by Sarah Sutton
And with that, she walked out of the costume room.
The walls narrowed around me, like a prison’s walls. You’ll do the right thing. Definitely emotional manipulation. And come on, “the right thing”? Right thing by her standards, she meant. But what about me? What about the right thing in my book?
I pressed both of my hands to my eyes, digging my fingers in until I saw stars. Unease crawled underneath my skin, swirling and slithering around like a snake.
Sometimes I forgot Gram was Dad’s mom. I mean, I knew it, but I never thought about it. The fact sat there in the corner of my mind. I never thought about how Dad had left her too. What must it have been like for her, losing a daughter-in-law and her son leaving shortly after? She’d never spoken about it with me, probably afraid it’d shatter any sanity I’d managed to find after that horrible time in my life. I’d never asked her how it felt, how she felt.
I’d never asked her if Dad had sent her a letter too.
Slowly, I sank to the floor, leaning against the wall and drawing in a breath that almost burned. It’s not a big deal, I tried to tell myself, over and over again until the words sounded like gibberish. He left you. He’s gone. Don’t think about it. Get over it. Get over it.
And I repeated that phrase, over and over in my head, until the burn in my throat faded away.
“Are you even trying?” Donnie demanded as he held onto the other end of the pumpkin, struggling with the weight. “And here I thought you had muscles.”
I let out a puff of breath, trying not to cringe as the dirt from the pumpkin smeared across my chest. And of course, I’d decided to wear a white shirt on the day Donnie had wanted to go to the muddy pumpkin patch. We’d gone back to Albion Family’s Corn Maze and Hayrides after school to pick out a few pumpkins, and had packed them into the back of Donnie’s car. They’d bounced and rolled around the entire ride home.
Whereas I’d picked out a normal-sized pumpkin—one I could carry by myself with only a little bit of strain—Donnie had decided to pick out one that had required him and a buff farmhand to carry to the car. The only problem was now that he had no buff farmhand’s help.
“You’re the one who wanted the big one,” I got out, my fingers slipping along the smooth surface. “Where’s Lucas? He should be here to help you pick it up.”
“Said he wanted to sit this one out.”
I pretended not to know why, but I wasn’t sure if my expression remained neutral.
We shuffled along the grass until we made it to Donnie’s back porch, and I hurried to put my end of the pumpkin down, my arms screaming with the effort. “I should’ve made you carve it in your trunk.”
Donnie rubbed his dirty palms together, smacking away the loose dirt and grime. He also managed to get a smudge on his cheek—no idea how. “We did it, against all odds.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, watching as he went back to the car and grabbed the carving supplies we’d bought from the farm. They were cheap plastic tools, but they’d get the job done. “Do you know why Lucas didn’t come with us?”
You shouldn’t care why, my brain whispered. It doesn’t matter, does it? It shouldn’t.
Right. It very much shouldn’t. But I’d already asked.
“Blaire.” Donnie sighed, holding a plastic pumpkin scooper out to me. “Do you want to talk about Lucas, or don’t you? I can’t keep up.”
“I’m allowed to make conversation.”
“Are you, though? Making conversation? Or are you prying?”
I gritted my teeth at him calling me out, kneeling in front of my pumpkin and using the sleeve of my jacket to wipe away most of the soil. Some of the other pumpkins had been washed clean and had looked pretty, but I’d chosen this one—a little lumpy and bumpy, dented and bruised. “Just forget it.”
Donnie set a bucket up between the two of us for the guts and then another for the seeds. “Lucas asked me to collect them,” he told me, sitting back on his heels.
I pushed my sleeves up, holding my knife in a fist. “Do you know what you’re going to carve?”
“I was just going to do a face.”
I took in the smooth surface of my pumpkin, a blank canvas, trying to imagine what could be carved there. It was a lot like a cookie or a cupcake that needed decorating, but carving it out instead of adding to it.
I had to put all my weight into cutting a shape at the top of my pumpkin, twisting the stem to pull off the lid. It made a crackling noise, stringing as I pulled it away. “Are you working the Halloween Bash on Saturday?”
“No,” Donnie said, the word so short that I looked up in surprise. There was a crease between his eyes. “I’m going with Phoebe from Calculus. I asked her the first week of October.”
I closed my eyes quickly, because as soon as he’d said all that, I remembered him telling me. Worse, I remembered him gushing about it. About how he’d asked her, about how he’d been so nervous, and how she’d practically jumped up and down when she’d said yes. “I-I knew that.”
But Donnie’s voice soured. “You forgot I asked her? You helped me make a sign and everything, Blaire.”
“I know, I know. It just—it slipped my mind.”
In all honesty, I did have a lot going on lately. Especially that first week of October. The day Donnie asked Phoebe was the day after I received Dad’s letter, mere hours before I broke up with Lucas. I hadn’t even remembered that she said yes, or that he’d even asked.
I was the worst friend in the world.
I used my spoon to separate the clumpy guts from the side of the pumpkin, my fingers quickly going numb from the iciness of them. The seeds slipped between my fingers when I tried to pick them out, mushing with the rest of the innards. “Did you two say what you’re going as?” I asked softly, trying to coax Donnie away from his anger.
His voice came out as a grumble as he hacked into his pumpkin. “We’re going to be salt and pepper shakers.”
I honestly wasn’t surprised. “Are you going to be salt or pepper?”
“Did you know Hailey asked Lucas?”
I focused on keeping my face focused on my pumpkin. One of my shoulders, though, did raise on its own accord. “Asked him what?”
“Blaire. You know what.”
Ugh. The dampness from the ground started to sink into the knees of my jeans, but I ignored it, gripping a ton of guts and slapping them in the bucket, not caring about the stupid seeds. “Fine, I did know, okay? Lucas told me at the corn maze.” I tried, but I couldn’t keep the heavy dose of sarcasm from lacing in my words. “And you know what? Good for them. They were a cute couple, weren’t they? His dark hair practically matches her eyes. Perfect.”
He still watched me closely. “She asked him. He didn’t say yes.”
No, but he said he’d let her know. Basically a maybe. Practically a yes. And after I’d told him to do it the other night, I’d be surprised if they hadn’t gotten together and talked about it already. They probably already planned what they’d wear. Hey, maybe they’d reuse those mermaid costumes.
“I don’t care, Donnie.” I scooped everything out a little more angrily, the rind of the pumpkin vibrating with my movements. “I really don’t. I mean, I was the one who dumped him. I did. I told him I didn’t want to be with him anymore. Good for him if he goes out and finds someone else.”
“Gosh, Blaire, would you stop that?”
I blinked up from my pumpkin, surprised by the sharpness in his voice.
Donnie put down his spoon and placed both hands on the pumpkin, eyes leveling to my own. “You haven’t told me why you broke up with Lucas, which I can’t figure out why you’re keeping it from me, but that doesn’t matter—what matters is that you’re lying. You don’t love Lucas anymore? Tell that to the look on your face every time you see him.”
I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew exactly what he meant. Every time I saw Lucas, it felt like I’d been punched. Left behind.
As Donnie went on, his voice rose in volume—
or maybe that was me hearing the increasing severity in his tone. “You know, if you keep doing this, people are going to stop wanting to be around you. You can’t hurt people and expect them to keep crawling back. This is your chance, Blaire. Tell me what’s going on.”
A dark emotion stirred in my chest, and I gripped the spoon so tightly that it could’ve been a weapon. Tell him the truth? He practically knew it anyway. Was it really hard to connect all those dots? “I’m sorry you’re thrown in the middle of this,” I said to him, voice laced with venom, and I didn’t know where it’d come from. “But you’re seeing what you want to see. Nothing’s going on.”
Donnie drew in a sharp breath, the curved line of his jaw flexing as he clenched it shut. He shoved to his feet. “You’re on a fast track to pushing everyone away, you know. And then you’re going to be alone, and whose fault would that be?”
Donnie stomped up onto his porch and threw open the screen door, leaving me kneeling on the ground by myself. My chest rose and fell rapidly, mostly out of shock than anything else. Donnie and I never fought. Not like that. Not that that constituted as a fight, but we hardly ever raised our voices with each other.
You’re going to be alone, and whose fault would that be?
Eventually it would happen, but not yet, not now.
Except it was happening now. Lucas hadn’t shown up today. Donnie had walked away from me. I was in the cold grass by myself, with nothing but the company of lumpy, orange pumpkins. I bit down on my lower lip, not hard enough to elicit true pain, but hard enough to keep the tears at bay.
Dad had never been any good at pushing people away, so he’d left. I, on the other hand, seemed to be too good at pushing people away, but I could never bring myself to fully pull back from everyone. To be able to leave it all behind.
Being truly alone frightened me too much, but Donnie was right. I was on the fast track to being all by myself.
And instead of reversing off the path, I continued head-first.
I ran my fingers over the flat of my nails, freshly painted its usual dark color and especially smooth, the simple fidget doing little to calm my nerves. Gram never liked it when I had my nails painted for parties—probably because the only color I owned was Midnight Black—but I always painted them in between. It made me feel more put-together, the cool polish on my nails so soothing, grounding.
I went to first period Thursday morning with no espresso, for the first time in a long time. Donnie was punishing me, no doubt, wanting to show me what life would be like if I continued on my path of shoving people away. I didn’t know how to tell him I couldn’t help myself—everything had reached a boiling point and spilled over.
Donnie sat stonily beside me, the assigned seating chart forcing us to still be by each other. That didn’t lessen his cold shoulder, though.
Mr. Miller was going on and on about Halloween, talking about the pep rally tomorrow, about the Boo-Bash on Saturday, but I zoned out, tracing a sentence in Spanish with my pencil. Most of my classes were having a Halloween party in honor of the holiday, asking students to bring snacks or candy. I hadn’t signed up for anything, even though Gram would just die to make Halloween-themed treats. I could see it now—she’d make a cookies-and-cream pudding, with crushed cookies on top looking like dirt and a zombie hand sticking out of it.
Maybe I should’ve asked her to make treats. But I didn’t feel like carting around cookies and pudding and pretending Halloween was so fun. I didn’t want to celebrate.
The costume theme today was Throwback Thursday—wear something from the decades. Donnie had gone with the 80s, wearing a brightly colored jogging suit he’d found at the thrift store, and he’d styled his curly black hair in a way that poofed on top.
He tried his hardest to appear focused on the worksheet in front of him, but I watched as his pencil pretended to scribble, faint gray lines ghosting along paper. I reached over and wrote on the corner of his worksheet, writing in Spanish, lo siento.
I’m sorry.
He wasted no time scrubbing his eraser across where I’d written. Apology not accepted, apparently.
I sat back in my seat, listening to Mr. Miller go on about everything to do with the holiday that I couldn’t wait to get over with. Donnie and I would go back to normal, the parties would start to die down, and Lucas and me…well, there would be no Lucas and me.
Everything would go back to the way it’d been before, except the letter, which still sat unopened at the bottom of my backpack.
You’re going to be alone, and whose fault would that be?
Mine. Completely and totally mine.
Gram had shut herself in the costume room when I got home, and she’d been in there for a good part of the afternoon. She said she wanted to “spend some alone time with her fabric.”
I clearly didn’t get my sanity from her side of the family.
I sat on the living room couch with a notebook folded over in my lap, idly doodling as I listened to the TV. The hum of the voices oddly comforted me in the quietness of the apartment, especially because it filled my thoughts. I didn’t focus on the fact that I had nothing to do. No homework to finish, no friends to text—nothing. So, instead of letting my thoughts get away from me, I doodled. Stupid things. Witch hats, trees with hanging apples, puffy little clouds. Just drew whatever came to me.
“Blaire?” Gram’s voice came sudden, much louder than the voices on the TV, causing me to jump. “Can you run to Mrs. Avery’s house and pick up our pitcher? She found it the other day—the one we were missing? She said she’d have it washed and ready. I’d go, but I’m working on the last alterations on a certain piece.”
I glanced up from my notebook. “Do we need it now?”
“I need it for the Bash, and I want to get all our ducks in a row. Leaving things to the last minute makes me nervous—you know that.” Her eyes fell to the notebook in my lap. “Working on anything fun?”
“Just goofing off.”
Just keeping my mind off how everything sucks.
She hesitated, as if she hated that she was interrupting me. “You could grab the pitcher tomorrow if you wanted. I can see if Mrs. Avery can give it to Lucas—”
“It’s totally fine, Gram,” I said, flipping my notebook closed and pushing to my feet. “Her house isn’t far. I’ll be right back.”
Hallow wasn’t a big town, the Avery house only a few blocks from the apartment. The warmth from the previous few days had vanished, leaving the air a little frosty. The walk gave me ample time to admire the color-changing trees, the fall decorations. I traveled past a few kids raking leaves into a big pile, no doubt to jump in them later. I couldn’t help but smile.
People had gone all out in terms of Halloween setups this year. Spiderwebs hung from trees, ghosts and witches strung up by pieces of string. Someone had even dug up a fake grave in their front yard—at least, I hoped it was a fake grave.
Mom and Dad used to go all out with decorations. Our entire house had been decked out with Halloween adornments, as well as leaves and other fall-themed things. Mom had had an obsession for those little scarecrow dolls and had liked to put them up everywhere. On the fireplace mantel, on the kitchen table—practically any flat surface in the house.
Dad used to always grumble and groan about them, saying they invaded his space, but I think he’d secretly liked them too. I’d never thought to ask.
I could still remember our last Halloween together. We’d spent the hour and a half passing out candy to little kids and then the rest of the night watching movies together. I’d told them it was the lamest thing ever—me being home on Halloween with my parents. I’d wanted to go to the Halloween Bash, hang out with Donnie, flirt with Lucas, but they’d loved the idea of us staying in together more.
I’d never admitted to them that I secretly loved it. Loved cuddling on the couch eating chocolate-covered popcorn, teasing about the quality of the movies. I’d never told either of them how much those moments had meant to me.
&nb
sp; And now it was too late on both counts.
A thought whispered, You could still tell your dad.
I shoved the idea away, quickening my pace down the sidewalk.
The Averys had decorated their house tastefully for the holiday, with a few pumpkins lining the walkway up to their front porch. The pumpkins, instead of being carved, were painted with several shades of blue to spell out their last name.
My pulse jumped a little in my chest as I stepped up onto the porch, ringing for the doorbell.
Mrs. Avery pulled the wide oak door open, and something similar to disappointment bloomed inside me. “Blaire, good to see you,” she greeted with a smile, pushing open the storm door. “I just got off the phone with your grandmother. Come inside, and I’ll get the pitcher. Delia and I made hot cocoa. You have to have some before you go back.”
I puffed on my cold fingers, stepping over the threshold. Heat wrapped around me in a comfortable, warm hug. “That would be amazing, Mrs. Avery. It’s getting colder and colder out there.”
Despite Lucas and I being broken up, it still felt extremely normal to walk into his front entryway like old times. I could almost pretend like nothing had changed.
But as soon as I stepped further into the house, a warm smell hit my nose, like cinnamon and spice and something a little nutty. The smell instantly triggered a memory, almost rendering me immobile over the threshold.
Again, the last Halloween we’d spent together as a family came to my mind, and the only reason the memory stood out in any sort of contrast was because I remembered Dad baking pumpkin seeds. Or, rather, burning pumpkin seeds, as the entire kitchen had had a hazy smoke over it. Dad had been completely unbothered, though, and had assured me that everything he did had a purpose.
“I want them to smell like that,” he’d told me, waving his hand to clear the air. “Once you try them, you’ll see.”
And I remembered Mom, who sat at the kitchen table, merely smiled. “Or you’ll hate them, like me. But the smell—you can’t hate the smell.”
