Page 79 of Somewhere Without You
My eyes glanced toward Gran, whowashunchedover the kitchen sink, hummingsoftlyto herself. Shehadn’tspokento Katherine since the night she left.
“What about Gran? I can’tjustleave her here alone,”I whispered, pressing myself against the wall likeit wouldmuffle the conversation.
Katherine didn’t hesitate.“Emily, you can’t keep putting your life on hold for everyone else. She’shadyou for thirteen years. That’s not nothing. You’re not some keepsake she gets to keep tucked away on a shelf. You deserve to live your own life.”
I stared at the floor, at thewideplank woodI’dscrubbeda thousand times.
“I don’tknowif I can,”I admitted.“She wouldn’t say it, but I think she needs me.”
“Maybeshe does,”Katherine offered.“Butmaybeyou needyoumore.”
Her words landed like a stone in my chest.
“You’ve got to stop shouldering whatever misplaced guilt you’re carrying,”she continued.“Mom died. I left.Andyou. . . you stayed. You always stay.ButEm,thatdoesn’t mean you’re supposed to.”
My throat tightened. I didn’t respond right away. I couldn’t. The idea of leaving this place—of leaving Gran, itfeltwrong. Disloyal,even.Butthe idea of staying, of living out the rest of my life in this small, miserable townthathated us,wassuffocating.
“You wouldn’tjustbe starting over,”Katherine said, her voice hopeful.“You’dbe starting something that’syours.”
There was a long pause between us.
“Okay,”I said at last.“I’ll come.”
Katherine’s cheer erupted through the phone, loud enoughthatIhadto cover the receiver with my hand. I shot a nervous glance toward Gran.
“I’ll take care of everything,”she said, her voice bubbling with excitement.“Flights, pickup—youjustfocus on packing.”
After we hung up, I stayed rooted in the kitchen, the phone still warm in my hand.
Gran didn’t turn around. Shejustkept scrubbing the same dish in slow, rhythmic circles, like shehadn’thearda thing.
“How’s your sister?”she askedcasually.
“She misses you,”I said, testing the waters.
Granfinallyplaced the dish in the drying rack beside the sink and reached for another.“She made her choice,”she saidsimply.
I swallowed hard, setting the phone down on the counter.
“She invited me out for a visit,”I let out,carefully.
Gran didn’t answer right away—justcontinued rinsing the plate in her hands, running it under the water like it might wash away whatever Iwasn’tsaying.
Finally, she said,“You do what you need to do, Emily.”
Thatshould’vefeltlike permission—but it didn’t.
I left the kitchen and headed upstairs. In search of my suitcase, I dug through my closet, passing over the hatbox without looking at it. I didn’t have the heart to open Logan’s letters. Iwasn’tready to unpack allthat, butmaybeme leaving wouldeventuallyhelp megetthere.
AsI started packing, I caught my reflection in the mirror. Ilookedlike someone stepping into a new life, but I didn’tfeellike her yet.Therewasa strange pull in my chest—a gnawing guilt I couldn’t quite shake.AndIwasn’tsure if itwasbecause Iwasleaving. . .orbecause Iwasexcitedto go.
Forty Three
Now
May 31st, 2023
Dear James,
