Forever Young

Chapter Seven

I messaged Holly three more times before Mom called me down for dinner. Once the little icon popped up at the bottom of the screen, the one that let me know she was offline, I gave up. I'd stopped feeling guilty -because in all honesty, she was the one the needed to apologize, not me- and now I was just pissed. She wanted to ignore me? Fine. Two could play that game. Besides, I had a more pressing matter at hand; who was the dream boy, and how was he suddenly in my room? Was I going crazy?

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Dinner was quieter than usual. Brian's nose was buried in a magazine, and Mark was at a friend's house, which shocked me. Who knew Mark had actual friends? Without her twin there to instigate, Molly ate her dinner without a snide remark to me. For ten minutes, the only sound was the slight clatter of forks on stoneware.

"You guys sure are quiet tonight," Mom said in between bites of pork chop. "Is something wrong?" She giggled, but I could tell it was a serious question. I couldn't blame her for asking. I mean, dinner was usually one big hubub, everyone talking over each other with their mouths full.

"Laney." Mom turned to me when no one answered her. "How was your day? I don't think you've been out of your room twice all day." It was an accusation, not an observation.

"I'm grounded, remember?" I bit into my roll.

"From your phone, not the house. Or better yet, from outside."

"For something I didn't do."

Mom dropped her fork. The sound was enough for Brian to put his magazine down. "Elaine!"

"What? It's true." I stood up, almost knocking over my chair. "May I be excused?" Tears stung my eyes. I didn't wait for a reply. Instead, I all but ran from the dining room and up the stairs to my bedroom, not even stopping to flip the light on.

My room was dim, bathed in the purple twilight glow. I'd never believed in faeries - not before today, anyway- but I wouldn't be surprised if one flitted out in front of me. Right then, right there, it seemed like anything was possible. I half expected the boy to be there. It seemed like magic was his foray.

I sat on my unmade bed and faced the window. Fireflies danced outside, so carefree and alive; everything I wanted to be again, everything I used to be. Fresh tears spilled over and coursed down my cheeks. If only Dad hadn't died. If only Brian and Mom hadn't married. If only Brian hadn't had kids. If only.

I grabbed the picture on my nightstand, the one of my dad and me taken two days before he died. Mom had boxed up all Daddy's things and pictures, even our family portraits, after Brian and the twins moved in, but she'd let me keep the one memento in my room. If she had asked me, I'd have told her that it was more than a little disrespectful, consigning Dad to the attic so soon, almost like she wanted to forget him and the thirteen years they'd spent together.

I hugged the picture to my chest and sobbed into my pillow until I was in that half-awake, half-asleep dream state. When I felt the gentle touch of someone stroking my hair, I wasn't sure if I was in this world or the next.