Page 3 of Admittedly For Me

“Don’t take me home.” I lie down in the back seat instead of sitting.

“Emery, your aunt wants to see you. I don’t know how much you’ll remember about tonight anyway,” Savannah chimes in. “I’ll drive you back here in the morning to grab your car.”

“Savannah and I don’t know what it’s like to lose our parents, but yours were regulars in our lives too. We miss them.”

“You weren’t the reason theyyou knooww,” I slur, unable to say the truth out loud and bring my hands over my eyes to block out the bright car lights.

“For the millionth time, Emery. Neither were you.” Savannah sighs, closing the car door and taking me to the one place I’ve been dreading to go.

Chapter2

Emery

I squintas the morning sun illuminates the pale blue walls of my childhood bedroom. My eyes bounce around the dormant objects of my room and land on my backpack. Panic jolts me.Am I late for class? The bass drum thudding throughout my brain tells me otherwise. I don’t remember anything after walking to the parking lot last night. It’s been a while since I’ve drank this much. Am Istilldrunk? Scattered Polaroids litter my walls as outdated long necklaces drape off large thumb tacks. My favorite jean jacket hangs off the computer chair, right where I left it five years ago. I still don’t know why I never took it when I moved. That jean jacket spent almost every summer night with me. I fall back on my pillow before I allow myself to grab the well-worn material. A tug of war with my heart if I dare bring it to my nose. Will it still smell likehim?

Turning back to the opposite side of my bed, a cup of water with two aspirin rests on the nightstand. My smile shoots pain to my brain, but I mentally thank my aunt. She barely has a handful of years on me and came to the rescue after my night out.

A moment later, a soft knock taps at my door before it pushes open. The aroma of fresh coffee and pancakes roams through the house, but nausea from this hangover does me dirty.

“Good morning, babe.” My Aunt Quinn peeks her head in.

"Hey,” I murmur, as she walks over and sits on my bed. “Your hair looks great darker." Her natural light brown hair is gone, slightly altering her look from my mothers. “When did you change it?”

“After I visited you in Aspen eight months ago.” A lull hangs over us, as she doesn’t want to bring up another devastating event. “I never thought I’d see the day you came back to town.” Her smile never resonates well with my grief. My eyes avert down as a younger image of my mother sits in front of me.

“Hallie is getting married. I can’t say no to that.” I reach for my glass of water and force myself to finish it.

“It’s crazy to think I was twenty-three when you took off.” She rests her hand on my leg. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t enough for you to stay.” There’s a saddened tone to her voice, but she’s not to blame.

“Aunt Quinn, it wasn’t you.” I shake my head and it pounds in punishment.

“I tried to find balance for you and me. It’s just…could you imagine taking care of a senior in high school while trying to excel in med school?” She doesn’t mean to make me feel like I was a burden. She didn’t ask for any of this either.

“Nope. But at least your PHD is almost complete.” I try to level with her, but I didn’t follow in my family’s medical footsteps. “I can’t imagine finishing school at twenty-eight.”

“I’m also looking forward to seeing what the hospital has done.” Aunt Quinn gives me a half-hearted smile and the nausea forming isn’t from the hangover. I have no doubt Hallie had planned her wedding around this hospital event as well. She meddles out of the goodness of her heart, but damn, she’s forcing to me to face everything at once.

“It’s not like my parents are aware it’s their five-year death anniversary.” I toss my dark auburn hair in a messy bun as my phone beeps.

“Emery,” she says under her breath. “Being cynical doesn’t heal.”

“I love you, Aunt Quinn, but stating the obvious is simply stating the obvious. Life comes and goes.” She pats my leg and stands.

“I’ll meet you downstairs. There’s coffee already made.” When she leaves my room, I silently groan.

I don’t want to face this house. My room still holds the smell of cheap body sprays seeped into the carpet. It’s soothing and haunting all at once. I toss back the covers and brace myself for the journey downstairs. My parents’ room is still untouched, and I don’t know if I can handle a faint smell of them as I walk past their room. As I make my way to the top of the stairs, my heart stutters, avoiding eye contact with the hanging family frames. I don’t need a reminder of what no longer lives.

I move past the entryway and torture myself by walking through the living room. For a moment, time stands still. I swear I can hear my father from his downstairs office, wanting me to tell him about my day before he went on about the surgeries he performed. The fireplace mantle holds a few drawings my mother and I made when I was eight and she never tossed out. Coloring pages of me following in their footsteps of wanting to be a doctor made her so proud.

I never spent much time in daycare. My childhood seemed like a dream from the outside, but that ended when I turned twelve, along with new family memories and traditions. Twelve was the year I could stay home alone. Take care of myself. Raise myself. The year my mother could go full force with her career around seventy hours a week. Most of my holidays were spent with Savannah’s family.

Looking around, my eyes zone in on the stack of magazines and my mother’s favorite blanket by the couch. The magazines we were supposed to look through together on weekends. How has my aunt lived in her sister’s house for so long and been able to deal with the reminders? I don’t dare touch the blanket either. My mother spent the minimal time she had off work either sleeping or out buying quick freezer meals for me to heat. Sharing a blanket and making memories together was always scheduled for “next week.” My childhood dwindled into caring for myself. Happy twelfth birthday to me. But who was I to hold my parents back from saving lives?

Until I selfishly begged them to see my last dance recital…

“I haven’t spent much time in here,” my aunt pipes up, as my body jumps out of its skin. “It feels strange to move anything, so I’ve mostly just sat on this cushion the odd time I feel like watching a movie.” She shrugs as her eyes scan the room.

“Yeah, it almost feels intrusive.” As she wraps me in a big hug, I try to remember what my mother’s felt like. But only for a moment before a sting reaches my nose as my eyes burn, and I shut down from the pain. “Your parents would be proud.”