by Mary Whitney
It’s the same, I thought.
I was going to close the door, but I had an urge to see more. I was curious. Had anything changed? As I opened the door wide open, I saw that nothing was different: the same sheets, the same posters, and the same stuffed animals. Dad hadn’t touched a thing.
Even the brush that she’d accidentally left here in May was still sitting on the desk. I went over and picked it up. It still had some of her light brown hair in it. I touched the strands with my thumb. Lauren’s hair. Lauren’s hair was here. And like everything else about her death, there was no one for me to share it with, so I said aloud to myself, “But she’s not here anymore.”
More than anything in the world, I wanted her with me right in this room. I wanted to tell her everything that had happened in the last few months. I wanted to hear about her. I simply wanted to be with her again. The tears began.
When I heard someone walking down the hall, I turned around and saw Dad standing in the doorway. His face was composed, but his voice broke. “I’m really sorry, Nicki.” He took a moment, and his voice become clearer. “I should have warned you that the room was like this.”
Still crying, I whispered, “It’s okay. I didn’t even think about it until now.”
Dad walked over to me and put his hands on my shoulders. He looked around the room, saying, “Michelle suggested I not do anything without talking with you first. I know that your grandmother took things upon herself to redo Lauren’s room in the other house. I’m happy to do whatever with this room as you like, and I mean that. You can leave everything like it is, or I can make it into a room for you, or we can pack everything up and turn it into another guestroom.”
I had no idea what to say. Michelle had thought about this? Dad’s annoying mistress/girlfriend/whatever she was? I tried to talk, but my tight throat wouldn’t allow it. So I whispered, “I don’t know. We can talk about it later.” With the back of my hand, I wiped the tears off my face.
Dad squeezed my shoulders two times and left. I felt trapped. Should I stay in her room for a while, or should I skulk away? I decided I couldn’t deal with anything right then. So after I laid the brush back down on the desk, I wanted to leave, but when I got to the doorway I was stuck. What was I supposed to do now? It felt mean to shut the door but strange to have it open. I decided shutting it would be easier.
The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed when I couldn’t tolerate the sun in my eyes any longer. Dad had been clomping around the house for the last two hours, so it wasn’t like I was getting any sleep. I was just avoiding getting up. I’d thought this trip might suck, but not this much. When I made it downstairs after a shower, it was nine.
Dad smiled at me. “Don’t feel bad for sleeping late. I’m just a little jealous.”
Late? It was nine on a Saturday—that was early. I mumbled, “Sorry,” and got a glass of water.
“So, I don’t have any plans for the day, but Michelle wanted to see you again. She’s coming over for dinner.”
Great. Michelle—Dad’s gorgeous girlfriend who may or may not have been the one he’d had an affair with. I tried not to think about it because my parents’ sex lives were not something I wanted to concentrate on. From the way Mom always bristled at Michelle’s name, though, I thought it was safe to say Michelle was the other woman.
Dad deserved a typical teenage response for springing this one on me, so I said, “Okay,” while I searched for some cereal.
We spent the morning at the grocery store and Home Depot because that’s where Dad spent every Saturday morning. His house was old, and he liked tinkering with it. Only in the afternoon did I find some time to myself. Rather than reading like I should have been doing, though, I decided to venture into Lauren’s room again.
Closing the door behind me, I admired the different colors of blue, which looked pretty with the afternoon light. It looked like there were thirty blues rather than just four. I sat down on the bed and sighed. So far so good, I thought. I moved toward the top of the bed and leaned against the pillows and headboard. My eyes studied the room as I tried to remember Lauren as I’d always seen her in there, hanging something up in the closet, shoving the bottom dresser drawer closed, talking on the phone, or writing at her desk.
I’d always had too good of an imagination. Even the everyday memories of her were too vivid. I closed my eyes in pain. I wish you were here, Lauren. Oh, how I wish you were here.
In July, some unthinking neighbor at home had given Mom a book on the stages of grief. She’d accepted it with a smile and a “Thank you,” but closed the door and immediately threw it on the bottom shelf of a rarely used bookcase. I was curious, so I’d dug it out and skimmed the book. I didn’t understand some of the stages at all.
The first one was supposed to be denial, but I had never been in denial about Lauren’s death. All of my medical problems, plus Mom’s, made denial pretty impossible. There was no refuting there had been an accident.
I had also never been in the angry stage. I must have skipped it. With Dad always saying he wanted to kill the driver, even though he was already dead, Dad was angry enough for the entire family.
As for bargaining with God for Lauren to live again, well, I never did that. I mean, she was great, but she wasn’t the Second Coming. I wasn’t banking on miracles.
The other two stages were depression and acceptance, and I was stuck somewhere between the two of those. I’d accepted Lauren had died, but I wasn’t over being sad. Was there even a way out of despair when missing someone was so painful? Where was the stage of simply missing someone so much that it hurt to breathe? And how long would that stage take?
Because right then, it seemed like it would never end. I had no memory of a life without Lauren, so a future without Lauren seemed bleak. My heart crumpled again, and I began to cry, but not my usual controlled tears. I was sobbing. When I realized I must be loud, I didn’t care; I just put Lauren’s pillow over my head.
I woke up when someone sat on the bed. After I saw it was Michelle, I was totally out of sorts. She was the last person I’d expected to wake up to. Why was she here? Why did I fall asleep?
I got up on my elbows. “Hi. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
She smiled kindly, which only made her prettier as her white teeth contrasted with her black hair. “It’s okay. I just wanted to say hi.”
“Okay. How are you?”
“Good. Did your father tell you about the room?”
“Yeah, that’s really nice of you to think of me like that.”
“Not at all.” She waited a moment and then asked, “Did you know my mom died when I was in high school? I was an only child, and she’d meant the world to me.”
Not expecting a conversation like this with Michelle, I just shook my head and fumbled for something to say. “Um. I’m sorry. That must have sucked.” Ouch. That sounded terrible.
“Yeah, I would say it sucked,” she said with a snicker. “It still sucks.”
“Sorry, Michelle. That came out wrong.”
“No. It’s not a problem. I just wanted you to know, and not because I think I know what you’re going through, because I don’t. I don’t know what it’s like to be sixteen and to almost die and to lose your sister—not to mention have your mom almost die, too. I just wanted to tell you that in my experience it does get easier, but it takes a long, long time. So that’s why I told your father to let you keep the room however you like.”
I nodded, but I could feel my face contort again. I couldn’t believe I was going to cry in front of Michelle, but I was. I couldn’t control it. I was such a mess. She was talking to me in a way that no one else had. She reached over and gave me a big hug.
I looked up over her shoulder and thought that Lauren would find the scene very funny—me bawling on her bed while hugging Michelle, of all people. The thought made me smile, which let me compose myself enough so I could get out of the situation.
Pulling away, I dried my tears wit
h my shirt. “Thanks, Michelle. That means a lot to me.” That was about all the emotion I could handle for the day, so I followed it up quickly with “What are we having for dinner?”
Chapter 9
ON MONDAY MORNING, Adam was at his locker alone. He gave me a pretty cheery greeting, asking about my trip.
I kept it short and light, wanting to get into class before Meredith descended upon us, but he asked, “So what are you doing for Halloween? It’s this Saturday, yes?”
And then Meredith walked up and said, “Hi,” before giving us both a suspicious glare. Adam stiffened immediately.
I’m outta here, I thought, but I answered Adam before I left. “I’m laying low. See you later.”
Halloween was Lauren’s birthday, and she’d loved the fact that her birthday was a holiday where the only goal was to have a good time. Ever since I could remember, we’d always had a big open house that was an event for Lauren in addition to being a Halloween party. Our friends and their parents would come and hang out and use our house as a pit stop for trick-or-treating.
But this year, I had spent the last month doing my best to ignore everything Halloween-related around me. It was hard. A few weeks ago, Mom had announced that we should go to a movie together. I knew she’d want to do it on the thirty-first, and I was right. We didn’t need to have a conversation about it. We both knew the holiday should be avoided.
When I sat down in English late in the day, Adam spoke to me as if there hadn’t been a five-hour gap in our conversation. “So what does ‘laying low’ mean for Halloween? Remember, I don’t know much about what you Yanks do, but it sounds like a good time.”
“I’m going to a movie with my mom,” I said with a shrug.
“Really?” His looked at me with disbelief. “You’re joking, right?”
I raised my eyebrows and smiled a little smugly. “Nope.”
“I thought you might be going to Lance’s party.”
My stomach twisted. “No. Not this time.”
“Do you and your mum go out often?”
I took a breath. I was tired of the continual questions that led nowhere with this guy.
“No, we don’t,” I snapped. “I’m going because Halloween is my sister’s birthday, and I can’t stand the idea of celebrating it this year. Does that answer your question?”
Shock spread over his face. Got him. He was silent for a moment before saying, “Nicki, I had no idea. I’m sorry for prying. It was very rude.”
I was so irritated, but I also didn’t want to make a bigger deal out of it than I already had. “Apology accepted,” I said and turned away from him. I looked at Lisa because she must have been listening. She was more than listening, though; she was glaring at Adam. My eyes flicked over to the side for a second to see what he was doing. He never looked up from his book. After class, he skipped going to his locker, so I didn’t see him again.
Whenever he was at the lockers the rest of the week, any conversation was very superficial. I also noticed about mid-week that Meredith was never around anymore. When I mentioned it to Lisa, she gave me a disapproving look and said, “Not your business, Nicki.”
I smirked and rolled my eyes at her. “It was just an observation.”
“Okay. I’ll play,” she said with a giggle. “Maybe the stress of the football season is getting to her.”
For all the dread that I’d felt about Halloween, the actual night wasn’t that bad. Probably because I had been preparing for the worst for so long, I was okay. Mom wanted to eat dinner early before we went to the movie, which meant that we were gone for hours from the house. By the time we came home, Halloween was over in the neighborhood.
Late that night, though, I was in my bathroom when the door to Lauren’s room caught my eye. After having been in her room at Dad’s, surely I could walk in there now. Would it have the same effect on me? Mom was already in her room, so I could go in there without freaking her out. I didn’t think she’d like seeing me in there. She certainly never went in.
When I turned the doorknob, the door was stuck from the new paint job; no one had visited the room since it had been redone. There was a loud crack when I opened it, and the room was dark with the shades down. The shades were all that was left in the room because Grandma had even gotten rid of Lauren’s old curtains. The walls were all stark white, and the carpet had been cleaned. Nothing distinguished the room anymore. There wasn’t even a hanger in the closet. I felt more of a connection with Lauren when I opened the fridge and saw her favorite mustard still sitting in the door.
Shaking my head, I wondered what Grandma had done with all of Lauren’s stuff. I could have called and asked her directly, but I wanted to talk with Mom. I felt like this weekend might be the one when I could.
There was another question, though, that I wanted to ask but knew I shouldn’t: why had they taken all the things from Lauren’s room? Dad hadn’t done it. Why had Grandma, and why had Mom agreed?
About midway through our breakfast the following morning, I found the courage to ask. “I was looking for a notebook from last year. I think I had left it in Lauren’s room. Where are those boxes?” It was a lie, but a very white one.
Mom took a sip of coffee as if to prepare herself for the discussion. “Grandma thought it best that we put everything away for a while. Lauren’s personal items are all boxed up in the attic. It would be pretty difficult to get them down.”
I knew I was looking at her like she was nuts, but I kind of felt that way. I couldn’t believe what she was saying to me. Mom usually talked straight with us; now she was feeding me total bullshit.
Difficult for whom, you or me? And in what way? Are the boxes heavy, or will they make you cry if you open them? How could it possibly be that Dad had thought more about how I’d deal with Lauren’s death than Grandma and my mother? What alternate reality was I living in?
I got a huge lump in my throat. I knew I shouldn’t pick a fight with Mom over Lauren, but I was so angry and hurt. I looked down at my cereal, focusing on the milk bubbles, and said, “Why didn’t anyone ask me?”
“Oh, Nicki. I’m sorry.” She put her hand on my arm. “Grandma was just doing what she thought was best.”
Best for whom? Not for me. Probably not for Mom. Sure, she was fully functional to the outside world, but if you saw her insides like I did every day, that was another story.
I kept staring at my food, but the tears welled up. I had to say it. “I don’t see how that could possibly be best.”
Mom continued to stroke my hand, saying, “Nicki, it would be hard however we did things.”
She was right about that. I wiped the tears from my eyes, but I wasn’t going to let this go. “I really do need that notebook. Can I go up in the attic and get it? Not right now, but maybe some afternoon.” I added the second part so that she knew she didn’t have to be here for it.
She gave me a wary look. She was right to be suspicious—I would never go up there normally, especially for schoolwork. She also must have decided to let it go, because she shrugged. “Sure.”
“Thanks.” That was all I said. But what I thought was, This is so fucked up.
“Nicki, do you know what today is?” she said after clearing her throat.
“Uh, Sunday?”
“Yes. Sunday.” She gave me her don’t-be-a-smartass look. “It’s All Saints’ Day. I think you should go to church with me.”
Two things had occurred since the accident: Mom went to church more and I went to church less. That was a feat on my part because I hadn’t had great attendance to begin with. But she hadn’t pushed me much since the accident, and church was one of those things she’d relinquished on.
I’d had enough Sunday school, though, to know the significance of the day. She wanted me to go this Sunday because of Lauren. It wasn’t the time to try to weasel my way out of going, so I simply said, “Sure.”
She nodded and rose from the table. On her way out of the room, she called back, “And can you make s
ure that you look presentable?”
The deadly wardrobe and hair discussion. It always was a bad one, but it was particularly nasty when it came to church. Given the reason Mom wanted me to go, I knew I should stay away from this fight, too. I sighed. “Yes, Mom.”
And I did as I said. I wore the navy boat-neck dress that Mom actually liked even though I’d gotten it at a thrift store. I even pulled my hair back. She said I looked like Jackie O until I put on my choker necklace with big white beads. She wrinkled her nose. “Now you look a little like Barbara Bush, but I’ll take it.”
The church service was actually fine. We sat in the back, and I could totally zone out. I wasn’t interested in listening to a single word about dead people and saints.
When coffee hour arrived afterward, though, I was itching to leave. My few friends had left quickly after church, so I was waiting around for Mom to stop gabbing with her gossip partners. As I stood off to the side, I read the little mini-history of the church someone had assembled in photos on the wall. I’d seen it a hundred times before. I turned around in boredom, and my eyes widened when Adam and his family walked in. I hadn’t seen him in church, but there were a lot of people that Sunday.
Adam’s father was distinguished and tweedy, and his mother was in a sharp suit, but she had a cheery smile. Sylvia looked even more adorable than usual, having ditched her Doc Martens for a pair of pointy-toed flats.
Adam must have seen me in church, because he strode toward me. He looked achingly handsome all dressed up—so fine that I should have noticed him in church. Somehow I mustered up an anxious smile when our eyes met. I was all shifty and nervous when he got to my side, but he seemed perfectly normal and at ease.
“Morning. I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, his eyes shining.
He touched his tie as if remembering what he was wearing. It wasn’t like I needed reminding how good he looked.
I clenched the side of my dress for support. “Hi. Yeah, well, it happens…occasionally.”
