Page 76 of Sparks
She left me, and I took a couple bites, both making my stomach cramp. Even the creamy coffee looked revolting. I put everything on my dresser and took a shower, drying my hair and pulling it into a bun, then getting dressed in jeans, boots, and a sweatshirt. My jeans were definitely loose. I had to keep pulling them up, so I found an old belt in my dresser. I tossed my breakfast in the kitchen trash when nobody was around and covered it up.
Mom and Dad came in looking refreshed and happy. Both had their sunglasses on.
“Ready, Low?” Dad asked.
“Yep.”
The beaches in March were virtually empty except for a person now and then looking for shells, sea glass, or treasure hunting with their metal detectors. And then there were the people walking their dogs. Mom could spot a piece of sea glass where I saw nothing. The soft, faded white, teal, and purple pieces brought comfort when she put them in my hands and I rubbed them between my fingers.
It was therapeutic to walk the beach with the sun beating down, the breeze cool. I let the freezing surf water run over my feet a few times, just for the shock of it. My parents remained respectfully quiet, every now and then bending and saying, “Look at this one.” We stopped to watch dolphins close to shore, their backs arching out of the water, then disappearing and coming back up a little farther down the beach.
“Tell me about your trip,” I said.
My mom and dad gave each other the cutest looks as if remembering all of it in a rush.
“Oh, honey.” Mom grasped my forearm and sighed. “The French are so kind. And we thought of you the whole time, didn’t we?” She glanced at my dad who nodded.
“Very often,” he said. “We kept thinking about how you were supposed to go your senior year and then you got the flu.”
“My biggest regret,” I said, feeling the gut punch as I remembered. My whole French IV class went without me. I’d never been so sick.
“You should really go.” Mom stopped and stood in front of me, pushing back a strand of hair that came loose from my bun. “What’s to stop you? Take off a week from work and go!”
“I don’t have any leave time yet. I’m still in the probationary period,” I explained.
“Ah. Well.” She glanced at Dad, who nodded. “We’ve got quite a few savings bonds that your grandparents bought for you as a baby. If you were to want to cash those in, they’re all yours.”
“Really?” I vaguely remembered her showing me a big envelope of bonds years ago, but I’d forgotten about them. The sensation of adventure tickled the edges of the darkness that encompassed me, but quickly fizzled.
Mom squeezed my hand. “Really. Think about it.” She and Dad took each other’s hands and turned to walk while I kept pace behind them. This was how the three of us had always rolled. I watched them together and my eyes burned, then my throat. After a minute I was wiping away tears. The ocean was loud enough to let me have a good cry, sniffing, wiping. Ugh, I was so done with crying.
When it was time to walk back, Mom said, “I could go for a watermelon mimosa at Bay Local after church.”
“Whatever you’d like, dear,” Dad agreed.
There was a time in my childhood when Dad complained mercilessly about money spent but after Mom survived cancer he seemed to stop worrying. He said, “It’s time to live a little before these knees go bad, am I right?”
Back at the house, we only had time to change before leaving for church. I hadn’t even known what day of the week today was when I decided to come home, or I might not have come. My parents won’t miss church for anything. They did skip Sunday School today, though, so that was a big deal. I found a dress and pair of pumps in my closet, then sighed as I looked at myself in the mirror.
It’d been seven months since I left home. Seven months since I’d gone to church. The last thing I wanted to do was see my three high school girlfriends, especially in my current frame of mind, but here I was.
I followed my parents to their normal seats in the middle to the left. Thankfully we were just on time. If we’d arrived earlier I would have been paraded around to say hello to everyone. It was nice to see all of the familiar faces, though. I caught sight of two of my friends, Dalia’s red curls and Bree’s highlighted bob, sitting with their husbands toward the front. As I peered around, many people lit up and waved, making me smile. And then the music started.
Oh, yes. The music. It was my favorite part of church. We went to the contemporary service and our band was amazing. We stood, and I saw my old best friend on stage with a microphone. Becca wasn’t the best singer, but what she lacked in natural talent she made up for in stage presence. Bright blond hair, perfectly styled with beach waves that looked natural but really took her an hour, and personal style that most girls would…whoa. Wait. Her free hand that usually went in the air was resting on her belly. A round bump.
I grabbed Mom’s forearm.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered as the song started.
“Becca’s pregnant?” I hissed.
“Yes, honey.” Her eyebrows came together. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know. She’s five months now. A little boy. She didn’t want to post on social media—too much unwanted advice.”
I gritted my teeth and stared up at Becca as a flashback hit me hard. The song was loud, blasting through the speakers. Mom was still staring at me, worried, so I flashed her a smile and she nodded. Inside, I was gutted.
Our junior year all four of us had gotten boyfriends. That was my first year with Don. We’d made a pact not to have sex with them. Fast forward six months to when Don informed me that all three of the other couples had sex.
I confronted the girls, certain the boys had lied, but they hadn’t.
