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I have a longer trip home than most of my friends. The house I grew up in—the house across the street from the Nolans’—now belongs to a young couple with a toddler.
My aunt Catherine moved back to Pembrooke after my dad died, renting a condo in a newer development on the far edge of town so that my younger sister Sydney could finish high school here and to take in Lily, our family dog who died last year.
Both Sydney and I expected Catherine to leave once Sydney graduated, but she met a guy and chose to remain in town even once we were both in college. It’s meant Sydney and I can come back here over breaks, and as a bonus, Catherine spends most nights at her boyfriend’s, so the condo is usually empty.
I’m really hoping that’ll be the case tonight.
I don’t feel like talking to anyone.
Sydney stayed in New York for the summer, attending a theater program. I saw her briefly, before I left for basketball camp two months ago. And we’ve spoken sporadically since, mostly occasional texts checking in with each other. Mostly sent by Sydney.
I’m about as shitty of a brother as I am a boyfriend.
I near my truck, stumbling over tire treads and uneven clumps of grass in the dark. Feel my pocket for my keys and then curse when they slip through clumsy fingers.
Before leaning down to pick them up, I tilt my head back, staring at the dark sky decorated with the scattered pinpricks of stars. Suck in a few deep lungfuls of summer air to try to alleviate the suffocating sensation I’m experiencing. Any peace playing and hitting empty cans offered has dissipated like smoke in the wind.
Eventually I stop staring. Stop searching. I’m not sure what I’m looking for.
Driving through downtown Pembrooke feels strange. It’s deserted, the storefronts dark and the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. The commercial section of town gradually gives way to residential neighborhoods.
The complex where Catherine’s condo is located has about fifteen units. All the windows in the bottom unit are dark and empty when I park in the assigned spot and climb out of my truck. My shoulders burn as I stretch, my muscles sore from weeks of strenuous exertion.
I grab my duffel out of the back and then head toward the front entrance of the building. It takes a few minutes to get inside and flick on the lights. Everything is neat and orderly, like a show home.
Catherine, like everyone else, had no idea I was coming home today. And based on the sterile feel of the place, she hasn’t been here in several days.
I stuff the contents of my duffel into the washing machine, start a load, and then take a quick shower.
My phone screen is covered with messages when I get back to my room. I flop down onto the bed in boxers with wet hair, exhaustion spreading through my body as I sink into the mattress.
I skim the first couple of texts—one from Grace, asking if I’m okay and another from Mark, wondering if I can fit a cooler in my truck—then switch to staring at the list of favorites.
She’s at the very top.
The first fucking name.
I’ve called her hundreds of times. Maybe thousands.
To ask meaningless questions.
What time she was done with class. What food she wanted me to order. Saying good night.
Times I easily could have texted, I called her so I could hear her voice. So I could experience the effect she has on me.
And right now, when I reallyneedto talk to her, I’m terrified to.
It wasn’t just the laughing or the guy that threw me off tonight.
She walked away.
She’s always walked toward me, and this time Cassia headed in the opposite direction.
It burns in a way nothing ever has before.
Through all our ups and downs, she’s stuck around. I’m the one who avoids.
I toss my phone onto the comforter and roll over, hoping I’ll fall asleep quickly.
