All of Me

nineteen • long story short

• • •

I barely slept last night. I dragged myself back home when I was struggling to keep my eyes open in front of the TV but as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was wide awake and I couldn't stop thinking about Dad and all the what-ifs. What if Mom and I hadn't gone home early? What if he had taken an extra couple minutes to lock up? What if the police had looked harder?

When I finally did drift off at some godforsaken hour, I was thrown straight into a nightmare. I was at the building site where Dad died. I could see him alone and bleeding to death, but I couldn't get to him. I was trapped there for an eternity before I finally managed to wake myself up in a cold sweat, my lungs aching.

I ended up creeping into Mom's room. She was lying awake, trying to read, but I could see her heart wasn't in it, her eyes glazed over as she turned pages and failed to take in the words. When I crawled into her bed, she held my hand and dropped her book. It hit the floor with a thump, losing her page, but I doubt that mattered.

At four a.m., we ended up in the kitchen when we heard Kris up and about. He made hot chocolate and Mom cried when he used Dad's recipe. Kris cried too. I'm used to Mom's tears, but she hardly ever cried before Dad died. Everything used to make her laugh, but now it feels like everything makes her cry.

We talked for a bit. Nothing serious. We were all huddled up on the sofa together when Kris piped up with a memory of Dad. Something simple, an everyday anecdote that sparked an hour of sharing stories and smiles. I must've fallen asleep there before it's where I wake up, a blanket thrown over me even though it's seventy-five degrees out.

I'm totally disoriented, my head swimming and my throat burning. It's only when I register the open curtains and the heat of the sun on my face that I realize it's a lot later than I usually wake up. I'm used to early light and weak heat, a seven o'clock morning in Five Oaks, but this is hot and bright.

The clock on the mantelpiece says it's after eleven. I've been here for six hours. I've missed class. I've missed half the day. I should be flooded with panic, racing upstairs to change and drive to college before I miss my afternoon classes, but I'm not. I can't bring myself to move. I just don't care, too weighed down by the past twenty-four hours to give a crap that I slept through class.

"Morning, sleepyhead," comes a voice from behind. I struggle to haul myself up, my arms weak and my body heavy, to see Gray smiling down at me with two mugs in his hand. "Did I wake you up with the blender?"

"Huh?" My brain's foggy, my eyes a little blurry. I need a shower. "No, I don't think so."

"Oh, awesome." He grins. "I tried to make you a Frappuccino." He holds out one of the mugs, a mountain of whipped cream threatening to fall on me when he tilts the mug. "I've never made one before but your uncle had some and said it's good."

"Kris is here?" I can't shake this damn brain fog, and I'm still struggling to process Gray standing right in front of me until I take the cold mug and he sits down next to me.

"Yup. He said he's flying to La Guardia from Hopkins later, so he's here for a while. Dad took your mom to her doctor's appointment at nine and he said they should be back for one. I'm here ... well, forever, really." He holds out his arm and gives me that smile that convinces me everything's fine. "Whatever you need me for."

"How long have you been here?" I ask, then realize that I sound kinda rude when I haven't even said hi, so I say, "Hi, by the way. And thank you. For being here. For everything."

"Any time, Storie," he says. "I've been here since our parents left, so a couple hours?"

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I've been asleep the whole time. Have I been snoring?"