Page 32 of Born in the Spring

I prepare my breakfast for a late lunch—toast, butter, and jam. I haven’t had this since I was a teenager, either. It was probably what I last put into a toaster.

It was a comfort meal for me as a kid, and I guess I wanted to go back there for a moment. Be taken back to an easier time with some bites of nostalgia.

But the facts of my night pull for my attention in my periphery, and I pause spreading the jam over the second piece as I glance over at the bunched up blanket at one end of the couch and the pile of throw pillows at the other.

I still couldn’t sleep in our bedroom.

I made it into the bed, and I tucked myself under the covers, then everything seemed to speed up at once—my mind raced too fast for me to decipher a thought, my heart beat so hard against my ribs, I could barely breathe, my whole body restless with the need to get back up.

Like I should’ve done six months ago.

If only my body could’ve warned me then, just like that. Now it was warning me too late.

And how’s the guilt today?

I refrained from giving Helena another late night phone call. I coached myself, as she’s been encouraging me todo, taking my first real step in trusting myself. Trusting my way through my grief and my healing.

“Still better,” I answer aloud through a deep breath, as if she’s in my ear anyway, as I finish spreading the jam. Itisbetter. It was my first night back. It’ll take time to be restful. I’m here, where I want and need to be, but I shouldn’t expect myself to already be sleeping like a baby—

The clang of the knife is loud as I toss it into the sink, and I jolt again, a grumble in my throat as I close my eyes against the island.Come on.

I move to the sink, staring down at the leftover spreads on the knife before deciding to go ahead and wash them off.

After giving in to wakefulness, I tidied up, and rewashed and put away all of the dishes at the first ray of light, then unpacked my suitcase. It all needed to be done, anyway, but it felt like work, which is good, even the shopping trip, though I’ve only been helping myself.

Though Amie didn’t actually let me know until this morning that Ihaveto take a couple days before I can start my old job due to availability, the morning was good too. Seeing my home again in daylight, with Amie as we walked around the resort to both familiar and, equally bright, fresh faces.

No one thankfully gave me spying stares or prying questions, unlike the people behind their screens in reaction to my announcement post.

I’m finding my smile again as I slot the cleaned knife into the rack, when the door bursts open, and my smile slips the minute I turn around, seeing Shepherd’s dark hair before seeing Vanessa’s face.

I drop back against the sink as she stomps in, kicking snow onto the floor, thankful she has yet to look at me since I’mprobably as pale as a ghost from the second I thought I saw one.

“Oh,” she says, a put off realization as she removes her jacket and flings it onto the couch. “It’s hot in here.”

“It’s toasty,” I argue through a relieved chuckle, with my eyes on my toast, sharpening myself with her presence. So it’s a little on the warmer side. I had to chase away the chill.

My relief dwindles the longer she stares at the couch, scrutinizing my blanket and pillows. “See?” she says, stomping up the two steps that separate the living room from the kitchen, readjusting her sweater—just a darker shade of lavender as my striped long-sleeve shirt—so the neck hangs off one shoulder. “You need to live with your best girl friend.”

“I’m staying here,” I tell her, pressing the final decision as I move to protect my toast, sliding the plate away from her reaching lobster claw fingers. She does it slow enough to tell me she’s teasing, and we share a smile as she shovels through the fruit bowl.

“I’d rather have your pears anyway.”

“You always had to go for that one.” I pick up a piece of toast as she bites off a whole side piece of the pear.

“Are you okay?” she checks in around licking juice from her lips, drawing out the question, because she knows the answer, and I already feel the withdrawing clench in my muscles.

I manage another smile, feeling the toast cooling in my hand. “Yeah,” I say, conveying in my tone that Iwillbe okay, so we can move on. “You just startled me.”

“Yeah,” she mimics as I’m taking my first bite. Her mouth moves more, but I have mentally and emotionally left the room, the almost embarrassing noise that escapes my mouthdrowning her out. My elbows thud against the island top with a sigh like fresh air over my heart at the combination of the jam and butter finally on my tongue. My ears and eyes are closed to everything but the sweet and tart and salty flavors, with the crunch of the bread, taking me back to the stress-free mornings of my childhood.

I blink back to the lodge, but hold to this feeling, at Vanessa’s snort around her next crunch of pear.

“Well, that’s more proof of your rough night,” she notes through chewing. “You’re eating the food I usually make for the kids.” I hum around my last bites, devouring each one and licking the sticky from my fingers. “I’m glad it’s good. Did it help for a few seconds?”

“A lot has helped since I’ve been back,” I counter, then stare at her sideways. “Except you.” She rolls her eyes, and I offer a piece of where my thoughts are after biting into my second piece of toast. “I guess I wanted to feel young. Or a fewminutesto feel like this isn’t happening.” My voice trails as I look down at a clump of strawberry, another ache in my swallow.

“It happened,” Vanessa says low, and when I meet her eyes, they’re soft with understanding, then almost pointed, pushing me back into eating my toast. “And you are young,” she says next, her eyes now narrowing with the rest of her features in offense. “Weare young. So enjoy your kids’ meal.”

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