My throat burns.
“I don’t know what I need. I just… I can’t be here today. I can’t be in this house, or this town, or this school. I can’t think. I can’t feel. My heart is broken and I’m numb and?—”
The tears hit so fast, I choke on the first one.
“I just want to disappear for a few hours,” I say. “Take me somewhere. Anywhere that isn’t here. Out of town. Somewhere no one will see me. I want clam chowder and a burger and maybe a stupid movie. I just want to feel nothing.”
Aunt Susan’s shoulders drop in relief.
“Okay,” she says. “Okay. That I can do.”
I wipe my face with the heel of my hand.
She reaches for me, brushing a short lock of hair from my cheek.
The gesture is light. Careful.
It still makes me flinch.
“Heartbreak,” she says softly. “And feeling like you have nobody… that’s a feeling I’ve dealt with before.”
I look at her.
Really look.
She’s not trying to fix me.
She’s trying to walk with me.
“But I’ll tell you this, Jade,” she says. “It always passes. I know it doesn’t feel like the sun will come out tomorrow, but it will. And you’ll get through this. I’ve lived long enough to know that when bad things happen, it might take a day, or a week, or a month… but time keeps moving forward. And before you know it, all of this will be in your rearview mirror.”
A fresh tear slides out.
I don’t bother wiping it.
Aunt Susan pats my knee.
“Let’s start small,” she says. “Let’s just clean your room.”
She rises and crosses to the corner where the homecoming dress and sash lie in a sad heap of glitter and slime stains. She picks them up gently, holding them like they’re fragile.
“What do you want me to do with these?” she asks.
My stomach twists.
“Bonfire,” I whisper. “I want to burn it.”
She lets out a soft, almost approving hum.
“Alright. We can do that.”
She walks toward the bathroom to toss the dress in a bag, but freezes at the doorway.
I already know what she sees.
The hair.
My hair.
