Page 150 of Irreversible

Standing, Mom steps over to me, her bare feet rattling the deck planks. “I know you, honey. I know your heart, your soul. I know this is killing you, and that kills me.” She reaches for me, her ring-laden fingers curling around my wrists. “You’re a forgiver. An empath. You’ve always spun your pain into peace, and I know, deep down, you’re not at peace. Your light is gone.”

I stare at her, internalizing her words and trying to make sense of them. But none of this makes sense. I’ve lost everything: my husband, my best friend, my career, my home. Even Isaac, the only person who understood what I’ve gone through. There’s no peace in that. There’s only a bleak chasm of missteps and no-way-outs. “My light isn’t gone,” I mutter, wriggling my arms free from her grip. “It just dimmed.”

Her eyes close as I pull away and turn to enter the house. The cats follow me into the foyer when I go to retrieve my duffel bag, then shuffle down the hall to the spare bedroom. I take a shower, trying to cleanse myself of the last ten minutes. When I return to the bedroom in a bath towel, I sift through my bag and pull out an assortment of night gowns. The sun begins to set behind mulberry drapes as I lay each gown atop the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles.

All ivory.

All made of silk and lace.

None of them are right. I’ve searched high and low, looking for the perfect one, but they all fall short.

An hour later, my mother knocks on the door, stepping inside the room with a plate of chicken and rice. “I brought you dinner.”

I glance up from the book I’m reading. “Thank you.”

Hesitating for a beat, she fully enters, setting the rose-patterned plate on the nightstand. She takes a seat beside meas I inch up the headboard and toss the book beside me on the mattress.

I stare at her. Mascara streaks line her cheeks, her eyes puffy and red. My heart stutters at the sight. “I’m sorry.” Extending my hand, I link our fingers together. “I’m trying.”

“I know you are. I’m trying, too.”

“I never expected it would be this hard…living on the other side of that place.”

She nods, knowingly. “Expectation is a thief of joy—it hinders living. You need to take every moment as it comes, knowing some moments will be difficult and some will be beautiful. We only thrive when we’re fully present.”

My thumb dusts over her sun-spotted knuckles. “I’m starting a new job next week. I’m nervous.”

“Really?” A smile hints. “I thought you wanted to take some time off.”

“I was getting antsy. Bored. I need the distraction.”

“That’s understandable. Are you getting back into modeling?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m not sure that’s the right path for me, or if it ever was.” Too many cameras, bright lights. Gossip and superficial smiles. While it was fun and exciting at the time, it was never something that made my soul sing. “I want to put myself out there again. Be seen. Hiding out in my apartment for the last few months hasn’t been the therapeutic remedy I imagined it would be.”

I miss people.

Connections.

I don’t want anyone to know who I am…I just want them to know I’m still here.

I still matter.

“Tell me about the new job,” Mom implores, settling back on the bed. “I need details.”

My pulse quickens as I bite my lip, my hand trembling in hers. Nerves race through me. Indecision. “Let me see how this first night goes.” Clearing my throat, I look away, wondering if this new direction will be a life-altering mistake. “Then I’ll tell you everything.”

37

Aslate-gray building with a flashing marquee comes into view when I curve around the corner, clutching the strap of my purse in a deathlike grip. The distant aroma of sizzling street food gives off a semblance of normalcy as it mingles with the metallic tang of the auto repair shop across the street.

I glance around, my anxiety a twisted knot of uncertainty lodged in my throat.

God, what am I doing?

Pausing in front of the steel door attached to my new workplace, I raise my chin and drink in the magenta and royal-blue lights. I’m not sure why I couldn’t apply at a restaurant or an easy, carefree desk job. A headset would be weighing me down far less than this glitzy headband gouging my scalp. I squeeze the strap of my purse, my bright yellow nails leaving half-moon prints on my palm.

You can do this. Deep breath. No turning back now.

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