I turn the corner into the instant coffee aisle, and my gaze settles on a familiar face, a mom with a young child—Adam’s older sister, Tracey. Therefore, I do the only logical thing and turn around to make my way over to another aisle, hoping to avoid the interaction. I’ll come back for the coffee.
The cereal aisle is overwhelming as usual because I don’t have a favorite type of cereal, so I switch it up to avoid breakfast boredom for when I take the time to eat breakfast.
“Journey, I thought that was you,” I hear from behind.
I swore she didn’t see me. She was talking to her daughter, and I’m sure plenty of women in the area have dark hair and black coats. “Tracey, hi,” I greet her. “It’s been a few months, huh?”
“It has,” she says. “Emi, can you say hi?” I think her daughter is just about two now. She’s adorable with her whitish blond hair Tracey usually has up in pigtails that curl into perfect cylinders.
Emi looks at her hand first as if it’s supposed to do something, then holds it up to me and waves. “Hi,” she offers.
“That was nice of you to bring those DVDs to my brother. He was awake most of the afternoon yesterday, watching them.”
“Oh, well, I’m glad to hear that.”
Tracey does what any typical person would do in her situation and subtly glances into my cart, probably wondering what a single woman shops for. “You’ve been visiting Adam pretty early on Fridays. My parents were wondering if you’ve been avoiding them,” she says, laughing cautiously as if what she’s saying might be hinting at a joke.
It’s easier to avoid.
“The mornings are just easier for me,” I tell her.
Plus, I know they meet with a family therapist every Friday morning, so no one else is visiting at the same time.
“Have you thought about what I said?” Tracey asks, lowering her voice.
I nod my head and try to force a small smile. “Of course.”
“And?”
“Maybe this week.” Maybe this week, I’ll go to the doctor and address my issues. Maybe, next week.
“You don’t look good, hon,” she says. Tracey has always been honest with me, but it’s because she thinks I’m not honest with myself. She’s also a psychologist, and it’s in her bones to help everyone around her heal.
“Things are getting a little easier,” I tell her.
“Losing a parent doesn’t get easier. You just adjust to the void. Plus, you know what a loss does to old wounds,” she prompts me to finish her sentence.
“I know.”
I’m at the point where I’m cracking my knuckles from discomfort. I feel the tension in my shoulders and the pulsating in my head. “You know, I have a friend I’m trying to set up. He’s a great guy. Would you be interested in me giving him your phone number?”
We’ve gone from the discussion of therapy to matchmaking. Sometimes I feel like Tracey has a list on her agenda to fix me, and though she can never check off an item, she still tries to accomplish every task.
“No, thank you. I’m not looking to date right now.” I grab a random box of cereal from the shelf and drop it into my cart.
“You’ve been saying that for years. I get the feeling you’re still punishing yourself.” I am, but not to be a masochist. Nothing has felt right. “Adam wouldn’t want this for you. He doesn’t want you to live like this. I’m sure of it.” Tracey has said this to me a million times, and it could be true, but my life is the way it is for a reason. I’m just not sure of the reason yet.
“The guy I kissed that night, the one Adam saw with me; he’s been around lately,” I tell her, feeling some relief for admitting the truth that has been killing me inside.
Tracey offers a genuine smile. “Are there still sparks?”
I shrug. “Maybe, but—”
“Listen. The universe has a plan for all of us, different lessons we each need to learn in this lifetime. Your lesson is not the same as Adam’s, and you don’t have to act as though it is. You did nothing wrong that night, and if this man is back and you feel something for him, you aren’t doing anything wrong. You were so young then, Journey. You both were.”
Her words of wisdom have always comforted me, but I don’t think most people think so level-headed as she does. I fear judgment and the thought of what Adam could truly be feeling or thinking. “I suppose,” I tell her, trying to end this personal discussion I wasn’t planning to have with her or anyone.
“It’s not like you’re on some kind of wild bender, trekking across the country looking and making rash decisions,” she says, reminding me of the two years I was deemed to have lost my mind.
