Left Drowning

“I’m glad to hear you’re doing all right. We never heard from you after … after your parents died. I know it was such a chaotic time then, and later your aunt assured us that you were both doing as well as could be expected and that you were busy with school and moving on. And we didn’t know if you’d want to hear from us or not. I mean, we were your parents’ friends, after all, and you probably had your own friends to lean on. After the funeral service, Tim and I almost picked up the phone so many times, but we didn’t want to intrude or …” Lani fumbles for words. “We didn’t want to make things worse. If seeing us would have made it harder on you, we would have felt terrible. I hope you didn’t think that we didn’t care. Or that we don’t care. We loved your parents so much, Blythe. And we love you and James.” I hear her voice crack and am moved beyond words. Somebody did and does care about us. “But you’re happy now?”

I am nodding and smiling and furiously stirring the pot on the stove. It takes me a moment to be able to answer her. “I am. It’s been …” I am trying to think how to phrase it. I want to be honest. “It’s been a very, very hard time, and I’ve struggled a lot, but this year things are finally turning around. I have good friends now, and that makes my world bright again. I’ve missed you, also. It’s going to be just great to see you.”

“Wonderful. Tim will be delighted to hear you’re coming. Oh, and Nichole Rains will be here with her parents. You two were friends in high school, weren’t you?”

“We were. It will be good to see her.”

“Excellent. We had di

“She was?” I’m surprised.

“Absolutely. She said that you had sort of fallen off the map after graduation, and she was really hoping to reco

Flabbergasted does not begin to describe how I feel, but I manage to thank Lani again for the invitation. My plan was to force myself to go and simply get through the party. Instead, I’m realizing, this might actually be nice. Really, really nice.

I turn down the heat on the sauce and reexamine the apple pie that I baked. The pie is cookbook-photo-worthy, and I nearly text Chris a picture of it with a note saying that he was clearly the downfall of the Thanksgiving pies. But I don’t.

I go to the living room. It looks as though Christmas vomited all over the room, but I wanted to use every single decoration that had been stored in the six boxes in the attic. I’d forgotten that my mother had a thing for old-fashioned Santas, and there are all sorts of St. Nicholas items displayed around the room. It borders on creepy, but I think I’ve pulled it off by covering the room in white twinkle lights. Those do a lot to offset the tackiness. A lot of decorative accessories in the house were tucked away for the renters’ sake, but after I took out the holiday stuff, I retrieved the dishes and bedding and such that James and I are used to. I already unpacked the boxes of stuff that Lisa unceremoniously moved here from her house, and it’s nice to see our familiar bedding. The relief that she is out of town is immense, and I’m convinced that seeing her would undo the tone that I’m hoping to set for this time with James.

I’ve been torn, because as much as I want this house to feel the same as it used to, I also want to make it feel fresh, so I’ve been trying to mix in the old with the new. All the decorating, unpacking, shopping, and general fussing I’ve been doing has been good for me. Even though I’ve felt torn up a few times, I can feel a level of competence and independence growing.

I am proud of myself.

The tree looks crazy. It’s absolutely covered in ornaments. So much so that there is barely any green from the branches visible, but I think it’s damn awesome. I’ve arranged and rearranged James’s presents a hundred times and moved his stocking from one part of the mantel to another over and over, even though I’m quite sure that he’s not going to walk in here and have some kind of meltdown because his stocking should have been three inches to the left, or one of his presents is at an improper angle.

I snatch the Kindle that I treated myself to for Christmas and occupy my busy mind with news stories and downloading books. Without a social life here, I’ll certainly have plenty of time to read over break. I already miss the Shepherd crew, but I am going to lean on myself and feel good about it.

I am ten chapters into my book when I hear the front door being unlocked. It’s amazing somehow that we both still have our house keys. I force myself to stay on the couch because I know that the last thing I should do is swoop over to James and make a scene.

My brother practically falls into the living room, weighed down by three mammoth duffel bags. He lets them fall to the floor and stands up. “Hey,” he says.

I take him in. He looks the same as he did four and a half months ago—I know that rationally—but at the same time, he looks incredible. I see the little kid who let me stand on the back of his tricycle, the one who used to beg me to throw him from the dock into the ocean, and the one who blew us all away with his incredible athletic prowess and the equal level of modesty that went along with that. Cheering and screaming at his games always caused him huge embarrassment, but that’s what parents and a sister are for. Or were for.

As I look at him, though, for a moment I also see the boy who is lying in a pool of blood outside a burning house. But I will not go there now.

“Hey, back.” I set down my Kindle and focus on how healthy and handsome he looks. He’s let his light-brown hair grow out a bit and it suits him, although I nonetheless have the maternal instinct to brush it off his face so that I can see his blue eyes. The sleek brown leather coat and jeans he has on hug his frame, and I can see that he is in as good shape as ever. “How was your flight? No delays out of Boulder?”

“No, it was all fine. Except that I’m starving. Should we order something?” He stands in the center of the room with his hands in his pockets.

“No, I’ve got di

“Oh. Yeah. I’ll start it tomorrow.”

I walk over to his bags, and my feet sink reassuringly into the carpet in just the way they always have. “No problem. I got it. You want to shower or anything before we eat?”

“That … would be good. Thanks.” Now that I am near him, he gives me a half hug as I’m bending down to pick up a bag. “Holy shit, Blythe!”

“What?” I ask, somewhat alarmed.

“You look … really good. God, you’re so ski

I smile softly. “I’m fine. I’ve been ru

“You totally have. And you’re sort of muscly, and toned, and shit. But it’s more than that. Did you change your hair or something? And you’re kind of … I don’t know. Glowy.”

“I can assure you that I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you mean.”

He laughs. God, I’ve missed that sound. “I didn’t mean it like that. You look good. Really … pretty.”

It’s a bit u

James looks sort of dumbfounded. Exactly what I was hoping for. Admittedly, I am showing off a bit. Look at me! I’m functional! And not pudgy! It’s important to me that James sees that I am trying.

“Yeah, okay. I won’t take long.”

We eat di