While You're Here

20

I spent most of the winter break in my room, tucked away from the rest of the world. Different fabrics and bundles of yarn covered the floor as I alternated between various pieces; a dress for me, socks for Cleo, a toque for Wesley. Sometimes inspiration hit while I was in the middle of one project and sometimes it came in the late hours of night when I was supposed to be sleeping.

The problem was that it was just me in my room. Wesley wasn't there on the floor, available for a late-night chat when I couldn't sleep, and I certainly wasn't going to text him when I knew it was too early in Brighton for him to be awake. So, I kept busy making clothes. Those ideas I'd kept stored in the back of my mind were finally coming to life, but at the rate I was going, I was starting to run out of them.

During the evenings and on weekends, my parents drew up lists of things for me to do, whether it was helping them with a chore or just spending time with them. They noticed a change in me, I was sure, and just like me, they couldn't quite figure it out.

I craved distractions, more so than ever before. The second my mind began to wander, I looked for something to do. Knit, sew, clean, reorganize my closet—anything. If I didn't, I'd spiral.

Normally, I might have texted Cleo and asked her to go out or come over. When I was around other people, I always tried my best to give them my full attention, and Cleo was exactly the person I needed to keep me occupied. Except she was never around anymore. Hours passed before I received a reply if I got one at all. She was too busy doing whatever it was she did these days.

I sent a couple messages to the other girls, though they never went anywhere. The farthest I got was making plans to meet for coffee with Frankie, but something came up last minute and she had to back out. I assured her we could reschedule (we haven't), though secretly I was relieved. I'd been feeling so anxious about the whole thing that I was contemplating cancelling myself.

For the first time, I felt truly lonely. My parents worked most of the day and I had no friends to keep me company. I was disconnected and everyone was out of reach.

—

"We're going out tonight," my mom announced while we folded the laundry.

It was New Year's Eve. As far as I knew, we were going to sit on the couch in our pyjamas and flip through the various coverages as we counted down to midnight. Since when did we leave the house on New Year's?

"Where are we going?" I asked hesitantly.

My mom placed neatly folded jeans in the laundry basket. "One of my colleagues is throwing a party. She's been dying to meet you, so I thought why not get out of the house for a bit? We don't have plans anyway."

I wanted to argue that just because we weren't going anywhere didn't mean we didn't have plans. We did New Year's our own way and I liked it.

"Is Dad going?"

"Yes. I told him about it last night."

For her sake, I bit my tongue. It wasn't the party aspect I was opposed to, but the fact that I was only finding out about it now. I loved dressing up and any other year I would have been overjoyed. This year, though, was different. I was different. It didn't feel right, just the three of us going. Something—someone—was missing.

"You should wear your blue dress." My mom took the shirt from my hands, forgotten in the midst of her news. "The one we found at that mall in Niagara."

I nodded absently. I knew the one; it was gorgeous.

She picked up the laundry basket and left the room. I took a moment to gather myself, then climbed the stairs to my room, prepared to busy myself with perfecting my look for tonight.