We walk past the food court on our way to the store and I hear someone call out, “Blaire?” I ignore it and keep going. There are plenty of other Blaire’s in the world besides me, so it doesn’t even faze me. “Blaire?” they call again, closer this time. “Blaire?” This time I recognize the voice, even above the cacophony of the mall.
I stop dead in my tracks and my parents keep walking. They stop and turn around when they realize I’m not with them. My head swivels from side to side, and finally, I see Ryder hurrying toward me, wrangling an uncooperative Cole.
“Blaire,” he calls in relief this time when he sees that I’ve stopped. It looks like he’s just run out of Chick-fil-A in the middle of placing his order. He scoops Cole into his arms and holds on tight to the wiggling boy. “We’ll get your chicken nuggets in a minute,” he tells him when Cole begins to cry. He stops in front of me, and motions to a table with the flick of his head. “Can we sit down and talk for a minute?” he asks.
“Um … I … I’m here with my parents.” I point over my shoulder in their general direction.
My mom comes forward and asks, “Who’s this?”
Before I can answer, Ryder holds out his free hand. “Ryder, ma’am. Nice to meet you.”
“Mhm,” she hums, looking him over and giving me side-eye. She clearly wants to know what’s up here.
“He’s the leader of Group, Mom,” I say, deflating her love bubble she’s created. She’s probably already planned my wedding to Ryder and named our children.
“Oh,” she mutters, crestfallen.
I sigh and look back at Ryder. “I only have a minute.” To my parents I say, “You guys go on without me. I’ll find you in a bit.”
My dad takes my mom by the elbow and drags her away, because there’s no way she’s going on her own.
I take a seat, the legs of the chair squeaking loudly across the gray tile. Ryder sits too and plops Cole in his lap. He promptly hands Cole his phone and the little boy becomes occupied pressing buttons.
“I wanted to talk to you about yesterday,” Ryder begins, then clears his throat and looks away awkwardly.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say and go to get up.
“Wait,” he cries, and I stop. “This is so much more awkward than I imagined.” He glances up at the glass ceiling. “Yesterday, I think … I think we had a moment, or maybe more than one moment.” He shakes his head and his dark hair brushes against his forehead. On most men it would look like a shaggy mess, but on Ryder it just works. “I don’t really know what happened.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “But I think you felt it too, and that’s why you left.” I look away. He’s right, so I don’t refute what he says. He continues when it becomes obvious I’m not going to say anything, “But I wanted you to know that I would never act on anything. I know you’re still getting over Ben and despite what I think we might feel for each other, it’s too soon for you, and that’s okay. Please don’t stop coming to Group because of me, though. It can really help you and I promise to leave you alone.”
“I don’t want you to leave me alone.” My voice is soft when I speak and I look down at the table. I don’t miss the flash of his pearly white teeth, though. I force myself to look up. “But you’re right, I’m not ready for anything between us.” I motion from me to him, like that’s somehow necessary for him to understand what I’m saying.
He nods. “I can live with that. I’m glad I ran into you, Blaire. I wanted to call you, but I didn’t think you’d answer.”
“I probably wouldn’t have,” I admit.
He grins and stands. “I better go feed this monster.” He tickles Cole’s stomach, and the boy giggles.
We say our goodbyes and I watch him head back into Chick-Fil-A with Cole. He looks back at me once he’s in line, and I quickly avert my gaze, walking in the direction my dad pulled my mom.
I end up finding them sitting on a couch in one of the sitting areas in the mall. When they see me, they stand and head toward me.
“He was cute,” my mom cries, grabbing onto my arm.
“He’s okay, I guess.” I shrug.
“Are you kidding me?” she asks. “He’s a looker.” She then proceeds to glance behind us like he might be there. “Is he married?”
“His wife is gone,” I tell her, heading toward the furniture store. “Can we let this conversation drop?” I say it rather rudely and hurt flashes in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I say quickly.
Her eyes widen and her mouth parts in surprise. “You like him, don’t you?”
“I’m not allowed to like him,” I counter.
Her brows furrow. “Why? Because of Ben?”
“It’s wrong to like someone so soon after he’s gone,” I argue.
“I don’t think so.” She shakes her head. “With Ben, once you guys started hanging out, how long was it before you knew you liked him?”
I look away and my dark hair falls forward to frame my face. “Pretty immediate,” I admit.
“Exactly.” She snaps her fingers together. “I’m not saying you’re in love with the guy, but it’s okay that you like him. Normal even.”
I look at the floor and sigh. Her words make sense but I still feel conflicted. It doesn’t feel right to think that I might one day move on from Ben and love someone else. He was my everything, it doesn’t seem possible that someone else might take on that role someday.
I say no more and head inside the store. It’s an explosion of everything baby. Most of the bedding items are done in pale shades of yellows, greens, blues, pinks, and purples, but I do see the occasional brighter pop of color. I gravitate toward a white crib with tufted gray fabric on the side. It’s soft and pretty, but definitely on the feminine side. I then move over to a bassinet with a ruffled white skirt. I run my fingers over the soft fabric of the bedding and smile, imagining a wiggling baby inside.
“Do you think it’s a boy or girl?” I ask my parents.
“No clue, Kid, but you’ve got a fifty-fifty shot,” my dad jokes.
My mom smiles and shrugs. “I don’t have any guesses yet. Are you going to be surprised or find out the sex?” she asks.
I shrug and move over to another crib, this one black and more modern in style. “I don’t know,” I answer. “I haven’t really thought about it, but I’ll probably find out. I’ll want to decorate the room accordingly.”
“I figured.” She laughs. “Sometimes I think you should’ve been an interior designer instead of an event planner.”
“I would’ve loved it,” I agree. “But I love my job now too, so …” I trail off and pick up a stuffed duck. I set the duck down and take a seat in one of the many gliders. “Oh,” I say, putting my feet up on the ottoman, “this is nice. I could take a nap here.”
My dad laughs. “Me too, Kid. Maybe I’ll find one of my own.”
“Dan—” my mom grabs his arm before he can move away “—if you fall asleep in the store I’m leaving your ass here.”
My dad turns to me. “Marriage summed up in one sentence.”
I laugh and stand. “This is cute for a boy,” I say, pointing to a navy and white bedding set with pops of orange. It’s decorated with cute little giraffes.
“Do you have a theme in mind?” my mom asks.
“Not yet. This is nice too.” I point at a gender-neutral option in shades of beige and gray. “Ooh, and this.” I pick up a pale pink set with little gray stars. Tears well in my eyes, and I inhale a deep breath. “I wish Ben was here.”
“I know,” my mom says, resting her hand on my shoulder. “We all do.”
And then I turn to my left and Ben is here. Not in the physical sense, of course, but he’s here. I move toward the crib, my tears falling freely now as I gaze at the mobile above it. Paper cranes.
I reach up and touch one of the folded white birds. “I want this,” I say. “I’m getting it.” I look around hastily for someone to come help me, like as if someone’s going to snatch the mobile down from the ceiling and run a
way with it.
When my eyes meet my mom’s I see that she has tears in her eyes too. “It’s perfect,” she breathes. “I think you found your nursery theme.”
A clerk must see my desperation because one soon appears. “I want this,” I tell her, pointing at the mobile. I don’t ask her how much it costs or anything like that. It doesn’t matter to me. I have to have it.
“Of course.” She smiles. “Let me check in the back for that. The last time I looked there was only one left and it’s being retired so we won’t get any more.”
“I’ll take the display if I have to,” I tell her, desperation lacing my tone.
She winces. “I’m sorry, we’re not allowed to sell displays. Let me go look in the back, though.” She all but runs away from me before I can grab her arm and beg and plead for the mobile.
I look to my mom with panic in my eyes. “Mom—” I begin.
“Don’t worry about it,” she tells me, holding up a hand. “We’ll figure something out.” She’s already on her phone, probably Googling paper crane mobiles.
I want this one, though. With the different colored paper cranes—white, cream, and gray—and waterfall style it’s beautiful and I want it to be mine. It feels like a sign it, being here. I haven’t found a note from Ben in a while, and I feel like he guided me to this because he knew I needed him.
Before I can have a full-blown panic attack the clerk returns with a large cardboard box. “It’s still here,” she cries with joy. She was probably afraid I’d hit her or something if they didn’t have it.
I take the box from her and hug it to my chest like it’s a person. I feel a single tear wet the box.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “You have no idea how much this means to me. No idea,” I repeat.
She looks from me to my parents and there seems to be some sort of understanding passed through all of us.
“Come on, let’s get you checked out.” She smiles and leads me over to the register. “If you like the paper crane theme,” she begins, “I can look around and see if we can find some bedding for you.” she suggests.
I nod eagerly. “That’d be amazing. Thank you.”
She rings up the mobile and I hand over my card.
“Do you want it in a bag?” she asks, giving me back my credit card.
“If you have one big enough,” I say. “It’s no trouble if you don’t.”
“There should be some right here.” She clucks her tongue as she searches. “Aha, here you go.” She stands up from behind the counter with a large bag and slips it over the box. “I’m Stephanie, ask for me if you come back.”
“I will.” I take my bag and meet my parents at the front of the store. They start to head back the way we came, presumably to leave, but I point in the opposite direction. “Why don’t we look around for a little while?”
They both stare at me in surprise and then my mom breaks out into a grin. “Of course, you lead the way.”
There’s a clothing store I love in the mall, but I haven’t been there in months. I head inside and straight to a jean jacket with fraying edges. “Ooh, I like this,” I say more to myself than them.
I see them exchange a look, but I ignore it. I know I haven’t been this exuberant about anything in months. I pick up a few shirts in a larger size—preparing for the belly I’ll soon have, and get some dresses since summer will be here in no time and all the good stuff gets picked over.
“We can go home now,” I announce when I’m done.
“Maybe we should go out to eat?” my mom suggests. “Get some lunch?”
I have to laugh to myself. Her main concern is always whether or not I’m eating. “Sure,” I say.
They both look surprised that I agreed so quickly.
“Where would you like to eat?” she asks me. “Any preferences.”
“Um … Red Lobster?” I ask. “I could really go for some biscuits right about now.”
My mom nods eagerly. “That sounds like a great idea.”
“Cool,” I say for lack of anything else to say.
We head toward the exit and I don’t look for Ryder as we go. I definitely don’t, so why am I disappointed when I don’t see him?
Spring was officially in bloom as we reached the end of April. Flowers began to blossom, and the weather turned from chilly to warm. I no longer had to wear a jacket and could get by with a thin sweater and sometimes even a t-shirt depending on the day. May was fast approaching and it marked four months since Ben had been gone. Four whole months since he held me in his arms and whispered I love you.
“What are you doing, Kid?” my dad asks when he steps into the kitchen. I can’t blame him for his question—it’s two AM and I’m baking a cake.
“I couldn’t sleep.” I blow out a breath and a piece of hair goes flying with it.
“So you decided to bake a cake?” he asks, his slippers shuffling across the floor. “Makes sense.” He shrugs and takes a seat on a barstool. “Your mom won’t let me eat cake anymore, but you’ll slip your old man a piece, right?”
“Of course.” I laugh lightly and stir the batter.
“You have some kind of powder on your nose,” he tells me. I rub it away, but I think I actually just smear it more. “Got a lot on your mind?” he prompts, playing with the pepper shaker.
“I guess you could say that.” I stir the batter like I’m trying to beat it into submission.
“Talk to me, Kid.” He looks up at me from beneath his fuzzy eyebrows. “I only seem to find you in the kitchen at the ass crack of dawn when you really need to talk,” he continues. “So talk.”
I set the bowl down with the batter and stick my hands on my hips. “It’s going to have been four months, dad. Four months without Ben. It feels like an eternity.” I put my hand over the slight roundness of my stomach. “I keep thinking about all the things he’s going to miss out on.”
“No, Kid.” He shakes his head rapidly. “Don’t focus on that. Instead, think about all the things he did get to do.”
“You don’t understand,” I mumble. “He won’t be here to see our child grow up. When they learn to walk and talk. Birthdays. Christmases. He’ll always be missing. I want this baby to love him the way he deserves to be loved, but you can’t love a ghost,” I whisper and look away, overcome with emotion.
“Blaire,” my dad says, his voice full of sadness. He gets up and comes around to hold me. I hold onto his robe and cry into his chest.
“I’m in love with a ghost, dad,” I whimper. “He’s never coming back, but I can’t let go.”
“B,” he says softly, worry clouding his voice, “you don’t have to let go. Moving on is different than letting go.”
“I miss him s-so much,” I sob, my words disjointed. I feel like I’ve said those words a million times but they’re not any less true now. I do miss him. All the time. Every minute. Every hour. Some part of me is always thinking of him.
“Sit here.” My dad guides me to a chair at the kitchen table. “I’ll be right back,” he says, holding his hands out in front of him. My knee bounces restlessly as I wait for him to return. When he does, he has something small clasped in his hands. “I found this a few weeks ago in the closet and I held onto it until you needed it. I haven’t read it, I promise.” He opens his hands, revealing the paper crane.
My breath catches in my throat. I haven’t found one in so long. So long. That I began to think there were no more. I take it gingerly from his hand and hold it in my palms.
My dad bends and kisses my forehead before leaving me alone with the paper crane.
I sit it on the table, just staring at it. A part of me doesn’t want to open it. What if it’s the last one? But I know I could never not open it.
I take my time unfolding the carefully-constructed origami bird.
I close my eyes when I see the thin black lines that form the words he wrote. I’m not ready to look yet. I need a moment.
I inhale a deep breath and exhale slowly.
; When I open my eyes, his messy handwriting appears before me.
When you’re feeling down, just look to the sky and be thankful that you’re alive. We all have bad days, but we should never let them make us forget how great it is to live. On those days where it feels like you can’t keep your head up do something nice for someone else. It’ll make you feel better. Trust me. Especially if that someone is me and your ‘something nice’ includes blowjobs.
—Ben
I can’t help it, I laugh. That’s my Ben. Sweet and romantic one second a complete wise ass the next.
I fold the note back up so that it’s a paper crane once more.
“Thanks, Ben,” I say out loud. “I needed that, and I know exactly what to do.”
I walk into Group with my shoulders back and my chin held high. I’m armed with sheets of paper and sharpies. There are a few people already there when I step into the gym, but I’m early so it still gives me a chance to speak with Ryder. He looks up when I walk into the room, his eyes instantly drawn to me. I’m not sure he even notices but his lips lift into a crooked smile and his eyes sparkle. I walk up to him and he excuses himself from speaking to Amy.
“What’s that you’ve got there?” He points at the sheets of paper I clasp to my chest and the markers in my other hand.
“My something nice,” I say with a shrug. His brows furrow in confusion. “It’s my way of healing,” I whisper softly. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to explain to everyone and see if they’d like to help.”
“Of course.” He smiles widely. “But you’re not going to tell me first?”
I shake my head. “Where’s the fun in that?”
He laughs at my pathetic attempt at a joke. “Okay,” he agrees, “the floor is yours when you want.”
Bring Me Back Page 16
