and I have my whole life ahead of me. But it doesn’t feel that way. Not without Kyle.
But the greater part of me just doesn’t have the energy to argue with my mom right now. It’s cold and snowing, and this is the most physical energy I’ve exerted in a very long time. I just want to crawl back into bed and stay under the covers until…well, until this dull ache goes away. Not that I think it ever will.
The house is warm and cozy when we return. I divest myself of the layers of clothing I’m wearing and then set off for my room again.
“Where are you going?” Mom asks as I make my way up the stairs.
I turn to look at her, holding onto the white, wooden banister. “Back to bed.”
Her face falls. I know she thought I’d had a breakthrough, what with the breakfast and the walk, but she must know that’s not all it’s going to take. I don’t even know what’s it’s going to take. And maybe it won’t be anything big that makes me want to live again—maybe it’ll be little things that all start to add up. Maybe this was the first step. I don’t know. All I know is that I want to go back to bed.
“Will you join us for hot chocolate when Brandon comes over?”
I suck in a deep breath and look away. Do
I say yes and let it go? Or do I say no and start an argument? The first option will get me to bed sooner. The second one might let me stay there forever with no more questions asked.
Obviously, the second one is the better choice, but I’m so damn tired after that walk.
“Yeah. I’ll come down.”
“And maybe take a shower?” Mom’s eyes light up with hopefulness.
“Don’t push your luck, Mom,” I say as I start up the stairs again. I don’t look back, but I know she’s smiling.
I wake up again just after two in the afternoon. I know I’m sleeping my life away, but I don’t really care. I don’t really have a life anyway. Not without Kyle.
I stare at the ceiling for a long time. I’m becoming quite familiar with the patterns in the popcorn up there. If I let my eyes unfocus, it starts to form shapes of animals or objects. What I’m seeing now looks a bit like a crocodile.
The doorbell rings and I jolt up in bed. Mom’s gonna want me to come down soon, but I’d rather prolong the inevitable. If I get in the shower, she won’t be able to drag me out.
With a groan, I throw my legs over the edge of the bed and head into my en suite bathroom. It’s the same as it’s always been. Yellow and white striped wallpaper with pink flower accents. I loved it when I was younger, but I wouldn’t mind something a little less frilly now. I suppose I could ask Dad to redo it, but then I’d have to leave my room for long periods of time, so I’ll just keep my mouth shut and deal with it.
I take my time in the shower. The longer I’m in here, the less time I’ll have to spend with Brandon. I wash my hair twice, shave my legs (which I haven’t done in a while), and even do a mask on my face from the basket of mini toiletries mom left in my bathroom. By the time I’m done blowing out my hair, I’m certain Brandon must be gone already.
I go downstairs, my fingers crossed behind my back, only to find Brandon sitting at our kitchen table with dad’s laptop in front of him. Dad is standing over his shoulder, his brow furrowed as if he’s scrutinizing Brandon’s every move.
“Oh, yeah,” Brandon says, a sly smile coming to his face. “Here it is. You’ve got a bunch of temporary files weighing things down. If we got rid of this stuff, she’d be purring like a kitten.” He pauses and then looks up at dad. “Of course, if you got a—”
“Don’t,” Dad holds up a hand, “say it. I’m an old dog—not interested in learning new tricks.”
“You’re not that old, Dad,” I say, drawing everyone’s attention to me.
“Well, he’s too old for one of those Apple computers,” Mom says, and then she smiles sweetly at me. “The hot chocolate is almost done, honey.”
Crap. They haven’t even had the hot chocolate yet. “Great.”
“Have a seat, honey.” Dad gestures to one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “We’re just finishing up.”
Brandon walks Dad through removing whatever-it-is from his computer over the next few minutes. I watch, wondering when he turned so…cool. Not that he’s James Dean or anything, but he’s definitely not the Brandon I knew growing up. He’s a runner and a computer guru, apparently, and I wonder what else he might have up his sleeve.
“Okay, you two, enough tech talk.” Mom places a tray with four mugs of hot chocolate on the table. They’re all topped with whipped cream and cinnamon—we were never big on marshmallows.
Brandon closes the laptop. “I’m happy to oblige, Mrs. Brooks.”
“Goodness, Brandon, when are you going to stop calling me Mrs. Brooks? You’re a grown-up now, you know?”
Brandon laughs, and his eyes crinkle at the edges. It makes him seem so mature. “I’ll be calling you Mrs. Brooks when I’m sixty. I just can’t think of you any other way.”
“I’ll be dead when you’re sixty,” Mom shoots back, and I feel like I’m watching a comedy act.
“Here, here!” Dad says, lifting his glass, and we all laugh as we lift our mugs to our lips.
There’s a moment of silence in which I remember that I’m supposed to be sad. Laughter still makes me feel as if I’m betraying Kyle somehow, but that was the longest stretch of time I’ve let myself forget since it happened. Guilt slices through me at that thought. And cuts even deeper when I think about how good it felt to laugh and let go.
The hot chocolate burns its way down my throat, then makes a warm path to my stomach. It’s just like Mom used to make it when I was a kid. It reminds me of curling up with her and Dad, watching White Christmas by the light of the Christmas tree. I’m kind of sad I missed Christmas this year, but I know I wouldn’t have been able to muster the requisite enthusiasm, so it was better I stayed in my room.
I want to shift these thoughts. I want my mind to turn off for a bit and let me rest. Since I can’t go back up to bed, I decide I can ply everyone else with questions about their lives.
“So,” I say, and all eyes turn to me. “Brandon, how are your parents?”
Brandon’s mouth drops open just slightly and he glances at my mom, then back to me. He hems and haws a moment before Mom jumps in.
“Honey,” she says quietly. “I could have sworn I told you.” Her eyes are worried, as if she might cry.
I look from her to Brandon. “Told me what?” And I hate the sick feeling that’s coming over me.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Brooks,” Brandon says. “My, ah…my parents died in a car wreck a couple years ago. Not long after you left for New York, I guess.” He clamps his lips into a straight line and nods his head, as if to confirm what he’s just said to me is true.
I stare at him. I can’t do anything else.
He shrugs and then throws his hands up. “But it was a while ago,” he says. “And thankfully they had the good sense to wait until I was old enough to accept responsibility for Caroline.”
I’m at once appalled at his flippancy and curious about Caroline. “Caroline?” I repeat, the question in my voice.
“His younger sister,” Mom says. “You remember, don’t you, honey?”
“Oh, sure,” I say, memories of a little girl tagging along behind Brandon coming back to me. “Right. Caroline…of course. She’s…how old, now?”
“Sixteen,” Brandon confirms. Then he gives a mirthless laugh. “It’s been rough, for sure. But,” he smiles at Mom and Dad, “your parents have been pretty awesome. They really stepped up after the accident.”
Mom leans across the table and squeezes Brandon’s hand. “Well, what were we supposed to do?”
Brandon pats Mom’s hand, and I’m left wondering why the Hell no one ever told me about Mr. and Mrs. Todd, especially if Mom and Dad were so involved in helping the kids through their loss. Where was I?
“Anyway…” Brandon takes a long swallow of his hot chocolate, polishing it off. “I better be going. The snow is picking up and I want to make sure Caroline makes it home okay.”
“Of course,” Mom says, taking his empty mug to the sink. “Jess, do you mind walking Brandon to the door? Dad’s going to help me clean up in here.”
I roll my eyes. She won’t quit, will she?
“It’s okay.” I look up to find Brandon standing over me. Crap. I think he saw me roll my eyes. “I can see myself out.”
He starts to go. Mom clears her throat—loudly. I shake my head and give my mom the insolent “Fine!” look before I slide out of my chair and go after him.
“Be careful out there,” I say, and he swings to face me, seemingly startled to find me there.
“Yeah, thanks.” He gives me a half smile.
“Listen,” I say, dropping my voice so only he can hear. “I’m not trying to be rude, I just…”
He holds up a hand to stop me. “You don’t have to apologize.” His green eyes connect with mine, and I feel like he’s reading my soul. He knows what I’m going through. He understands loss like I do. I haven’t wanted to connect with anyone who understood. I can’t explain why. Maybe I just haven’t wanted to connect at all.
We stand there for a long moment, just star
ing at each other, until he finally says, “I really better run.”
“Oh, of course!” I open the door to let him out, but he turns back once he’s on the stoop.
“Would you like to grab coffee sometime?”
I give a little laugh of incredulity and shake my head. “Brandon, I’m sure you’re a really nice guy and all, but…I’m not ready to start dating again.”
It’s his turn to laugh. “I asked you to coffee, not to get married.”
Heat infuses my cheeks. “Oh, sorry. I just…so it’s not a date?”
He shrugs. “It can be whatever you want it to be. I just thought it would be nice to catch up…” he looks behind me toward the kitchen, “alone.”
“Right. Great.” I nod and grasp the door handle in my hand. “So, not a date?”
“Not a date.”
“Um…” I bite my lip. This feels weird. “I’ll warn you ahead of time—I’m pretty terrible company.”
“You couldn’t possibly be worse than Caroline.”
“I’m sure she can’t be that bad.”
“Oh!” He laughs. “She is. Trust me.”
Now I’m curious. Maybe she and I can sulk together.
“Speaking of which,” he says. “I really better run. Coffee tomorrow?”
Oh, God. So soon? “Um, yeah. Sure. See you then.”
I watch him walk away through the gently falling snow. I don’t mind the cold—it actually feels really good right now. And for the first time in a few minutes, I think of Kyle. How could I have gone that long without thinking of him? I hate the guilt that churns in my stomach.
“Jessica, you’re letting out all the heat,” Mom says, rounding the corner into the foyer. She stands next to me, looking out the door. “He’s a nice boy, isn’t he?”
“Mom,” I say, my tone a gentle warning.
“What?” She’s feigning surprise. “He is!”
I shake my head and finally shut the door. “If you’re trying to set us up—”
Learning to Live Page 3