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“Yes, I know,” he says, turning to Rhylan. “Huge fan.”
Rhylan shakes his hand, and all three take their seats around me.
“I’m assuming we have Rhylan Matthews to thank for this table? It’s very nice,” my mom says, taking in her surroundings.
“It’s just Rhylan. You don’t have to say my full name,” Rhylan answers with a polite smile.
“Of course. That would be weird.”
I suppress the need to cover my face with my hands, cursorily rolling my eyes instead.This is so embarrassing.
“Mark picked this restaurant. He says they have the best steak in town.” My mom beams proudly at Mark. The two look at each other with adoration. He places his hand on hers, and they look back at us.
“Are you familiar with this restaurant, Rhylan?” Mark asks.
“No, first time here. But I’m sure the food will be great,” he answers. “I hope I’m not intruding on your dinner.”
“Oh no! Not at all!” my mom quickly answers. “Any friend of Ellie’s is always welcome to join us.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”
Silence fills the table, the four of us sitting quietly after our short greetings. We move in synchrony as we unfold our napkins and place them on our laps before idly tracing the silverware with our fingers.
“Ellie, how did you and Rhylan meet?” my mom asks as she brings her elbows to the table, clasping her fingers in front of her.
“We met at a premiere for his new movie,” I say, peering at Rhylan as he gives me an encouraging smile.
“Are you talking aboutUnrestrained? That movie was amazing!” Mark exclaims.
“Marklovesaction movies,” my mom proudly states. Her hand reaches for Mark, running it along his arm with fondness.
I angle my face towards Rhylan to look away, suddenly rushed with brief snapshotted memories, over a decade old, but sharp enough to remind me that I still haven’t moved on. Like when my dad used to hold my mom against his chest, rocking side to side as her cheek lay lazily against him. Or how he would make her laugh by bringing home ice cream on Friday nights, only to create mile high sundaes as she squirted whipped cream into his mouth. All of these memories seem to grow increasingly fuzzy, and I can’t remember the details that I had held on to. I can’t remember what flavor ice cream was my dad’s favorite or what songs he used to play for my mom when they swayed slowly in the low light of our living room. I’m not ready to let him go. Even after all these years, I want to hold on to him even if it means shutting out the rest of the world, just to live in his memory forever.
My mom continues to talk, but it’s inaudible. Muted as if someone has their hands covering my ears. The feeling is all too familiar. Rhylan scoots closer to me, his arm draped along the back of my chair and his fingers lightly grazing my back. A reminder that he’s here, close by.
I squeeze my eyes shut, gripping the seat as my mom’s voice echoes around me. I will myself to keep them closed. To fade everything away so I never have to open them again. To shut everything out.
“Watch your step, Ellie,” my mom warns as I step out of the car.
I don’t respond. Instead, I silently pull myself out from the seat, using the edge of the car door for leverage. My dad’s shirt is clinging to my stomach, balled up into a wrinkled mess of soft flannel. We slowly make our way to the house, the front door opening before we fully approach it. It’s my aunt Janice opening the door for us, her smile forced, carrying the underlying tones of worry in her eyes.
“Hi, Ellie. Welcome home,” she greets me, a little too cheerfully. “Come on in. I’ve got some pizza ordered for you.”
I walk past her, my mom stopping behind me to give her sister a hug. I’m greeted by a hyperactive Angus jumping up and nearly knocking me off my feet. I scratch his ear, and he moves on to greet my mom, shoving his paws against her thighs and running off before he leaves to find a toy.
“Are you hungry, Ellie?” my mom asks from behind me. She closes the door softly and places my belongings bag from the hospital on the floor next to the door.
I shake my head. My hand smooths across the edge of the couch, stopping to pull on a thread that won't come off as my fingers rub into the fabric. It’s almost as if I’m checking to see that this is all real, that I’m really back home where I had said my last goodbyes because for some reason, I’m back. I shouldn’t be here.
I look around. I see Angus’s toys strewn around the small area rug in front of the couch, my mom’s half-drunk coffee sitting in a ceramic mug on the kitchen counter, the TV silently playing a commercial for breakfast cereal. Nothing’s changed, but it all feels unfamiliar, as if I don’t belong.
I turn towards my room, not a single word coming from my mouth, just the dragging of my feet along the carpet, my slippers making athump, thumpnoise with each step. I close the door behind me once I’m in my room and sit on the bed, looking down at my feet. The flat, cold slippers are now worn and covered in dirt from the walk to and from the car. I lie down and squeeze my eyes shut.
—
When I finally open my eyes, I realize I had fallen asleep. The room is still, so cold and dark. A shiver runs through me as I focus my eyes to adjust to the slit of light coming in through my doorway. I walk to my door but stop when I hear muffled voices outside. And the sound of my mom crying.
“The doctors said she wouldn’t talk. She just sat there, listening to them. She wouldn’t open her eyes or look at anyone.” She sobs, her cries muffled by the sound of her face hitting Aunt Janice’s shoulder. I can see Aunt Janice holding my mom against her, caressing her back.
