I’m worthless in the kitchen, but a little piece of me feels better knowing I can busy myself with a task.
“I’ll be back soon.” I head upstairs with my duffle bag slung over my shoulder, fighting the urge to look at the room across the hall from mine.
Luckily, the door is shut.
I decide then and there that while I’m home, I will not set foot in Jesse or Danny’s rooms under any circumstance. I have to keep that door shut and bolted, or I will rightfully come undone the moment I leave this town again.
I quickly toss my lightly packed bag onto the bed and drop my phone beside it. On my way out of the room, my gaze falls on the pinboard hanging on the wall, collecting dust. It’s full of magazine clippings and photos of my planned-out dream life.
The pictures of Jesse and me are no longer there, replaced with empty spots. I make a mental note to bring the board to my dorm and fill it with new photos.
The moment I step back into the messy kitchen, Nan hands me an apron, and I swallow down the feelings budding in my throat and smile. I can pretend everything is completely normal. I can pretend like I’m not living with a shattered heart.
“How are your classes going, Penny?” Nan passes me a wet plate, and I mindlessly dry it, stacking it on the counter next to me.
We’re both tired, the house recently emptied from the Thanksgiving dinner guests. Nan’s cousin, who we only see once a year and never seems to remember me and my siblings' names, came from Jacksonville. She brought her husband and their little dog, whom Fia obsessed over the whole time. Usually, the house is busier for Thanksgiving with Nan inviting people from her work who have no plans, but this year, she kept it small.
I wish it had been full.
Pleasantries were exchanged, and our guests asked how my first semester of college was going. I answered politely and truthfully. My classes were interesting, I was doing well in my courses, and I loved my roommate.
The food looked like a spread out ofSouthern Livingmagazine; enough Turkey for a small army, stuffing, cranberry sauce, four different pies, and all the sides you could possibly dream of. The house was also clean—thanks to Fia and me working all morning to shove every random item into a closet and dust every nook and cranny of this old home.
During dinner, I found myself glancing at the chair across from me every few minutes. Muscle memory, perhaps, becauseheshould’ve been sitting there. My Nan’s cousin, who was seated there, started giving me concerned glances.
Her husband waited until dessert to address the thing no one wanted to talk about—asking Nan if she had plans to visit Jesse and Danny in prison anytime soon.
They were at the same facility for now, but in separate buildings, which made it hard for Nan to visit them both on the same day. But Nan said yes—she was going to visit them on Monday, her day off. He had more questions, none that I thought were appropriate, so I excused myself from the room.
No one came to ask me if I was okay.
No one asked me if I was riddled with guilt that my twin brother got addicted to drugs and took my best friend down with him, while I was off partying, and studying, and moving on with my life.
A light knock sounds on my door before it swings open, and Nan peeks her head into my room. She has on a white robe and slippers, with a healthy serving of pumpkin pie in her hands.
“You didn’t eat dessert, and I don’t know aPennywho skips out on her Nan’s pumpkin pie.” She grins, and I can’t help but return the gesture. The lamp in my bedroom casts a soft glow as I remain cross-legged on top of my paisley bedspread.
She steps all the way in to hand it to me, but lingers, readjusting her hair clip. “Classes don’t start again ’til Tuesday, right?” she asks.
I swallow a bite of pie, and it gets lodged in my chest. I know where she’s going with this, and dread fills me as she continues.
“Fia will be in school on Monday, so I can’t bring her, but I know it would cheer the boys up greatly if they could seeyou.” Her brown eyes are hopeful, and I hate that I’m going to crush her spirits.
“Nan…I can’t,” I reply, and she nods, but her mouth is ajar. Ready to convince me otherwise. “I need to get back and study.” It’s an easy overarching excuse.
She exhales a little puff, sitting on the edge of my bed, studying me. I put the pie plate down, suddenly not craving it anymore.
“Baby, I know you’re upset with them, but they love you.”
I peel my eyes away from hers, unable to handle the hurt in them.
“No one can force you to go, but I want you to think it over. Maybe by Christmas, you’ll feel ready.” She pats my knee and smiles, and I give her a little shrug. “That’d be a nice surprise for them!”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” I say to appease her.
When she shuts the door behind her, the silence in my room is deafening.
Nan doesn’t know about the drawer full of letters I wrote to Danny—unfinished, unsent—half-drunk and heartbroken, the ink blurred by tears until the words dissolved into nothing.
