Page 123 of Haunt Me

Manuela: What is enough love, En?

Eden: Just… Maybe not the regular kind of love—the kind people with families and loving parents grow up with. Not perfect love like the two of you had. But enough love to survive on. To get you through. Like the love Isaiah got from his dad, before he died. Isaiah was fatherless at 16, but he had gotten enough love already. And it lasted. It was enough love to help him grow into an amazing human being.

Manuela: You are an amazing human being, En.

Eden: Can you imagine being loved like that? Loved by an entire family? I can’t even fathom so much love existing in the world, let alone there being enough to go around for everyone.

Faith: Breaking my heart, En.

Eden: I wasn’t going to write these things to you.

Faith: I’m glad you did. That’s not what I meant, you know that, don’t you?

Eden: I know. I’m sorry. You guys… you and Dad have given me enough love to last for a thousand lifetimes. When I wroteEnough Love, I was thinking of Isaiah, but I was thinking of you too. In the end, I got too much love, one would say.

Manu: But you’re wondering if it came too late, aren’t you En? Because you spent all your childhood and girlhood without…

Eden: Without it. Without enough love. I’m not scared to say it, it’s the truth. But what if I can’t be loved now? What if I am never able to truly love? What if it’s too late to get enough love?

Eden: I’m sorry.

Eden: I’m not coming.

Manuela: That is absolutely ok.

Faith: That is absolutely NOT ok.

Faith: I’ll never be ok with you feeling like that, En. You don’t have to come down, obviously, but that’s not the point.

Faith: Do you want me to come up to your room? I have donuts.

Eden: Maybe later. Thanks, Fee, for understanding.

Faith: We’re both downstairs. Whatever you need, you let us know.

Manuela: Dad is looking dapper. Should I stop him from wearing his tux? Hold on, sending you a pic.

Eden: Wait, he’s wearing WHAT?

Eden: Ok, I’m coming down. I need to see that in person.

Eden: I’m not coming.

Eden: No, wait, I am.

Chicago

twenty-nine

The buzzer has sounded; the door is open. Still, I’m not walking in.

I look down the street, away from the Elliots’ front door. The row of brownstones looks stately and quietly dignified from the outside, a neat set of stairs leading up to each identical house. The pavement is sprinkled with tiny leaves as trees rustle above our heads.

I think of the childhood Eden could have had here. In my mind’s eye I see a little girl, a tinier version of the Eden I met in the woods—a healthier version. A red-headed version. A version that’s jumping around, free. Loved. Safe. I think I see her as a little girl, thick red braids, jumping down the stairs, excited on her first day of school. Little snow boots in the winter, ice crunching under her feet as her dad holds her tightly by the hand. Peeking into a mailbox packed with snow. Larning to ride a bike with her sisters.

I need to lean against the railing and hide my eyes with my hand. They sting as if I have a fever.

“Zay? You ok?” my brother asks softly.

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