Bring Me Back

by Micalea Smeltzer

  “So what’d you think?” Casey asks me, plopping on the couch.

  “About what?”

  She shakes her head. “The apartment?”

  “Oh, right. It was perfect.” I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and sit down. “I told him I’d take it.”

  “Good,” Casey chimes. “Things are working out for you, aren’t they?” She’s trying not to show it but I can see the worry in her eyes.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” My face twitches.

  “Honey.” She clucks her tongue in sympathy and takes my hand. “Talk to us.”

  “Yeah, that’s what we’re here for,” Hannah says, carrying over the food while Chloe brings plates.

  I look at my three friends and see they don’t understand. “I don’t want to burden you with my problems,” I explain. “Not when I can’t shoulder yours too.”

  Hannah’s face crumples. “Blaire, that’s what friendship is. Being there for each other no matter what. We understand you’re hurting, we get it, and you can talk to us. Whatever you need to say, we’re here for you.”

  “I just … I don’t want anyone’s sympathy,” I explain. “In the beginning, when Ben died, people were constantly saying I’m sorry and tiptoeing around my feelings, and I know that’s normal, but I don’t need that anymore. I’m not broken glass—I promise I won’t cut you if you step on me. In fact, I think I need to be stepped on.” I hold up my hands. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

  Chloe laughs. “You’re so weird, B.”

  I shrug. “I know.”

  Casey nudges my shoulder with her arm so I’ll look at her. “Since you’re not broken glass,” she winks, “I want to say that you’re not the only one that lost Ben. He was our friend too. Did you think we haven’t mourned him? That we buried him and that was that? Because it wasn’t, Blaire. We all still miss him.” She motions to the three of them. “I know it’s so much worse for you. I’m not denying that, but for so long you acted like no one else was allowed to be sad but you.”

  I wince. She’s right; I know she’s right, but it doesn’t make the words hurt any less.

  I take a deep breath, preparing my thoughts before I speak. “Wow,” I begin, “I … I didn’t know I was like that, but now that you say that, I can see how I was and it wasn’t right. I pushed you guys away. I let my grief override everything else—”

  “Blaire,” she interrupts me with a soft look and shake of her head, “don’t go down that road. Focus on the positive. It’s been almost seven months since he died and you’re more and more like yourself every day. You’re coming back, and much sooner than I thought you would. Grief is a deep dark hole, and some people never climb back out of it. But you’ve always been stronger than you give yourself credit for. You are a fighter. And Blaire?” She waits for me to nod. “You’re my hero.”

  I hug her, holding on tight. “Thank you,” I whisper in her ear.

  She nods against my shoulder as I let go.

  Hannah reaches over, from where she sits on the coffee table and grabs my hand. “We love you and we’re here for you. Never think that you’re alone in this.”

  “Yeah,” Chloe pipes in. “We’re a team.”

  I smile at each of them. “I love you guys.” Chloe and Hannah take turns hugging me. “Look at us,” I say with a laugh, “we’re all a bunch of saps.”

  They laugh too and I smile even bigger. This feels good, being here with them. I’m not shutting myself away anymore. Day by day I’m getting back to normal … Well, not normal, but a new normal.

  Life will never be the same after losing Ben, I accept that, but I believe now that in time everything will be okay. Maybe even better than okay.

  My phone rings beside me on the couch, flashing Ryder’s name on the screen. I stare at in confusion, wondering why he’s calling me.

  “You gonna answer that, Kid, or look at it all day?”

  I look up from the phone to my dad. He turns down the volume on the TV and nods at my phone, urging me to answer.

  I sigh and answer, “Hello?”

  “Hey, Blaire, it’s Ryder.”

  “I know.”

  “Oh, right. Of course,” he says awkwardly. “Anyway, I wanted to call you to see if you wanted to come over for the Fourth of July? I’m having a cookout. My parents are coming over, a few friends, and some of the people from Group. Ivy will be there,” he adds, knowing I talk to her frequently. When I don’t say anything immediately he continues, “I know it’s super last minute and I promise my feelings won’t be hurt if you say no. And your parents can come too if they want.” He’s rambling now, and I find it endearing.

  “Sure,” I say. “Sounds fun.”

  He breathes out a sigh of relief. “Really?”

  I laugh. “Yeah.”

  “Okay, see you tomorrow then. It starts at two o’ clock.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Great, bye.”

  “Bye.”

  I hang up the phone and plop it in my lap.

  My dad gives me a knowing look. “You’re grinning, Kid.”

  “Stop it,” I say, turning my head away so he can’t see my smile.

  “Someone’s got a crush.”

  “Dad,” I cry, and hit his arm lightly.

  “It’s true.” He chuckles.

  I shake my head. “He invited me to his house tomorrow for a Fourth of July party. He said you and mom could come too.”

  “Oh, we’re going,” my mom calls from the kitchen. I think she’s baking cookies. The woman is always up to something in the kitchen.

  My dad chuckles. “Looks like we’re going, Kid.”

  “Yeah, only because Mom wants to spy on me,” I joke, smiling at her over my shoulder.

  She winks and stirs some sort of batter.

  “I better figure out what I’m going to wear,” I mumble, spreading my fingers over my belly. My stomach is now large enough that there’s no hiding the fact that I’m pregnant.

  I hop up from the couch and start up the stairs. I hear my mom say to my dad, “She’s doing good. So much better. She smiles all the time now.”

  My dad grunts in response.

  My heart clenches for my mom, though. When I think of my daughter, and her going through something like this, it breaks my heart. I understand now that this has been difficult for my mom—worse than she’s let on. I know there’s no way I can ever thank her enough for the last seven months, but I hope somehow, someway, I can show her that it’s meant the world to me.

  “Stop fidgeting,” my mom scolds as we walk up to Ryder’s front door. “You look nice,” she adds in a softer tone. “You don’t need to worry.” She smiles up at me, tightening her hold on the bowl of macaroni salad she holds.

  I ring the doorbell and wait. My nerves are all over the place. Coming here, to Ryder’s party where his parents and friends are in attendance, feels pretty personal. Then again, I guess kissing the guy is pretty personal too.

  The door swings open and an older gentleman stands there. He’s tall, with salt and pepper hair, and kind brown eyes. I know instantly that he’s Ryder’s dad; the resemblance is uncanny.

  “You must be Blaire,” he says to me, pulling me into an immediate hug.

  “Oh, uh, hi,” I mumble, hugging him back.

  “I’m sorry.” He releases me. “It’s just that I feel like I know you. Ryder’s told us so much about you.”

  “Oh, of course. It’s okay,” I say awkwardly. It appears that even at twenty-seven years old, I still haven’t learned how to handle uncomfortable situations. “These are my parents: Maureen and Dan.”

  “Hi,” Ryder’s dad says and shakes each of their hands. “I’m Kenneth. Most everyone’s in the back. I’ll show you guys the way.”

  He gestures with his hand and we follow him down the hall and out the back door.

  There’s a small deck that leads out into a fenced-in yard. The grass is green and well taken care of with a few trees. A few tables and chairs are set up
for people to sit at. There’s a game of horseshoes going on—a few guys standing around with beers partaking with that while I assume their wives or girlfriends watch. Ryder’s standing with them, laughing at something. I study the side of his face. The elegant slope of his chiseled cheekbones and the slight crinkles by his eyes from laughing so much. His skin was always darker in tone, but the summer sun has deepened it even further to a russet color.

  He must feel me staring because he turns slightly away from the guy he’s speaking to and looks toward the deck where I stand.

  Our eyes connect and I feel butterflies fill my stomach. A part of me wants to believe that what I feel is simply the baby moving, but no, those are definitely butterflies.

  He excuses himself from the guy he’s speaking to and starts towards me.

  I laugh when Cole jumps from the lap of a woman—whom I’m assuming is Ryder’s mom—and bounds into Ryder’s legs. Ryder scoops up the little boy, not missing a beat, and taps him on his nose. He smiles at his son with so much love that I can’t help but think of the feeling I’ll have with my own daughter.

  “Hey,” Ryder says, bounding up the steps. “I was worried you wouldn’t show.”

  I start to answer him, but my mom beats me to it.

  “We would’ve been here on time if this one hadn’t changed her outfit five times.” She bumps my arm with hers.

  “Mom,” I hiss.

  Ryder laughs. “Trying to impress me?”

  My dad clears his throat. “The only person here who needs to be impressed is me.” He gives Ryder the look. The dreaded look that every father gives his daughter’s potential boyfriend.

  Ryder chuckles. “I understand, sir.”

  I look to the heavens. Have I been transported back in time? Am I seventeen again and this is the prom debacle with Joey Stevenson? Because it sure as hell feels like it—although, that involved my dad polishing his shotgun in the dining room and saying, “I’m watching.” Suffice to say, I was certainly still a virgin after that particular night.

  “I’m hungry,” I say, and clap my hands together, trying to divert the attention.

  “Food’s this way.” Ryder nods, and I gladly join him, leaving behind my parents.

  “I’m so sorry about that,” I say to Ryder once we’re out of earshot.

  He laughs. “It’s okay. I find it entertaining. I feel like I’m seventeen again.”

  I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Oh good, so I’m not the only one who feels like they’ve been transported back in time?”

  He shakes his head and his dark hair falls into his eyes. “No, definitely not.” He adjusts his hold on Cole and points. “Plates, utensils, and napkins are all right there, and the food’s obviously there. Take as much as you want. We have more burgers and hot dogs to grill.”

  I grab a plate and immediately start making a burger. I’d asked about the food as a distraction, but now that I was in front of it I was hungry.

  We weren’t alone for long when my mom wandered over to the table to set down the macaroni salad she made.

  “So, Ryder,” she began, “what is it you do exactly?”

  “I’m a teacher,” he answers.

  My mom looks to me. “Wow, that’s nice. How long have you lived here?”

  “In this area?”

  “Yeah.” She crosses her arms over her chest. I quickly look away and continue adding food to my plate. I know nothing I do or say is going to stop the inquisition.

  Ryder’s brow furrows as he thinks. “Six years.”

  “Where are you originally from?”

  He chuckles and sets Cole down when the boy begins to wiggle too much. I watch Cole run off to his grandma. She swoops him up into her lap.

  “Bethesda,” he answers.

  “Hmm,” my mom hums, “well-rounded. Why’d you move out here? This is practically the country to you.”

  “I like the quiet.”

  “Have you ever killed anyone?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose at her newest question and balance my plate in the other hand. I haven’t even been here thirty minutes and I can already feel a headache coming on.

  “No, ma’am, I haven’t.” Ryder bites his lip to keep from laughing.

  My mom shrugs and announces, “I’m done. He’s a keeper,” and walks off.

  I stare after her, horrified. Ryder clutches his stomach as the laughter overtakes him. Cole sees him laughing and joins in with his own over-exaggerated laughter.

  “I love your parents,” Ryder says when he can speak; there are tears of laughter on his cheeks.

  “Good,” I say, moving to an empty table. “You can adopt them then.”

  Ryder clucks his tongue and follows me. “I don’t think it works like that.” He pulls out a chair when I set my plate on the table. I take the seat and he sits down beside me.

  “I’m so embarrassed,” I mumble, picking up a chip and crunching on the end of it.

  He laughs. “That’s our parents’ job. I’m sure my dad probably said something to you I would’ve rather he didn’t.” I shrug. I can’t argue with him there. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. Is it moving too fast if I say I missed you?” he asks, looking at me beneath his thick dark lashes. I feel my throat catch and I shake my head. I missed him too but I don’t say the words out loud. “So, I was thinking,” he says. “I’m taking Cole to the pool tomorrow. You should come.”

  I twist my lips in thought. “I don’t know …”

  “Just as friends,” he assures me. “We can talk about the weather.” He laughs. “But I think we’d both have fun and Cole likes you.”

  “Cole barely knows me,” I counter.

  “Okay, so Cole likes everybody, but it’ll still be fun.”

  I find myself nodding. “Okay, sure,” I say and take a bite of my burger. I then point to my belly. “Just don’t expect to see me getting into a skimpy bikini.”

  Ryder laughs. “You can wear whatever the hell you want. I don’t care as long as you’re there.” There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, like he fears he’s revealed too much.

  I look at him and I see the promise of a future full of laughter and happiness. He’s everything I ever wanted before I met Ben. But I did meet Ben. I lived and I loved Ben, and I also lost him. I’m scared I’ll lose Ryder too—but where I did fear losing him to death, I now fear losing him to my own inability to move on. I know he won’t wait forever for me, but I still don’t know how long it’ll really take for me to be ready to take that next step with him or anyone for that matter.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks me.

  “N-Nothing,” I stutter and drop my gaze from his face to the plate.

  He chuckles and reaches over the tap my forehead. “Really? Because those creases suggest otherwise.”

  I shrug. “Just the future.”

  “You look worried,” he comments.

  I bite my lip. “There are a lot of changes coming and …” I pause, searching for the right words. “I’m not sure I’m changing with them.”

  He shakes his head. “Blaire, if you could see how much you’ve changed since I first met you, you wouldn’t be saying that. You’ve done remarkably well given your circumstances. I don’t know many people that wouldn’t have cracked under the pressure.”

  “I’m pretty sure I did.” I try to laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound.

  “You didn’t, trust me. You’re one of the most resilient people I’ve ever met, and I admire that about you. Remember, we all grieve differently and we all heal differently. No two stories are ever the same.” He pauses and inhales a breath. “You were so sad when I first met you. There was no light in your eyes. You didn’t smile or laugh. You were simply on auto-pilot, like most people who are grieving. But you didn’t stay that way. Yes, it’s taken months for you to get to this point and it’ll take more months for you to get to a different point, but you’re doing it and that’s what matters. You’re not letting grief beat you, you’re
beating it.”

  I stare at him for one second, two, three, and then I burst out laughing, clutching my stomach. “You sound like a drug coach or an AA advisor or something.” I laugh so hard tears fall from my eyes.

  Ryder begins to laugh too. “Oh, shit, you’re right.” We both dissolve into a fit of laughter. I bury my face in my hands, trying to stifle the sound. “I really need to work on my speeches,” he chortles.

  When I’m no longer dissolving into a fit of giggles, I say, “I understand what you’re saying.”

  He sobers. “And I also should add that I’m not saying that one day you’ll wake up and forget him. That the pain will cease to exist, but in my own personal experience it does dull—but there are times where I wake up and it’s like there’s this crushing weight on my chest and it kills me that I’ll never see Angela smile again or hear her laugh.”

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “That’s what bothers me the most,” I agree. I look away and inhale a breath. I let it out slowly and with it I exhale all my sadness—at least, that’s what I tell myself. I refuse to think about the fact that today should’ve been my first Fourth of July as Ben’s wife.

  Some of the guys shout Ryder’s name and he cringes. “They’re starting another game and want me to join.”

  “I’m okay here,” I assure him. “Go,” I urge. He looks torn. “I’m okay,” I say again. “No tears and no breakdowns from me, I promise.”

  He laughs and taps his hand against the table. “Okay, but I’ll be back, and we’re not talking about Angela or Ben anymore. Instead, we’re just Blaire and Ryder—a guy and a girl enjoying the Fourth with friends and family.”

  I nod my head in agreement as he leaves. He’s gone no more than thirty seconds until my mom slides into his empty chair. “So what was that about?” she asks, looking back at him where he stands with his friends. “It looked serious. Are you okay?” She brushes my hair away from my forehead like she used to when I was a little girl and she was trying to comfort me.

  “He was just giving me a pep talk,” I explain.

  She starts to speak, but someone says, “Hey,” behind us. I turn and find Ivy heading toward us.