“I take it the anger set in?” I nod. “’Bout time. I couldn’t take your mopin’ a moment longer.”
I know he’s trying to make me smile, but I can’t. I try, and I’m pretty sure it looks more like a grimace.
“Let’s get this cleaned up,” he says. I don’t move. “I’ll clean up. You just sit there and look pretty.”
Surprisingly, a small laugh bubbles up my throat. His lips twitch with a smile, and I know he’s pleased to have caused such a reaction.
He begins to pick things up and put them on the counter, and he refolds the towels, putting them under the sink like I should have earlier.
“Hey, what’s this,” he says suddenly. “Oh. Never mind.”
It’s too late. I’ve already seen it. A paper crane. The first one anyone’s found in the last two weeks—that I know of. I think they’ve been hiding them from me when they find them, afraid that I’ll break down yet again.
“Give it to me,” I plead, ready to fight my dad for it if he doesn’t give it to me.
He reluctantly hands me the paper bird. I sit it on my lap and run my fingers around the worn edges. It looks like Ben had lodged it in-between the cracks in the cabinet wall. I lift it to my nose and smell it. It doesn’t smell like him, only ink and paper, but it’s still a familiar smell, and one I love.
“Kid, you sure you should open that?” My dad watches me like I’m a bomb that might detonate in front of his face at any second.
I nod. I have to open it.
I slowly unfold the edges, peeling back the folds Ben previously made to reveal the message hidden inside.
I never thought I’d love someone the way I love you—I think I was made to love you. I used to make fun of love-sick fools like me. Then you came along and changed everything. Now I wish everyone could experience the kind of love we have.
—Ben
I know I’m crying—because it’s all I do anymore—but I fold the paper crane back up and hold it to my chest.
“Blaire? You okay?” my dad prompts.
I nod. I’m okay. For the moment, at least, because right now Ben’s here with me. I can feel him even if I can’t see him.
“You need to go back to work.” My mom glares at me across the kitchen table.
“You need to get out of my house.”
“Blaire,” my mom scoffs, “don’t be ridiculous.”
I eye her over my bowl of cereal. “I didn’t know I was.”
She huffs out a breath and her bangs brush her forehead. “We’re not going home until we know you’re okay.”
“I am okay,” I tell her. It’s a lie, and we both know it. I don’t know why I bother even saying the words. She can see right through me.
“You are so far from okay.” She rests her arms on the table. “Dan, come talk some sense into your daughter.” She calls to my dad where he sits in the family room. He’s taken up residence on the couch and claimed it as his own. That’s fine with me since I’d rather lie in bed all day.
“Why does she suddenly become my daughter when you’re mad?” he calls back.
“You both are exactly the same,” she grunts. “Stubborn to a fault.” She points a finger at me. “Go take a shower. At least do that.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I’m irritated by the fact that my mom thinks she can come to my house and boss me around.
“I honestly don’t know what’s been wrong with you the last two days.” She shakes her head. “You’re even worse than you had been.”
She doesn’t know about the pregnancy test. My dad does, though. He found it when he was cleaning the bathroom. He looked at it, then me, then tossed it in the trash and hasn’t said a word since. He’s probably afraid I’ll bite his head off if he says something. He might be right.
“I’ll go shower,” I mumble. I’ll do pretty much anything to get out of my mom’s sight. I know she’s trying to help, but I just want to be left alone. I’m sad and angry—I lost Ben and then the news that I’m not pregnant has been devastating. I know I should tell her that, she’d understand, but voicing the words out loud—I’m not pregnant—makes it real.
My mom nods as I leave. I think she’s as happy to see me leave as I am to do the leaving.
I take a long shower—washing my body more than once. I even wash my hair which I haven’t been doing much of. I haven’t had the energy. Something I learned is that crying non-stop makes you exhausted. I feel drained even when I wake up. It sucks, but I’m learning to live with it.
I change into jeans and a t-shirt. It’s the first time I’ve worn real clothes in too long. I’ve been living in sweatpants and pajamas. Ben wouldn’t be happy with me. I know he’s probably up there, watching over me, cursing me for being such a bum. I keep telling myself one more day, but one more day has turned into three weeks. What if three weeks turns into three months? I know I can’t keep going like this, but my argument is: it’s easier than dealing.