The Best of Me

by Karlee Michelle

  We all put our plates away, and I kiss my parent’s goodnight before going upstairs. Standing in my old room is surreal. It’s weird being back here without Derek. Most years we would stay Thanksgiving week here, but without him, it feels wrong. I change into a long-sleeved tee and matching boxer shorts, and right before I get into my side of the bed, I pause. My breathing speeds up, and a headache throbs as I grab my phone and turn around, walking towards Drew’s room and opening her door. She’s already lying down, but when she notices me in her doorway, she throws the blanket back and pats the spot next to her like she was expecting me. The second I climb in beside her, the tears fall and my sister wraps her arms around me and she doesn’t let go.

  My swollen eyes peel open to the sound of snoring. “Derek, you’re snoring again,” I say as I roll away. Once I nestle in, my eyes open a little more, and I realize where I am and who’s next to me. All it takes is the smallest thing, and I’m catapulted back into a memory that feels so damn real, and it slices a gash right down my chest. I’d give anything to hear him. I haven’t felt him in what seems like ages.

  I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling before looking at my mess of a sister. “Drew.”

  I push her shoulder, and she glares at me. “God, nothing has changed. I like to sleep in, Emery Jean. A girl needs beauty sleep.”

  “Well, I would look at a different route cause this one ain’t working.”

  She snorts. “Okay, dick.” She opens her eyes and smiles at me. “What’s on your mind? Spill.”

  I debate on telling her about the letters, but I don’t. I like having this little mystery kept to myself. “A guy gave me his number yesterday.”

  I’ve never seen Drew sit up so fast in my life. “I’m sorry, what?”

  I chuckle. “It’s actually the second time I’ve seen him.”

  She hits my shoulder. “Bro, WTF?” she spells out the letters in anger, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “He paid for my coffee last week, and I ran out to thank him. Then I saw him again yesterday, and he gave me his number.”

  “Oh my—are you going to call him?”

  I look at her like she’s lost her mind. “Um, absolutely not.”

  “Why not? You don’t have to date the guy, but you can still have friends.”

  My eyes find my hands as my fingers twirl the wedding ring on my left hand. “It still feels like cheating, like I’m doing something wrong—behind his back even. Besides, I’m not ready. I have more baggage than an airport right now.”

  “Don’t deprive yourself of human connection because you lost the one closest to you, Emery.” Her hands cover mine to catch my attention. “You can still have and make friends. And then when you’re ready, you can go out if you want to. Nothing is normal right now, I get that. So, learn your new self and take your time, not everything is so serious.”

  “When did you get so smart?”

  A sad, half-smile pulls at the side of her lips. “Your lil sis knows a thing or two about a thing or two.”

  I roll my eyes at her. “I have a couple of errands I have to run before I go grab stuff at the store for Mom. Want to come with me?”

  “Hell yeah. Girls trip.” She hops up to throw on a change of clothes.

  “Drew?”

  “Yeah?” she says with a bobby pin in her mouth as she pins her messy bun into place.

  “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you right now,” I say as I twist my ring some more and bite my lip.

  “You’d be drinking booze and not showering for ten days at a time,” she says with a wink.

  She has such a loose, free spirit that I envy, and that’s why I’m so thankful for her. Especially now.

  monachopsis—the subtle persisting sense

  of being out of place

  Emery

  My family is sitting at the table, everyone in their unofficial-official seats, but the one to my right is empty. I set his spot anyway, thinking it would be a good way to feel like he was here with me, but I’m very much regretting this decision. All I can focus on is the achingly empty seat next to me. The right side of my body is cold, where the warmth of his presence used to comfort me.

  “Emery?” the sound of my dad’s voice snaps me from my thoughts.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you pass the mashed potatoes, kiddo?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Shaking my head from the fog, I pass him the mashed potatoes after scooping some onto my plate. The sound of my parents and sister chatting about nothing important is the background noise to the thoughts racing in my head. The pit deep in my belly turns, and all I can do is push the food around my plate and try my hardest to hold my tears back. How long is it going to hurt like this?

  I’d kiss you if I could, Emery Jean.

  The sound of his voice finally coming back to me is overwhelming, and I fly up from my chair and run to my room. After shutting the door, my back falls against the cool wood as I slide down until my butt hits the floor.

  “Where have you been?” I whisper through my cries into the empty room.

  I’ve been here the whole time, baby.

  I choke out a sob, my head falling between my knees while my tears fall freely. A knock at the door startles me, and I lean my head back against the door, wiping my tears with the back of my hands.

  “I’m okay!” I say to whoever is on the other side.

  “No, you’re not, babygirl. And that’s okay,” the sound of my mom’s sweet voice tries to comfort me as I hear her slide down against the other side of the door, being there for me but still giving me the space she knows I need.

  “I can’t do this anymore, Mom,” my sobs muffle my words, but I continue, “I don’t want to. He’s not here, and I am. How is any of this right?”

  Her sigh is loud enough for me to hear. “It’s not right or fair, and I wish I knew the answer to why some people leave this Earth so early because I would do everything in my power to make things better for you.” The sound of her sad chuckle is oddly comforting. “You know, being a mom is absolutely terrifying. You are a piece of my heart walking around outside of my body, and to see you broken and hurting—I can’t imagine what you’re feeling, but I would do anything to take the pain away.”

  My eyes and lips squeeze together before releasing a slow breath as I stand to open the door gently. My mom stands there, brown hair and soft brown eyes that mirror mine, and she’s heartbroken for me. She pulls me into her arms, and I hug her back, reveling in her comfort.

  “You should stay here for a little bit,” she whispers into my hair as she hugs me.

  “I would, but avoiding my house won’t help me when I eventually go back. Plus, I feel close to him there. It’s nice.”

  She pushes my hair behind my ears and cups my cheeks. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Her lips meet my forehead, and when we walk into the hallway, my sister and dad come up the stairs.

  “Group hug!” Drew yells as she and my dad rush to us, and they all squeeze me, trying to replace the love that’s been ripped from me.

  “Okay, I can’t breathe.” I chuckle, and they laugh.

  “Game night? I feel like whooping some ass at euchre.” Drew wiggles her fingers mischievously.

  “Oh! I’m on dad’s team!” I yell, and he high-fives me.

  “Oh, come on! You’re gonna leave me with the chump?” Drew yells as we walk away, but everyone hears the sound of the slap my mom gives her on the back of the head. “Hey! That hurt!”

  “So did your insult,” my mom chides back, and my dad and I laugh.

  “If you end up wanting to live with me when you guys are of age, too bad because I’m sending you to a home.”

  “Drew, the day you get a house on your own just may be the day I see Jesus.”

  Drew screws her face up and mocks my mom before looking at me and winking. I mouth the words “love you” to her, and she mouths them back. The four of us spend the evening playing c
ard games, getting mad at each other, and eating way too much food. The memory of sitting on the living room floor and watching the three of them laugh is ingrained in my mind, and for that—I’m beyond grateful.

  anemoia—nostalgia for a time

  you’ve never known

  Emery

  The bags fall from my hands the moment I walk into my home Sunday afternoon. The time spent with my parents and my sister was exactly what I needed. My head is a little clearer, my heart a bit lighter, and I’m eager to get back to work. As I walk through my front door, I flip through the stack of mail and find my favorite envelope. Impatient, I sit on the couch, tear it open and devour the words.

  I’m still sober.

  I’m still sober, and I’m so proud of myself because I came so close to relapsing repeatedly. I can’t get out of my own head, and it fucks with me. But I did it, and that has to count for something, right? I made it through Thanksgiving and family stuff without relapsing, and it’s a win I’m gonna damn well take.

  Speaking of chances, I want you to take one. Do something crazy.

  p.s. I’m proud you went to the coffee shop, and you’re facing your fears. Do it again.

  p.s.s. Let your dad change your oil. I’m willing to bet he loves to feel needed. Especially by his hurting daughter right now.

  Nerves bundle in my stomach. This is the first time he’s directly responded to something in my letters. For a minute, I didn’t think he was reading them, just venting to a random stranger. But now I’m eager for more, so I grab my notebook and pen and reply right away.

  I survived Thanksgiving. Barely. I had a few breakdowns, but it ended perfectly, and I didn’t realize how much I needed that time with my family. I’m really lucky to have them.

  I go back to work tomorrow. I’m not nervous like I was the first time I returned to work. I’m actually a bit excited. I feel like I eased my way back in, and the break I just had was like a refresher, I guess. I look forward to the distraction from my life and being able to focus on other people’s issues.

  As far as taking chances goes—I feel like I chance every day I have to wake up without my person. But I’ll see what comes up. Does drinking espresso at night count as taking chances? That’s about as wild as I get these days.

  p.s. I’m proud you're still sober. Keep it up.

  p.s.s. I let my dad change my oil while I watched and learned. You’re correct, he was thrilled.

  p.s.s.s. I still don’t know how to change my oil.

  yeoubi—the sun shining through rain

  Mason

  This has been the week from hell. When it rains, it pours. I’ve already worked two forty-eight-hour shifts, and I picked up twelve more, which is fine. I have nothing else to do. But now my body is dragging as I get out of my truck, coffee in hand.

  “Morning Mason,” Jared, one of my coworkers, says as I put my stuff away in the lockers.

  “It’s six p.m., man.” I chuckle.

  “Wait, seriously?”

  I bark out a laugh. “Go home. You need sleep.”

  “If I’m not being kept awake here, I’m kept awake by the new pooping baby-demon that doesn’t sleep.” He says it as if it’s a burden, but the adoration shining from his eyes says otherwise.

  “Well, good luck with… all that.”

  He laughs. “Thanks. Good luck out there. It’s a full moon tonight.”

  “Ah, fuck.”

  Jared laughs again, and as soon as I grab my radio, it’s time to go on a call. I dash out to the ambulance, and Mark and Britney jump in with me.

  “Hey, ready?” Britney says with a small smile as she starts driving to the call. She’s an incredibly smart EMT, and very few works as hard as she does. She takes charge when needed and follows lead flawlessly. She’s great to work with and a tremendous asset to the team.

  “As ever. What do we have?”

  She speaks up, “Unresponsive three-year-old boy. Face is blue, the mom successfully removed the object, but he’s still not breathing.”

  “Fuck.” I take a deep breath and get everything ready. We fly through the city, lights shining, siren blaring, and hearts racing before we pull up to the home. A teenage boy is waving us down in front of the house, tears rolling down his face. With my jump bag in hand, I run to him.

  “In here!” he yells, and I follow him into the home where the mom is still doing CPR. I fucking hate traumas with young kids, but I push my emotions to the side and do what I do best. I will save his life. There’s no other option.

  Gently, I put my hand on her shoulder, not to startle her, “On three, we’re going to take over. You’ve done an incredible job. Ready?” She nods. “One. Two. Three.”

  Her hands pull away, and Britney takes over chest compressions while I check over the child. My hands move frantically, but my mind is calm with what I need to do.

  “We need to intubate. Let’s load him up.” Britney keeps working as I position the child, load him on a stretcher, and run him to the ambulance. The dad walks in as the mom joins us. Tears stain their faces.

  Britney assists me as Mark drives us back. He navigates flawlessly, and I’m thankful for the crew I have today. I’m talking to the little guy about what I’m going to do. I do this with every patient, no matter how old, no matter how lucid. “Alright, buddy, I’m going to put a device in your mouth and get you breathing. Keep that heart beating for me, little guy.”

  Britney speaks up. “His pulse is dropping.” She rattles off his vitals to me as I position his head, keeping my calm as determination pumps through my veins.

  “What’s his name?” I ask Britney.

  His mom speaks up, “Brady.” She’s calm but absolutely terrified. The adrenaline in her system is probably at an all-time high right now.

  “Alright, Brady. Keep fighting for me, bud. Here we go.” I put the device in his mouth, lining it up properly before inserting it. “Intubated.” As I finish hooking him up, we arrive at the hospital. In the parking lot, I spew off the situation to the doctors and nurses and they take over from there. I finally take a deep breath before I go into the hospital. My body is on a high, but my mind feels like it ran a marathon.

  “Excellent job,” I tell Britney.

  “You too. That was intense. We got him stable, though.” She fist-bumps me and heads back to the ambulance to clean and restock.

  “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go fill out the reports.”

  She nods, and I head inside the hospital. When I walk in, I see the mom, and the look on her face breaks my heart. She sees me and flags me down, so I walk over.

  “How is he? Do you know anything?”

  Sighing, I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t.” I see the worry and fear on her face, and when I look around, I don’t see her husband here yet. “Would you like me to wait with you?” I offer.

  She nods her head, tears in her eyes.

  I sit down and extend my hand. “I’m Mason.”

  “Vanessa. Brady’s mom, obviously.” She nervously chuckles.

  I smile. “I want to say you did an amazing job. You did absolutely everything in your power, and you did it spectacularly. You kept your boy alive. You should be proud.”

  “I feel like an idiot. I missed one grape. One whole grape, and he choked on it,” she scoffs.

  “Do you love your boy?”

  She looks appalled. “Of course.”

  “I’m willing to bet you would never do anything to intentionally hurt him, and you would do anything to keep him safe. That’s a damn good mother in my book.”

  She smiles and chokes on a cry before burying her face in her hands when the tears finally come. A moment later, she wipes her eyes and sits up. “Sorry.”

  My brows pull as I shake my head. “Don’t be.” Right then, her husband and son come in, and they hug each other before the dad shakes my hand.

  “Thank you so much.” Sincerity pours from his words as he hugs his wife and child, all three clearly shaken up and worried. />
  “Of course. I wish the best for your family, and of course, Brady.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.” I can feel Vanessa’s gratitude, and I return a smile. When I walk away, a doctor calls their name, and I pause for just enough time to hear that Brady is okay, stable and they can see him. Worry deflates from my shoulders, thankful we were able to save that one because not all calls are guaranteed.

  The entire night repeats like that, intense call after intense call. No breaks, constantly breaking our backs the entire night to make sure these precious lives don’t die. By seven in the morning, I’m absolutely exhausted, but the endorphins are still high from a night of non-stop calls, so I decide to grab breakfast at my favorite small diner before going home and crashing.

  It’s still relatively slow since it’s a weekday. The quiet chatter of a few guests mixes in with the morning news playing from the tv in the corner. Crisp white walls pop against one black wall with accents of camel browns. The sounds of the cooks' laughter dances through the opening in the wall, and my favorite spot along the black marble counter gives me a front row seat. It’s minimal yet homey, and the service is exceptional.

  “Good morning, Mason. Haven’t seen you in a while. How are you doing today?” one of my favorite waitresses, Susie, greets me. She’s the mom of this place—everyone knows her, everyone loves her.

  “I know, I’ve had weird shifts, but today called for my favorite meal and a wind-down before I crash.” I smile at her, and she chuckles.

  “Ah, one of those days. I’ll have them start on your order.” She chuckles as she pours me a coffee. The smell sifts through the air on top of the sweet, sugary scent of syrup mixed with sausage feels like home. My “favorite” meal could feed an army, and I only get it occasionally since it’s a fuck ton of calories, and I’d blow up like a balloon if I ate like that regularly. A yawn forces its way out, and I roll my shoulders before stretching my neck, feeling the tension from the night.