Page 68 of Dear Roomie
I bite my lip and nod, holding back the tears threatening to spill over.
“I’m doing it before I come back for the spring semester.” My voice is resolute. “Just a few more weeks.”
“Okay, then. A few more weeks.”
Chapter 25
Morgan
“Merry Christmas, Morgan!”
My mom’s voice crackles with static as it sounds from my aging laptop speakers. She and my dad are crowded together on the screen, their webcam catching them at an awkward angle that has me looking up their noses. Her smile is how I always remember it: slightly too large and radiating warmth. But the creases on her face have grown deeper since the last time we video called, and the crow’s feet by her eyes are even more pronounced. Thick streaks of gray now color her curly hair, which used to be the same shade of chestnut brownthat Laura and I shared. My dad looks like another man completely; his hair has thinned, his once work-hardened body is more slender than I remember, and the skin of his face hugs his jaw- and cheekbones, making him appear gaunt.
It’s a cruel reminder of how much time has passed and how much time I’ve missed. I hate seeing them like this. It’s worse to watch the slow progression of their aging in sporadic snapshots than it would be not to see them at all, but my mom always insists that we do a video call for Christmas so she can see my face, and I can’t deny her that.
“Merry Christmas.” The cheer in my voice rings false to my ears, but I doubt my parents pick up on my mood. My mom is too happy to see me to notice the underlying current of melancholy, or maybe she’s also faking it. My dad, on the other hand, would have to engage in the conversation to notice that something was off, and that isn’t going to happen anytime soon.
“Did you get your package?” my mom asks. “The post office said shipping could be anywhere from three to five days, so I sent it a week ago in case there were any delays. You know I don’t trust those delivery times anymore, not since I tried to mail that blanket I was working on to your aunt Carol, and it got lost for weeks. Their quality has been going downhill these days—”
“Yes, Mom, I got your package,” I interrupt. She could ramble on forever if I let her, and I’m sure my dad has already heard this story three times too many.
“Well, why didn’t you say so? Go get it, I want to see you open it.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes, grab the small box from the spot I had it stashed in, and bring it into the webcam’s view. She smiles even wider, urging me on, and I carefully cut through the tape with one of the kitchen knives. Inside is another package wrapped in festive paper. It sags in my hand as I pull it out, the thin covering starting to tear under its weight. I push the box to the floor and sit the wrapped package in my lap, preventing it from tearing further. With careful fingers, I find the pieces of tape holding it together and break them apart, revealing a navy sweater.
“Thank you,” I tell my parents, holding it up so they can see it from their screen. “I love it.”
“You’re welcome, honey. I just wish you could be opening it here instead.” She doesn’t mean for them to hurt, but the words are like a stab in my chest. I’d give anything to grant her that wish.
“I know. Me too. I think I might be able to visit next year, though. If I get a job over the summer, I should be able to afford the ticket.”
“That would be wonderful.” She beams, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “We miss you.”
“I miss you too.” Probably more than they realize.
“What are your plans for today? Making cookies? Christmas movie marathon?”
“I’ve actually got plans with a friend who is still in town. We are going to do some volunteer work at a local homeless shelter.”
Evelyn and I have been going to the Labre Mission every day since winter break started. I thought things might be weird after what happened at the beach, but she’s never given any indication that she still has romantic feelings for me. It’s been fun—as fun as cleaning dishes and doing laundry can be—and I’ve enjoyed getting to know her better; I should have done it earlier. The work has also been a welcome distraction to keep my mind off James and what life might look like when she gets back in two weeks.
“That sounds like something you would do,” my mom says with a soft smile. “I’m glad you have friends there to keep you company.”
I let out a small hum of acknowledgment and cut the conversation short before she can press for more details. “I should probably get going. We are scheduled to be there in less than an hour.”
“Oh, okay.” Guilt stabs me in the stomach as her face falls in disappointment. “Well, we love you. Call us again soon.”
My dad grunts, which I guess is his way of saying he agrees.
“I love you too,” I say and hang up the call, letting my head fall back against the couch as the facade of Christmas crumbles.
A heavy silence falls over the empty apartment, a stark reminder of how empty this place feels without James here to fill it. The air is stale, and the overhead lights emit a dingy sort of glow, nothing like the warm radiance I normally feel when I’m here with her. She’s the heart of this place—the very thing that breathes life into our home.
And now she’s gone, sucking all that life away with her.
She didn’t even tell me goodbye before she left, opting to let me know she was gone with a Post-it on the mirror that said she would miss me and see me in January.
For the first time since she stopped using the notes to nitpick my behavior, seeing the words on the paper caused dread to pool in my gut, which has only hardened into a festering mass of doubt and anxiety. I would have liked to have said goodbye and seen her off before she disappeared for three weeks.
