You can do this.
I carefully crunched over the gravel. Dad took my bags and opened the car door. I turned around one last time. Willa, Lexi, Jean, and Margot watched me from a window. I stretched a smile across my face and waved. I might or might not have channeled Kate Middleton when I did it.
Then I dove into the stained fabric backseat of the Honda.
“You okay, kiddo?” Dad asked, turning around.
“Yes, are you okay?” Mom asked. “Want me to come sit in the backseat with you?”
“I’m fine. And no, Mom. Definitely not. Can we just go? Please?”
“Absolutely.”
I kept my head high and my shoulders square until we rounded the curve of the driveway. When I was sure we were out of sight, I buried my face in my hands. The car rolled past the old stone pillars that marked the Wallingfield entrance. And just like that, I was out.
42
On the way home, Dad kept his eyes on the road. Mom spent the time telling him to “Drive slower, Brian! There’s ice on the ground!”
I kept looking for changes as the landscape flashed by, like trees that had grown, or houses that had been painted, or stores that had morphed into different stores. I thought that the world should look different somehow, because I was different. But everything was the same. When we’d pass a car, I’d look at it and think, Those people have no idea where I’m coming from, what I’ve been through. Then I wondered if maybe all of us, on the road, were doing the same thing.
The streets grew narrower and more crowded with cars and houses as we left behind the estates on Sea Drive. By the time we pulled into our driveway, there was almost an inch of slush on the ground. “Looks like the sleet is freezing; I’ll have to salt this afternoon,” Dad said. “Watch your step.”
“Okay.” I picked my way up the walkway. On a big piece of white paper stuck to the front door, Mom and Dad had written in purple marker: WELCOME HOME, ELIZABETH! WE ARE SO GLAD YOU ARE BACK!!!!!
Dad unlocked the door and carried my bags up to my room. Mom went to make tea. I followed Dad upstairs. The hardwood steps creaked like always. The entire house felt small. It made me feel a bit claustrophobic.
“How’s it feel to be home?” he asked once we got to my bedroom.
“A little strange.”
He stood next to my bed, hoping to talk more. He wore a blue plaid button-down shirt and gray work pants. He looked too tall for the room.
I needed to be alone. “I’ll be down soon; don’t worry. I just want to unpack.”
He turned slowly. “Aren’t you supposed to have a snack now? It’s time, right?”
“Oh, yeah, I was supposed to tell you. I had it before I left. Granola.” I didn’t mean to lie. It just slipped out, maybe because, for the first time in forty days, I could actually get away with it. Once it was out there, though, I didn’t know how to take it back. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
“Okay, then.” He smiled. “I am so happy you are home.”
He waited for me to say, I’m happy to be here, too, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t sure how I felt.
He left and I closed the door and sat on my bed in my room. Except that it didn’t feel like my room anymore. It was tidy, and I was messy. It felt weird to see the floor, which was usually covered with clothes. My bed was different, too. Mom had made it up with gray sheets and a white bedspread, the spares from the guest room. Both of my sheet sets were in the suitcase at my feet. A fresh vase of white Gerbera daisies rested on my bedside table.
My cell phone sat on my desk, and when I turned it on, it lit up like an old friend. I almost cried I was so happy to have it. I’d forgotten how perfectly it fit my hand, and how much I loved the case, which was navy blue with little white elephants all over it. A group text from Shay, Priya, and Katrina on the day I left, sent an hour after I’d already checked in, headed the long list of alerts and notifications that popped up on the screen. Good luck in there! Priya had written. I will miss you so much, but you are going to do great. Be awesome!!!!! was from Shay. And, from Katrina, Make yourself better in there, friend. I am rooting for you. I smiled, grateful for their love.
My fingers hovered over the Instagram button for a moment before I tapped it, at which point I came face-to-face with every little thing I’d missed since disappearing into the abyss of Wallingfield. Priya and Shay had gone ugly hunting. In one picture, Priya posed in a strapless dress, a wild mess of yellow-and-pink tulle complete with sequins, beading, and a scarily full skirt. She looked like an upside-down, bedazzled tulip. She vamped for the camera, holding her hair up and making kissing motions with her lips. I felt a pang of regret. I missed them.
I kept clicking. Up popped photos of people wrapped in wool blankets in the cold, sitting around a beach bonfire. I thought I saw Tristan’s outline, but I wasn’t sure.
Finally I went to Heather’s feed. I scrolled down past her most recent selfies—in her mirror, in the cafeteria with Charlie, in sunglasses, and in Charlie’s car. Finally I found the photo of Jean and me. It shocked me all over again.
I waited to feel angry, and I did, but more than anything I was homesick. For Wallingfield. I missed Jean and Willa and Mary and Margot and Lexi and even Nurse Jill. What would I do if I had trouble eating? What if I got mad about calories? What if I cried? Who would understand? Mary had agreed to keep me on as a patient; I was scheduled to see her at her private office, where she worked one day a week, but my first appointment wasn’t for six whole days. I was on my own until then.
I started to text Katrina but stopped. She’d assume I was happy to be home, and I was, mostly. But I didn’t want to talk. Not yet.
I tossed the phone on my nightstand and dumped my suitcase out on my purple carpet. Wallingfield’s dusty-heat smell filled my nose, and I sat down on the floor. Then I lay back and stared at my ceiling, like I’d done a million times since I was little. I looked at my watch. Four o’clock. Everybody at Wallingfield would be finishing up their afternoon activities right about now. I wondered if they missed me. I wondered if Willa would eat her dinner for once, or hide it in her clothes like always.
My phone chimed. I sat up right away.
Tristan: Hey.
Me: hey
Tristan: Are you home?
Me: yup.
Tristan: What are you up to?
Me: I might watch some TV later.
Tristan: TV is bad for you, you know.
Me: I know.
Tristan: How does it feel, being home?
Me: Not especially awesome. Not horrible either.
Tristan: Well, hang in there. Glad you are out of prison, as Simone calls it.
Me: ha ha. You write very grammatically correct texts, btw
Tristan: I know.
Me: Why?
Tristan: Because no one else does.
Me: Oh.
Tristan: I’ll be in touch.
Me: okay
Me: Tristan?