I want to bury myself back into the sheets, but it feels wrong being in Mallory’s room and ruining her bed.
After Mrs. Meyers leaves the room, I get up and straighten the comforter, trying to get rid of every single wrinkle as if Mallory is going to come in and scold me for touching her things. Part of me wants to leave it unruly to spite her into returning, but I know it won’t work. It’ll just make me feel worse, so I reposition the pillow the way it was the night before and tug on the comforter until it’s even all the way around the bed.
I change my clothes and brush my teeth as a sweet smell fills the house. When I wander down to the kitchen table, Mrs. Meyers has it set for me. One plate on the large table and I want to cry all over again.
“I made cinnamon rolls,” she says with a smile. She comes closer, wrapping her arm around mine, and leads me to the table. “There you go.”
When I don’t reach for anything, she serves me. She takes the biggest roll out of the pan and sets it on my plate. “I remembered how much you liked these the last time I made them, so I figured it would be the perfect breakfast.”
I stare at it and my lip wobbles. Mallory loved them too. I can picture how big her smile was when she took her first bite. I shouldn’t be allowed to have something so special without her.
But I have to eat it because of the way Mrs. Meyers is looking at me. Her eyes are big and hopeful like this cinnamon roll will fix everything wrong in my life.
I take a bite. The sweet butter melts on my tongue, but it isn’t the same. I can’t enjoy it, and a tear falls from my eye.
“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Meyers says, tucking me into a hug. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I just miss Mallory so much,” I cry.
She pats my back. “Anniversaries are always the hardest.”
She doesn’t get it. I’m not upset because it’s been a year since I lost her. I'm upset because it’s only been a few days. It’s fresh. My wound has been ripped open. I didn’t lose Mallory once like everyone else. I lost her twice. While everyone has had a year to process her loss, I’m starting over, and this time is worse because I know the truth.
Mrs. Meyers takes my hand and squeezes it, but it only makes me cry harder. It’s an ugly cry. The type where my nose starts running and I can’t keep quiet. My shoulders shake as the pressure of it all crushes me, cracking every bone in my body.
This isn’t fair.
How could the universe be this cruel? I want to shouttake me!Just give her back.
Eventually, the tears slow, but I can’t eat anymore. I have no appetite. All I want to do is close my eyes and forget where I am. To let my mind go blank. I’d rather be full of nothing than live in this pain.
I go up to my room, lie down on my messy bedspread, and rest my head on my pillow. I close my eyes, hoping sleep will save me.
The doorbell rings, but I don’t move. We don’t have people in our lives who stop by. It’s not like we have any family close and Dad is shy. I can’t remember the last time he had someone over.
A minute later there are footsteps on the stairs. “Emma,” Mrs. Meyers says, peeking into my room. “You have a friend downstairs.”
I don’t have friends.
I sit up with frazzled hair and eyebrows knitted together. “Are you sure?”
“Well, I doubt he’s here to visit me.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know. A boy about your age.”
I slide off the bed and follow her down the stairs. She leads me into the living room to where a boy stands with his back turned to us as he examines one of the pictures on the wall.
It’s Sam.
He’s wearing a dark leather jacket with his hands in his pockets. When he turns, his lips curl into a grimace. “You look awful.”
I stare at him with what I can only imagine is a pitiful attempt at a glare. “Thanks.”
“I’ll leave you two to talk.” Mrs. Myers touches my arm. “I’ll be in the kitchen doing the dishes if you need me.”
She leaves Sam and me standing in front of each other. I rub my forearm as I stare at the difference between him and the version of him I saw days ago. His black hair is short and his jaw is sharper.
