Page 49 of Warmer, Colder

My laughter catches on the sharp edges of my brokenness and shatters into a dozen wracking sobs that layer one over the other. The loss of Aiden, the loss of my family, the loss of my future, the loss of my friends, the loss of my dignity, the loss of myself. Back to back to back to back, grief after grief with no time to recover in between.

And now I’ve pushed her away. I don’t want to count her with them because that would mean she’s come to mean something, which means she’s something that can be taken away. And if she’s that, then I’m further in over my head than I had even realized. Between the insults and taunting, when had she had time to slip in between my defenses? She’s found an opening in the chain-link fence around my heart and created room for herself when I wasn’t looking. I thought she was background noise that helped drown out the screams of my internal torment, but maybe it’s more than that, or she could be if I just let her in.

Instead, I’ve chosen to be pathetic and weak, standing alone on a precipice staring out at the vastness of a life lived in fear. What makes it unbearable is that I’m letting it rule me just as much in death.

It’s like the admonishment triggers my mom’s instincts. Peeking into the room, she slowly enters, strangling the doorhandle like she might fall over without the support. Her eyes widen as she surveys the mess I’ve made.

“Chris,” she squeaks as she takes another step into the room. “Chris!” There’s volume to the command now.

“What’s wrong?” My dad runs into the room, gripping her shoulders protectively. It’s rhetorical as both their gazes rove over the floor taking inventory of the countless feathers that blanket the fluffy rug.

“The feathers, do you see them, too?”

“Yes.” My dad’s voice is shallow with disbelief.

“Do you think—”

“Don’t.”

“Chris,” my mom pleads with him. “What if it’s her?”

“Don’t do this, Erin.” He sucks in a ragged breath. “Don’t go chasing ghosts. I can’t afford to lose you too.” My dad grabs her wrists and pulls her against his chest. My mom’s sobs are as unbearable as nails on a chalkboard even though they’re muffled in his shirt.

“It could be,” she insists, growing more adamant. “It could be her. Who else would have done it?” She pulls away from him. “Aiden isn’t here, and it wasn’t me. So was it you? Did you come in here on a whim and destroy our daughter’s pillows? Hmm?” She turns back to the scene of the crime. “It’s her. I know it. I can feel it, Chris. I can feelher.” My mom’s hands find his shoulders as they stare intensely at one another. “I’m sure this time.”

“I miss her just as much as you do, but I can’t do this. I can’t bear it. Please don’t let yourself go down this path. There has to be a reasonable—”

“Don’t finish that sentence. You can’t deny it this time,” she says through cracking control. “Don’t make me feel like I’m blowing this out of proportion.”

“There has to be some other explanation. Maybe a neighbor came in and—”

“Oh, don’t give me that. We’ve lived here for years, and we’ve never had a break-in. No one would do something so cruel.”

“I just have a hard time believing she’s trying to communicate with you through littered feathers and torn bedding.” He attempts to embrace her, but she pulls away. “Sweetheart, let’s go to the other room. I’ll come clean this up later.”

“No. No. I’ll clean it up now.” She shakes her head definitively. “I want to be alone.” They stand there motionlessly waiting for her to change her mind. But she doesn’t. So my dad finally gives in and leaves her to it.

Relief leaves me in a long exhale as the tension follows him out.

When the door shuts behind him, she sinks to the floor. Despite the heaviness of her sorrow, there’s something soothing about having her nearby. I can finally take a deep breath. The silence is unsteady with her tears, but having her attention, even in this indirect way is reassuring.

For a while, I just cry with her.

“Mom,” I say shakily, “I’m so glad you’re here. I need you,” I confess as she starts to collect the feathers one by one. “I messed up, again. So many times. But you already know that.” A small laugh escapes me. “This is a big one though—a decade-long mistake.” Admitting that is a massive weight off my shoulders, so I continue. “I think I’ve been lying to myself—to everyone, actually—and I don’t know what possessed me to do it.” She’s crawling around gathering stray feathers, but I pretend she’s listening because she’s still here and that’s good enough.

“Well, maybe it wasn’t lying, more like confusion. Yeah, I was confused. It’s just, I didn’t understandwhyI was feeling what I was feeling or why it was bad. So, I just buried it, I guess.” Just likeher. “But I buried it too far away, too deep, and at some point, along the way, I forgot it existed. It became a bad dream. Something that happened to some other version of me that was long gone.” I pull my knees to my chest, wanting to disappearfrom my own embarrassment. “But that part of me wasn’t gone at all, she was being suffocated.”

She drops the last of the feathers in the trash can under my desk and stands. Well, this is it. Now or never. “Mom, I don’t think I’m straight. I never have been. I met someone, on my birthday, and I’ve messed it all up. I ruined it in the most permanent way. I did something really bad.Unforgivable.I’m not your perfect girl anymore.” My words rush out faster and faster. “I’m so glad you can’t see me now. You’d be so disappointed.” Those last words sneak out in a whisper.

Absentmindedly, her hand passes over my duvet as she heads for the door, flattening the wrinkles I’d caused earlier. Her brow furrows, her hand moving more thoughtfully over the area as she surveys the room again. She pauses, then takes a seat on the edge of my bed.

“Becca.” She clears her throat. “Becca, honey, are you here with me?”

“Yes, mom. It’s me. I’m right here,” I say excitedly as I crowd the space in front of her.

“Honey?” This time her voice is weaker.

“Yes, mom. I’m here. I’m right here.” I wave my hands in front of her face. When that gets me nowhere, I lunge forward and wrap my arms around her. But, instead of the warm embrace I’ve always felt safe in, she shudders and shrinks inward. It’s heartbreaking. It’s understandable. It’s human.

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