“Great idea,” Mom says. She wipes her mouth. “I’m grateful to Ruth because I got my babies—and my grandbabies—” She gives a meaningful look toward the living room, then to Keira’s belly. “—through her.”
My bite of chicken feels like a golf ball in my esophagus.
Eli is next if we’re going clockwise, which I guess we are because he clears his throat. “I’m grateful for all the times she took me in for dinner like it was no big deal.” One side of his lips quirks up. “I’ll never forget all the Kraft Dinner that lady made for me over the years.” His eyes flit to mine, and I smile, too. At least once a week during the summer, Eli would come in and beg her to make some for us. Mr. Grant always treated the meal like it was an abomination on Earth, and even though I only found itokay, I couldn’t get enough of how excited Eli got when we ate it. I probably begged Ruth to make it more than he did.
All eyes turn to me.
“I’m grateful for…” I put my fork down. How can I narrow it down to one thing? I’d thought of many potential answers, but somehow, none of them seem good enough now. So many small things that mean nothing in comparison to the woman she was in my eyes. I need to force my hands under my thighs to keep from cracking my fingers some more. “I’m grateful for the way she was always a guiding light when I needed it, and for the love she never ceased to give me.”
Wrinkles have formed around Mom’s lips. She cuts a piece of chicken, the knife squeaking against the plate.
I chuckle, the sound awkward. “And I’m grateful for her sweet tooth, and for the fact that she always shared her stash of candy with me.” Every time I had a shit day, she’d pull out a bowl of whatever she’d decided to get from the gas station that week.You know the great thing about adulthood, Cassie? No one’s there to stop you from buying a good ol’ bag of gummy worms for yourself.I was eight the first time she told me that, and adulthood became a dream from then on. “Although my teeth probably don’t feel the same.”
“She didn’t have a sweet tooth,” Keira says around a mouthful of potato.
“Yes, she did.”
“No, she didn’t. She was a diabetic. Couldn’t eat candy for years.”
I open my mouth, then close it.
“But you didn’t know that, did you?”
“Keira,” Eli says, voice low.
She ignores him. “Actually, this entire evening is hypocritical, isn’t it? You wanting tohonor her one last time?” she says around finger quotes. “Where were you when she was actually here to honor? When she needed help?”
There’s so much pressure behind my eyes, I feel like my head is about to explode.
“Keira, enough.” Eli again. I barely hear him. Barely hear anything, save for the pulsing in my ears.
“She didn’t tell me,” I whisper. “No one told me.”
“And why do you think that is?”
I blink fast.You won’t cry here.
“Girls, please,” Mom says.
“I don’t know what you want from me.” IknowI wasn’t there. I know I was the one who left. I’ve been hating myself ever since I got the call from Mr. Nelson telling me she’d passed. But Keira was there. She saw how bad it was for me. And that last night… I didn’t have a choice but to leave. I guess Ruth never told her she was the one who encouraged me to go.
Keira shakes her head. “I want nothing from you.” She stabs a piece of chicken and stuffs it into her mouth.
I look down at my own plate. It makes me want to vomit. I stagger to my feet, dizzy like I just drank a forty-ouncer of booze. “I need some air,” I say, or maybe I just whisper it in my head. I’m not sure. I don’t look at Mom, or Eli, or the kids in the living room who probably heard us.
The foggy, salty air is a welcome reprieve against my burning skin. My breaths are shaky, and when I drop into one of the Adirondack chairs closer to the cliffside, I feel like I weigh a thousand pounds.
I can’t stay here. Can’t do another three weeks of this. Of being guilt-tripped for doing the thing that saved me.
I look up. Most stars are hidden by the thick fog, but a few are still visible. I know looking at stars has nothing to do with the dead, but I still feel closer to her when I say, “I’m sorry, Ruth.”
I’m not sure how much time passes before another body drops into the chair next to mine. I don’t need to look to know who it is. A part of me will always recognize when he’s around.
“I’m sorry about that,” Eli says in his soft voice. “She’s just hurt.”
I don’t bother telling him that being hurt doesn’t give her a free pass to be a bitch.
“When did you two become such close friends anyway?” My words taste as bitter as they sound.
