Bye, Mom.
Have a good day, Violet.
That’s it. That’s all she gave me.
Why couldn’t you give me something more? Something special?
It’s not like she died suddenly. She knew what was going to happen, and for a moment, I let the anger take over. The uncontrollable rage. I bite into my pillow and scream, because how could she do that? How could she leave me like that? What was shethinking?
And then, in an instant, the rage disappears, and my body goes limp. Anger dissipates, despair rolling in like a thick, black fog. Thunder rumbles outside, and I close my eyes again, listening to the pattern of the rain hitting the roof.
Why wasn’t I enough for her?
Because I tried to be. I did everything Mel told me to do. I was quiet, I was good, I was scarce. I didn’t bother my parents, or beg for attention, or whine about stupid kid shit. I never complained, I always smiled, and I did my best to help out.
If I was silent, Mom would laugh again.
If I was considerate, Mom would smile again.
If I focused on the positive, Mom would get better.
So, I tried to bring the sun to my mother’s storm clouds, but they were too dark, too strong, too many. Depression that deep is impossible to combat, I guess, no matter how hard you try. And trust me, she’d tried it all. Therapy. Drugs. Medication. Alcohol.
Nothing helped. Everything made it worse.
I grab my phone and pull up Mel’s contact information. Maybe it’s a bad idea, but I dial her number anyway, wondering if she’s thinking about Mom, too. She doesn’t answer—not that I expected her to—so I call Dad instead, grateful when he picks up on the first ring.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says softly, and I start crying again.
I sniffle. “Hey, Dad.”
“I wanted to call but didn’t want to bother you.”
“You could have called,” I whisper. “It’s never a bother.”
I realize that not only is it the first anniversary I’m away from him, but the first anniversary he’s away from me. That makes me cry harder, guilt clawing up my throat. I haven’t been speaking to him as much as I should, and I wonder if he feels lonely.
“It’s okay, Violet. It’s okay,” he says. “Want me to tell you a story about Mom? One you’ve never heard before?” I don’t answer, but he continues anyway, and before I know it, the tears have stopped. I shut my eyes, listening to the sound of my dad’s voice, the one piece of home I didn’t realize I’d miss so much, and once we hang up, I fall asleep within minutes.
I doze in and out, tossing and turning to the rumble of the storm overhead. At one point, my eyes flutter open, and I’m almost certain I see a familiar dark form hovering over me, tucking the blanket around my shoulders and brushing my hair back from my face. My eyes shut again, and the next time they open, the figure is gone. I’m alone, but the light’s out and the door’s closed and my phone’s been miraculously plugged into the charger on my nightstand.
I fall back asleep, knowing that tomorrow will be better.
It has to be.
TWENTY-ONE
“When you said you needed help moving, I assumed you meantyourstuff, not some rando’s,” says Eli, leaning against the kitchen island, sipping coffee from Landon’s favorite Georgia Tech mug, probably to piss him off.
“I don’t really havestuff,” I say, as I fill my water bottle. “At least, not much of it. Just what I brought from Green Haven, and that mostly fits into my duffle bag.”
Eli freezes, slapping his hand over his heart. “Gorgeous, funny,andlow maintenance? You’re the fucking dream girl, Peps.”
I roll my eyes and screw on the cap. “I know they say flattery will get you everywhere, but please stop.”
“Someone needs their coffee, I think.”
We’ve begun to talk logistics when Landon enters the kitchen, pausing in the doorway at the sight of us. His eyes shift back and forth between his brother and me, mouth pressed thin, before narrowing in on the mug in Eli’s hand.
