My heart seemed to constrict as the distance between us grew. Maybe it was calling to him.
Yes, my heart was calling out to him, looking for the second chance that I suddenly realized I was ready to give him, because I knew that there was something important motivating his behavior.
“Neil, wait…” I stretched my arm out into the air, but all I grasped was the silence that fell over me as his decisive footsteps echoed out of the room and through the door.
Neil was gone.
Maybe I’d never see him again.
Maybe I’d never find out how it might have been between us or if he’d been telling the truth and I really was nothing to him.
There was one thing, however, that I knew for absolute certain: Nothing would ever put a greater weight on my soul than the void he’d left.
3
I still struggled to recognize my face.
Selene
I was back home.
After another week in the hospital, I was back where everything reminded me of the person I was before I left for New York.
I was in the place I’d grown up—Indian Village. It was a historic neighborhood on the east side of Detroit. It didn’t exude the ostentatious luxury that Matt’s home and neighborhood did, but it was sophisticated and distinctive thanks to a number of noteworthy buildings like the Bliemaster House. The houses and apartments flanked each other neatly with carefully curated gardens and renovated garages. Our neighbors were the Burnses and the Kampers, located respectively to the right and left of our more modest home.
The moment I got out of the car and looked around, it felt like I’d never left. All my best memories were linked to that house, to my mother and my friends, and to the university.
I still felt confused and a little out of it. The doctor told me I might have headaches and sensitivity to light at first and that I would carry the souvenirs of my accident for a long time to come. They were there, carved into my body and soul, but I was confident that, sooner or later, I would recover.
I walked into the house and smiled at finding it exactly as I remembered it.
Our house wasn’t very large, but it was easy and comfortable. Antique wooden furniture was featured heavily in the decor, and my mother had even maintained Grandma Marie’s old light fixtures. Perhaps, like me, she hadn’t entirely gotten over Grandma Marie’s death.
My grandmother used to live with us, and I felt her presence so often that it was as though I could still smell the aroma of cherry pie in the air. Cherry pie, like she used to make for me every Sunday. We would always enjoy it together along with a nice cup of tea, a tradition that my mother and I had kept up in honor of her.
I took a deep breath and, at a snail’s pace, made my way up the stairs to my room.
As soon as I crossed the threshold, I could see that everything was neat and in perfect order. The carved wooden headboard was flush against the wall, and just above it were shelves displaying books of all varieties.
Beside the bed and night table, there was a desk by the window, two little white poufs, a six-drawer dresser with all my clothes inside, a small vanity with a stool, and a few old photos of me on the wall.
I looked around, drinking in every detail. How I had missed this room.
Then, I focused in on the vanity mirror behind a few bottles of perfume and some cosmetics. I stared at my reflection, taking note of how pale and exhausted I looked. The dark circles under my eyes were very obvious, as was the healing wound that marred the left side of my forehead. They’d taken the stitches out, but the scar was still puffy and slightly red. I probably could have covered it with some makeup, but it still would have been there underneath. It would be there forever to remind me of what had happened.
“So, shall we unpack these bags?”
I jolted when my mother came into the room, looking lovely and smiling as she always did. She gave me a questioning look as she hoisted my bag up on the bed.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Think I’ll have to get a new haircut to cover this?” I pointed to my scar, and she frowned skeptically.
Sure, the mark wasn’t a huge problem, but I still struggled to recognizemy face even as I realized that I was just going to have to make peace with this indelible blemish on my skin. My mother smiled and drew closer, resting her hands on my shoulders with all her fond indulgence.
“It’s barely noticeable. And, as far as I’m concerned, you’re always beautiful.” She kissed my forehead, and I grimaced sarcastically at her.
It was very noticeable, in fact, but she was just trying to comfort me.
