I buried my face in the pillow, mortified at how badly I wanted him to need me. Maybe I was a glutton for humiliation; maybe I just didn’t know how to want anything else.
My phone finally buzzed. I startled upright, almost dropped it. But it wasn’t his name lighting the screen. Just Sabrina, with a string of emoji and the words: you home?
I stared at the message.
Barely awake, I thumbed out a reply.
Yeah, got in late last night. Sorry, passed out. What’s up?
She responded instantly.
Can you come over? I want to hear all about your trip. And I have some bad news.
I let her words soak in. I wanted to stay in bed, to let myself rot in the mess of hopelessness and the smell of motel sex still clinging to my skin, but the lure of Sabrina’s kitchen and her no-bullshit hugs outweighed my turmoil.
I was past noon by the time I dressed, ate a snack, and made it to her house.
It didn’t take her long to open the door for me after I knocked. I stepped inside and was immediately overtaken by her arms pulling me in for a hug.
“Amelia! I’m so glad you got home safely. How was seeing your hometown? And burying your mom?”
The questions tumbled out of her before I’d even slipped my shoes off. I let her hold me, breathing in the vanilla and coconut that always clung to her hair, and for a minute I could almost let myself lean against her, as if I wasn’t one step from melting down into a puddle on her kitchen tile.
“It was a lot,” I said, meaning it. “The funeral was surreal. I had a total breakdown when they were burying her. But it was weird being back there after seven years. Nothing much had changed, though. Just a lot of painful memories.”
Sabrina kept her arms looped around my waist, eyes soft with concern. “God, I wish I could have been there for you. But, um, also not, since I would have made things worse by crying, like, the entire time.”
I almost laughed, but it stuck in my throat.
She turned me loose and led the way to the kitchen, where Shane was already perched at the center island, thumbing through a stack of mail with all the interest of a man sentenced to life in suburbia. He looked up, tried to smile, and offered a half-wave.
“Hey, Amelia. Welcome back to the land of the living,” he said, voice gravelly with sleep or boredom or both.
“Thanks,” I croaked, and made a show of sitting on the stool farthest from him. I felt feral, exposed, like everyone could smell the ruin on me, the way I was barely stitched together.
Sabrina fussed with the coffee maker, then slid a mug across the counter. “Caffeine?” she asked.
“Please.”
She poured, then leaned her elbows on the laminate, brow furrowed. “Tell me everything. I want the uncut, unrated version.”
I blushed so hard I thought my skin would split. The words got stuck behind my teeth, but she just reached out and squeezed my wrist, nodding like she understood the shape of it already.
“Honestly?” I said, voice oddly small. “I don’t even know where to start. It’s like—” I looked down at my hands, wondering how I should convey myself. “Everything people say about closure is complete shit. I feel like I dug up more than I buried.”
She made a sympathetic noise, lips pursed. “You want to talk about it?”
“Not really, but I should.”
We sat in silence as I tried to stitch together some version of the trip that didn’t make me sound like a lunatic. I told her about the funeral, the suffocating smallness of Pathosbury, the way the air there tasted like mold and regret. I told her about my mom’s house and the letter.
Sabrina listened. Not just with her ears, but with her whole body: eyes locked on mine, knuckles white on the coffee mug, as if she could absorb the poison by sheer force of will. Shane kept to the background, but I could feel him tuning in from behind the newspaper, the way he always did when something real might happen.
“So, what now?” Sabrina said, when I finally ran out of words. “Do you feel lighter? Or just…hollow?”
I shrugged. “I thought it would fix something. Or at least help me move on. But, I don’t know. I feel like I’m still in the middle of it all. Like it’s not done with me yet. I do feel less angry with my mom though, especially after reading her letter. There’s a little more closure. It still hurts though.”
She reached across, squeezing my hand. “I’m sorry. I’m sure in time the wound will heal, even if it still feels so raw right now. But, I’m glad you could find some kind of closure.”
