I can feel the chances of finishing the night and me hearing their news becoming less and less likely, so I say, “Thank you for the gift. It is very generous, but I am not going,” in the most even tone I can manage.
It doesn’t work, though, because Scott responds through clenched teeth. “You are going, Drew. Consider this an intervention.”
“This was so thoughtful, truly,” I say, in a last-ditch attempt to de-escalate Scott. “Old Drew would have loved to do something like this.”
“Here we go again with OldDrew and New Drew,” he mocks.
My brother’s stubbornness is admirable when it comes to fighting for a social cause that he believes in or working towards reaching his goals, but it’s exasperating when it comes to this argument about the way I live my life. When we find ourselves in these blowouts, I often wonder if our mom hadn’t brought home those “Intro to Scratch” coding books from the library when he was a bored and mischievous first grader, if he might have grown up to become a lawyer instead.
He picks up the papers I shoved back in his direction and clears his throat to read them out loud. “We look forward to welcoming you to a weekend of reading, relaxation, and luxury at the Ravenwood Manor in Charlotte, North Carolina. The itinerary for this bookish-themed weekend includes a private wine tasting from one of Charlotte’s historic wineries with artisanal food pairings, a visit to the UNC Charlotte Observatory, and a lively book discussion.”
When he gets going like this, it is best to avoid eye contact and let him get it all out, so I take an interest in my nail beds and plan to study all ten of them in great detail until Scott loses some steam.
He continues, “Though the grounds are expansive, the company will be limited to an intimate group of no more than four women, with your host, Delaney Atwood, to guide you through the weekend experience.” When he catches me smoothing down my cuticles, he throws the papers back down with a huff. “The house even has a hot tub, for God’s sake. We couldn’t make up a better weekend for you if we tried.”
I understand his frustration. They went above and beyond with this gift, and probably hoped that by getting the details right, I would be more agreeable.
What they don’t understand, despite my attempts to explain it over and over to them, is that I’m not the same person anymore.
Yes, this would be the perfect trip for oldme, but I’ve changed. After everything that has happened and all my mistakes it would be impossible not to. I’ve accepted it and moved on, but they refuse to let the old Drew go.
“Say something,” Gabe pleads when Scott’s death glare does not result in me changing my mind.
The weight of three sets of eyes on me is a heavy burden, so I only manage to raise my gaze halfway to the printed retreat details that Scott threw down a second ago. They landed on topof the last slice of his Hawaiian pizza, and I frown as grease starts to soak through the pages, blurring the picture of the massive living room with a fireplace that spans two stories.
“You’ve already read the book if that is causing any hesitation,” Gabe tries again. “We wanted to make sure that everything was as stress-free as possible for you. It’s that story you wrote the blog post about, by Evelyn—”
“Evelyn Graves,” Monika finishes, her voice barely a whisper.
I nod in acknowledgment at Evelyn’s name, but moving at all has become difficult with the realization that Gabe and Monika are now fully in this fight, and not on my side.
“Yeah. The story about the bad luck girl,” Scott says. “What will it take to get it through your head that you aren’t bad luck? That you aren’t cursed? That what happened wasn’t your fault?” His tone, along with the defeat in Gabe and Monika’s, makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I raise my eyes the rest of the way to look at him, at all of them, and see exactly what I was expecting. Twin looks of pity on Gabe and Monika’s faces, and anger on Scott’s. “The only thing that is childish about this,” I say, gesturing around the table, “is the fact that you three refuse to accept me for who I am now, and think that sending me on a silly trip will somehow bring the old me back.”
Gabe opens his mouth to protest, but Scott interjects. “You’re right. We do want the old you back. We know one trip won’t undo the past. It’s just the first step.”
“I’m sorry, did you just say this is thefirststep?” All the air rushes out of my lungs. He is silent, but his lack of response is all the answer I need. “If I agree to this trip, what’s next? You choose a friend group for me that I have to see three times a week? You arrange a marriage for me and insist I have a couple of kids? Where does it end?”
Scott sighs as if the answer is as obvious as a kindergarten math problem. “It doesn’t end until you start living again, Drew. Not just existing. This first step is the easiest one. We are asking you to take a vacation from your pity party for a weekend and do some of your favorite things; it’s not like we are forcing you to go to counseling again or something. Maybe after some time you might want to go back to therapy on your own, though . . .”
The silence stretches on as heat covers my entire body. Anger, embarrassment, shame. While not the worst of my birthdays, not by a long shot, it is probably up there in the top ten.
I am about to excuse myself and bolt for the door when he continues. “Mom and Dad wouldn’t want you to blame yourself like this. They would want you to be happy.”
“I’m pretty sure that they would have wanted to be alive, more than anything,” I shoot back, which stuns him back into silence, and I take the opportunity to drive home my point. “I’ve tried to compromise with you multiple times, but it’s clear that what you are really looking for is my compliance, so I am done with this conversation.”
“It’s okay to grieve,” he says, deflated. “I grieved them too. For the hundredth time, you are not responsible for their deaths.”
I roll my eyes, and his face crumples.
“Drew, it’s time for you to move forward with your life and stop holding on to this guilt like it’s some sick badge of honor.”
His accusation hits like a slap across my face. He has never said anything so cruel to me. I look to the others for help but am left wanting. Gabe is struggling to keep up with wiping away the flow of tears down his cheeks, and Monika looks like she is going to be sick. Scott reaches out to cover my hand with his, but I yank it away.
“I know this is hard to hear, but we are making you go. If I have to take off work and drag you there myself, I will, because we love you, Drew. Despite the fact that you are hellbenton throwing your life away for no reason and have been so frustratingly stubborn, we love you.”
It’s not for no reason. It’s the other, bigger elephant in the room. It’s the reason he can grieve and move on, and I can’t: Today is not only my twenty-eighth birthday, but also the twenty-eighth anniversary of our mother’s death, and the eighth anniversary of our father’s death, and both, despite what Scott just said, are completely my fault.
