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“Oh?” I glanced around at the mention of him, almost thinking that his name being spoken into existence would conjure up his presence. That he’d instantly pop back into the room, and I’d find him here with me, seated with his fluffy slippers. When that didn’t happen, I sighed. Apparently, it didn’t work that way.
“His parents are having a party in a week,” Mom said. “They’ve invited us. I already said we’d go.”
“Without checking to see if I was busy?” I asked. “When’s the party?”
“When are you ever busy?” Mom blew out a loud breath. My mouth widened and eyes narrowed, insulted she’d assume I wouldn’t have plans. I wanted to argue with her. Except for the fact that she knew I wasn’t the most social person in the world. And I didn’t exactly have a life where I beat back the event invitations. I was more of a hermit. Hashtag… life goals post-divorce.
When I didn’t respond, Mom added, “The party’s not this Friday, but the next.” Then, in a blocky, sardonic voice she asked, “Are you busy, Jemma?”
“What kind of party is it?” I asked as I placed her on speaker. I pulled up my iPhone calendar and glared at the empty space on the Friday night in question.Damn. Why couldn’t I have had some major event—like washing my hair for four hours—that’d take up the entire night?
I didn’t usually do parties. The idea of being around a bunch of older adults—two of whom were the parents of Jamie—sounded like the most awkward thing in the entire world. Besides, aside from his funeral, the last time I’d done anything with Jamie’s parents was that Christmas dinner, and no one talked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mom said. “I’d presume a small little get together at their house. They’re hurting, Jemma.”
“I know,” I said. “I know they’re hurting. Badly.”
“So then you’ll go,” Mom said. Not a question. A statement.
“Do I have a choice?”
“They’ll be glad to see you.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Alone
“Well, Jamie, I guess I get to see your parents,” I said to no one. “I’m not sure what kind of memories being back at your old house is going to bring up.”
I cupped a warm drink in my hands, resting my bare feet against the porch floor. On both sides of an opening for the porch, a white fence, full of black markings and weather stains, stretched across. Well, what used to be a white fence, anyway. It hadn’t been painted in years.
I didn’t expect Jamie to answer. It’d only been a few hours since Mom called, and I guessed I wouldn’t see him until he decided to grace me with his presence.
I took another sip of tea.
A soft wind brushed over my face. I stared out at the green grass of my lawn and at my Nissan Rogue as I rocked back and forth in my chair. Two yearbooks from Stony Point rested on my lap, one of them opened to the pictures from Inkwell. I marveled at how recent the photos looked, preserved by laminate pages on which they’d been reprinted. You wouldn’t have known that they were all over fifteen years old now.
Jesus. Fifteen years since Stony Point…
I wondered what life would’ve been like if I’d finished my senior year at that school. If Jamie and I would’ve continued dating. Or, at the very least, stayed in each other’s lives. I rested the cup of tea on the floor, and then flipped another page in the yearbook.
A gust of wind shot across the porch. The pages of the book flipped through like they were possessed and stopped on a place I’d never seen before.
The title read:Faces of Lonelinesss.
And featured nothing but close-up pictures of eyes. My finger traced over the photos as my brain attempted to discern some of their faces. I couldn’t recognize a single person.
Then, as I reached the middle of the spread, I stopped.
The photo, by far the largest, spread vertically through the center. A set of green eyes and two unruly eyebrows. The girl had just been crying.
How did I know?
Because.
The middle photo was a picture of me.
Chapter Thirty-Three
