Remember Me Not

THIRTY-THREE - AFTER

Thanksgiving comes around faster than I want it to.

Since I arrived back on campus for fall semester, time has both dragged unbearably and raced past my eyes at the speed of light. I've managed to make it twelve weeks without going home. Exactly what I was aiming for—like some masochistic test to prove that returning to college was the right decision. However much it hurt.

Today, though, I'll be back home again.

I have a stats test at noon, followed by an hour to pack a suitcase before Dad comes to pick me up. By then, the dorm is mostly empty; people have either gone home already or are finishing up their last classes of the day. I don't see anyone in the hallway as I lock my bedroom door and wheel my case toward the elevator.

Dad's parked outside the dorm, in the same spot I first found Fazia's car all those weeks ago. We haven't been on any nighttime adventures—with or without the cameras—for a while, and I kind of miss them. The thought makes it easier to put a smile on my face as I approach the idling Toyota.

"Hey, kiddo," he says, rolling down the window. "You ready to go?"

The hour-long ride makes it strangely easy to forget what lies at the end of it. Dad doesn't ask much about college at all; it's like he's sensed the barrier I've put up without me having to say a word. Instead, he flips the radio to our favorite cheesy station, and before long we abandon real conversation in favor of singing along to every awful song. The traffic is as bad as expected, but it doesn't matter because inside this car feels like a safe haven from the inevitable destination. And the longer I can spend here, the better.

But we crawl through the gridlock eventually, and too soon the car is turning into our neighborhood, then our street, then our driveway. Dad shuts off the engine, inviting in a moment of silence.

I don't know if he can tell I'm scared—and I don't know whether that would make it better or worse.

When I can't put it off any longer, I get out of the car and close the door behind me, trying to make as little noise as possible so Mom won't come running out of the door again. Dad hauls my suitcase out of the trunk and we head up the remainder of the driveway together.

As we stand side by side at the front door, the sound of the doorbell echoing through the house, he gives me a sideways glance.

"You okay?" he asks, and that's all.

I nod, even though I'm not sure. "Yeah."

Then, the front door is yanked open, and Mom is standing before us wearing every possible expression rolled into one. Once her eyes have darted from Dad to me, her face crumples, and she throws her arms around me with the desperate urgency I've been expecting.

It's the first time I've seen her since the news about Josh broke. And even though I told her I was okay on that phone call—not to mention countless times since—it's still changed something between us.

"Morgan," she breathes into my hair. "Oh, honey."

She keeps hold of me for so long there comes a moment that I wonder if she'll ever let go. But she does eventually, granting me space to breathe, her hands gripping my upper arms so she can hold me still for a good look.

I wonder if I look different to her, after everything.

"How are you doing?" she asks.

"I'm okay," I tell her. The small smile I manage to muster almost takes more effort than I have in me, but it seems to serve its purpose. Mom's face brightens just enough.

We head inside, and I try to keep the essence of the smile there, even though it's definitely not something I should have to fake in my own house. But it's impossible not to draw comparisons with this day last year. Both nothing and everything has changed, the moments layered on top of each other like they belong to parallel universes. In theory, the only thing that's different is that Josh isn't here—and yet his absence has also sent shockwaves through everything else.

"Vanessa and Stephen got here last night," Mom tells me.

"Yeah?"

She nods. "They're at the grocery store right now, picking up some last-minute things. Can you believe I forgot the cranberry sauce? God, I don't know how it slipped my mind."

I smile along with her, but I can't shake off how strange this whole thing feels. And what's rattling me even more is why. Josh was only here for one Thanksgiving; no matter how much of a stellar impression he made, it's not like he broke years of tradition. In theory, we should slip back to how things were two years ago, writing last year off as nothing more than a blip.

But it's not like that all.

And I can already tell: all the pretending in the world won't change it.

Vanessa and Stephen return around an hour later, bursting through the front door with way more grocery bags than could ever be needed for cranberry sauce. They notice me on the couch, and the greetings ensue, which are every bit as awkward and stilted as I expect. It's not like we're short of things to say—Vanessa jumps straight in with asking me about college, my classes, everything except the revelation that's dominated my semester—but more that the words don't mask the atmosphere in the house. It doesn't matter how hurried or loud our conversations are; we can't escape what's all around us.

Strange as it may be, we can all feel that Josh is missing.

They all tiptoe around it, like venturing close to anything that might bring his name up risks me detonating like a hand grenade. It reminds me of the immediate aftermath of Caleb's death. Once the obvious, outward grief subsided, and it became less common to stumble across each other in tears in any room of the house, the next step had been to avoid mentioning it altogether. We'd come to terms with it individually, regaining the ability to perform basic functions, so none of us wanted to jeopardize that by mentioning his name. The rubble had settled, though it still crunched beneath our feet, and nobody wanted to trigger an explosion all over again.

Still. This time, thanks to the article, the second explosion has already been taken care of.

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Hi, guys! A short chapter today, but one that's necessary to set up what's to come. The sequencing was really important at this point in the story to make sure the two parallel Thanksgivings lined up -- and I hope you can see the difference between them.

As always, drop me a comment to let me know what you thought -- your feedback means the world!

Until next time...

- Leigh