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“I know I’m right. You might’ve forgotten, but I know you too.” She stands and starts to gather everything up into her backpack. The whole time, she steals glances at me. With a pout, she says, “Becca’s growing up.”
“I didn’t say I like him like that.”
“Uh huh,” she says, clearly not believing my answer.
“Just go do your committee stuff.” I wave her off.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m going.” She grabs my brother’s jacket off the other chair and slips into it.
My heart drops.
There’s a patch with embroidered flowers covering the seam near the bottom corner. They’re white and pink, standing out against the dark green fabric.
I jump up, walking around the table. I lift the corner of the jacket. “Why did you do this? This is Ethan’s jacket. Not yours.” My words come out brash.
Just like that, all the progress we made today crumbles to dust.
She flinches, jerking the jacket out of my hands. She grips the patch tightly as if she’s guarding it from anything I might do. “There was a rip from the accident, and I fixed it.”
My lungs twist in on themselves, making it impossible to breathe. “No, you ruined it. You shouldn’t even be wearing it in the first place.”
“Why not?” She narrows her eyes. “He was my boyfriend.” Her eyes start to fill with tears, and her bottom lip wobbles. “I loved him, and wearing it reminds me of him. So tell me why I can’t wear it. Give meonegood reason.”
“Because . . .” Any words I might have said are stuck at the bottom of my throat.
“You don’t have a good reason, do you? You just want to be mad. You hate the world right now, but guess what? You aren’t the only one who hates the fact that he’s gone.” She wipes her wet cheeks and turns to leave.
“It hurts too much to be reminded of him,” I whisper.
She stops, pausing briefly before looking back over her shoulder. “That doesn’t mean he deserves to be forgotten.”
Her words linger long after she walks away, etching themselves into my brain. Guilt pulls at me. I want to argue. I want to scream that she’s wrong, but she’s not. Deep down, I know she’s right. That only makes me feel worse.
* * *
I standat the edge of the sidewalk as Mom’s silver SUV weaves its way through the parking lot. Once it slows to a stop in front of the school, I pop the door open and stagger into the passenger seat.
She pats my knee. “How was your day?”
I squirm away from her touch. “It was fine.”
She starts driving again. “And tutoring?”
“Good.”
She steals a glance at me, lipstick parted in an ear to ear smile. “So, who are you tutoring?”
I shrug. “Just someone from school.”
“Do I know them?”
I groan. “What is this? An interrogation?”
Her smile fades. “It’s just small talk. I’ve always asked you about your day.”
Correction, she always askedusabout our day, and when she did, I rarely responded. I let Ethan do the talking. He’d fill her in on everything, from what he learned in math to the latest gossip. I, on the other hand, gave small one word replies. She must’ve never noticed because Ethan talked enough for the both of us.
“I’m just tired,” I say, resting my head on the back of the chair.
