Page 61 of Earthly Ties

But if he is telling the truth… I swallow, not allowing myself to consider it. There’s no point. If Dad’s been stuck for decades, what hope do I have?

Even without an audience, Mom continues ranting, mostly to Angel luckily; I haven’t missed her.

“It’s not about me, Luce,” Dad says with a sigh. “Well, not just about me. I’m apologizing because I need to say it, yes, but also because you might need to hear it.” He laughs softly. “That’s what his therapist says anyway. An apology is for me, and it’s also for you. Angel writes letters to you, to your mom, to everyone. He mails some of them, but the ones for us, he burns, in hopes that we will hear his apology somehow.”

I chuckle, still in disbelief that Angel would ever apologize to anyone. Maybe he’s less like Mom than I thought. “It’d be more efficient to mail mine to Esther. Maybe then I could read over her shoulder.”

Esther twitches her head, hearing her name. She replies to whatever Angel just said, comforting him with her usual silver-lining optimism, “Most storms aren’t destructive. Storms could also be a metaphor for renewal and transformation.” She fiddles with the tab of her seltzer. “Like how Lucy built herself up and made her own path. She had a lot of students asking about her when she went missing—she’s officially on sabbatical, so they don’t know she’s…uh, gone. But so many students wanted to learn from her because she was so genuine and engaging in her teaching. She somehow made heavy, complex topics humorous and approachable.”

What Esther says is based on truth, her perception of it anyway. But the way she talks about me makes me sound powerful and, well, capable. I wouldn’t describe myself as humorous, but I did try to be engaging. I did try to connect with the students, even if I wasn’t around long enough to become anyone’s Cash.

“Was that your girl?” Dad asks. I can barely hear his question over Mom’s unending rant. Is that where I get it from, my loquaciousness at night, at my most hopeless and deranged? I hate how much of myself I see in her.

“In another lifetime, maybe.” I pull my gaze away from Esther to look at Dad again. To try to see through his veil and into his soul. But I can’t manage to catch a solid glimpse of him aside from the shroud outlining his form.

Before we came here, I expected to be angry with him, or resentful. But all I can find in myself is pity and resignation. I can’t do anything to change whether or not he might have loved Angel more than me. All I can control is my reaction to the knowledge, and accept that Dad doesn’t see his attachment to Angel the same way I do. Resentment is hard to sustain against the genuine remorse in his voice. I may have hardened my heart, but anger has never fueled me. Bitterness and apathy were constant companions, but never my sustenance.

As comforting as spite can be, my north star has always been my curiosity. Understanding the world around me, absorbing everything there is to learn, a thirst for knowledge about the unknown. Sometimes as an escape, a way to avoid painful truths I wished were fictitious, but always in pursuit of a life better than the cards I was dealt. I just never learned when to recognize when something was worth keeping, how to embrace and accept the good.

And now, Esther is my constant companion. With her to show me what joy feels like, my death is immeasurably better than my life. I can’t bring myself to let go of her, so perhaps it’s time to let go of my resentment. “I’m glad he’s finally growing and working on himself. It’s a little late for him to make amends with me, but I’m glad he’s holding himself accountable. For his sake.” A small smile graces my face. “And I’m glad you’re trying to forgive yourself, too. You deserve to move on if you can, finally get away from her.” I nod to Mom.

With a scoff, she ignores me, turning back to Angel to murmur in his ear.

“I’m trying. It’s so hard to move on when I keep getting dragged back into his life because of her bullshit.” A veiled arm gestures to Mom, who is increasingly upset because Angel is listening to Esther speak highly of me, instead of absorbing my mother’s disdain for her only daughter. I wince; how has she gotten so much worse in death? “But I’m realizing that is something I need to let go of. I was Tied to Angel, but lately, it feels more like I’ve been more Tied to her. I keep trying to help her see sense. To understand why she’s so angry, still, after all these years. Figure out what went wrong between us.” Dad sighs. “Maybe that’s what I need to let go of, too. I can’t change her. I never could. I need to let go of my ghostly Tie, as well as the earthly one.”

“Mom has to change herself. She has to be ready to change if and when she wants to.” I huff out a laugh. “That was my takeaway from therapy, anyway. I can’t control how people feel about me or how they treat me. I can only control the effort I put into others.” I snort. “Though my answer for that breakthrough was to have no personal relationships at all. My therapist probably didn’t want that outcome, but here I am. When I was alive, I never put effort into anyone.” I shake my head.

After all these months with nothing but time to think, I want to believe I’ve forgiven myself for never speaking to Esther. But the regret still aches, raw and jagged as always. Perhaps that’s part of forgiving myself, accepting that regret will always hurt. “Maybe if I had, things might be different. I might have been less lonely after my only friend died. But now, I can’t put effort into any relationships, regardless of whether or not I want to.”

Esther squeezes my hand in a silent reminder that she’s there.

“Well, except Esther, of course.” I turn to smile at her and squeeze her hand in return. “She’s the only one I’ve cared about in a long time.”

“Is she really the only one? You truly don’t care about Angel at all?” Dad gently challenges. “How can you be happy that he’s trying if you didn’t care?”

I can’t answer that. Because as much as I thought I didn’t care about Angel, I am proud of him. For his sake. And if I didn’t care about him, why would I feel that way? Why would I have asked Esther to check up on him on his birthday? If I didn’t care, why are we here now?

“Thank you, Esther.” Angel leans forward, elbows on his knees. “And I know you said you’re not a believer in a higher power, but I hope it brings you comfort to know Lucy’s presence surrounds you. I always feel my mom’s presence, and sometimes my dad’s, even though I never knew him. I like to believe they’re both watching over me. But sitting here with you, I feel like Lucy is sitting next to you, watching over you as my parents watch over me.”

As if sensing my discomfort and disbelief that my brother knew me well enough to sense my presence, cared about me enough to know that whatever it is he senses next to Esther is me, Esther squeezes my hand again. “And I hope it brings you comfort to know that Lucy would forgive you if she was here. That she cared about you.”

If Angel didn’t hate me as much as I thought he did, if my death is really impacting him this much, if he really is trying to comfort Esther, perhaps I can extend an olive branch too. It can’t possibly mean much, but I lean closer, a quiet request for support from her. “And I’d apologize. He needed me, and I left him.”

Esther gives the slightest nod. “And she’d ask for your forgiveness. She regretted leaving you when you still needed her.”

“Oh, Lucy,” Dad sighs out. I can’t tell if that’s envy or pity in his voice. “No wonder you’re so bright.”

Twenty-Eight

“So, how would you like to celebrate?” Esther asks, snapping her laptop shut after her workday ends. Thankfully, it’s summer, so she only has a fraction of the workload she normally does.

I pass my hands through the purple oxalis, making the delicate butterfly leaves tremble. Or perhaps that’s the breeze from the open window. I like to imagine I can smell the sun-warmed air, feel the humidity on my not-skin, instead of the constant chill of my ghostly reality. Astral reality? Metaphysical reality? I frown, doubt plaguing me. “Celebrate? What’s the occasion?”

“Your birthday?” Esther chuckles like it should be obvious.

“My birthday!? When are we?” Ever since that conversation with Dad, I’ve felt off-kilter. I’m not even sure what day it is most of the time. Today should be Friday because Esther watered the plant this morning, but somehow, that feels unimportant.

Esther laughs. “July first. Do you have another birthday?”