by Hannah Gray
The team we’ll be playing next week is good. Really fucking good. We can’t go onto that field any less than ready.
He glances at me in question for a moment and then eventually sighs as he nods. “All right. I just don’t want you running from this place forever, Lane. There’s nothing you should be running from. You hear me?”
A lump as hard and as big as a fucking gumball forms in my throat. I swallow it down and stare out the window, watching all the memories of this town come alive before my eyes. As much as I love seeing my family—and I do love it—this place will always awaken a certain anxiousness inside of me. Probably for the rest of my fucking life.
He surprises me when he pushes it further. Usually, my dad never brings up the obvious skeletons in my closet that haunt me daily. “I mean it. You need to forgive yourself, son. You did nothing wrong. You are a good person. Okay?”
Avoiding eye contact, I stay focused on the window. But I nod, only to let my dad know that I’m listening to him. Even if I don’t agree.
I’ve heard too many people in this godforsaken town tell me otherwise. And I don’t even blame them. They have every right to tell me differently.
The rest of the ride is quiet. I hate how coming back here makes me wish I were completely shitfaced right now. Numb to everything that haunts me. I can’t do that though. This is real fucking life. And with every decision, you’re met with a consequence. I had to learn that the hard way.
We don’t even make it into the driveway before my mother’s small frame bursts through the front door and out onto the driveway.
It’s been months since they’ve seen me. They’ve tried to fly or even drive down a few times, but I always make up some excuse as to why they shouldn’t. As much as I love them, sometimes being around them, seeing how good they are, well, it actually makes me feel like a bigger pile of dog shit than I already feel like.
You feel that way because you are a pile of dog shit.
There’s that voice again. The one reminding me of exactly who I am.
Pushing the truck door open, I step out and pull her in for a hug. She throws her arms around me as much as they can reach.
“Oh, Lane, I am just so happy that you are home. You have no idea.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and I feel like an even bigger bag of dicks for not visiting more than I do. I hate that I hurt the people I love the most just by surviving.
As we make our way into the house, my niece runs from the living room. “Kunkle Laney! Kunkle Laney!”
She struggles with saying uncle, so instead, I get to be Kunkle. Which isn’t half as bad as being called Laney. She could call me anything she wanted though, as cute as she is.
She leaps into me, and I lift her into the air, spinning her around.
“Well, hello, Miss Ella Bella. How is my favorite princess doing?”
She has an obsession with Disney princesses. Which is why she’s always decked out in dresses and tutus.
Wrapping her tiny arms around my neck, she leans back and looks at me, sighing. “Pretty good. ’Cept Daddy says I can’t have a kitten. I weally, weally want a kitten, Kunkle Laney.”
I chuckle.
If one of the guys on the team calls me Laney, I threaten to punch them in the balls. My brother knows how much I loathe being called Laney, which is exactly why he planted that seed in Ella’s ear before she could even talk.
Dick.
But how could I ever be mad at Ella?
Setting her down on her feet, I smile and drop my voice lower. “You let me take care of your dad about the kitten situation. Deal?”
With a grin spreading from ear to ear, her blonde head nods up and down. “Deal,” she whispers.
My brother’s voice comes from behind me. “Don’t even think about it, Laney. Or you’ll regret it.” When he says Laney, he’s fully aware that I won’t correct him in front of my niece.
Fucker.
“Glad you made it home, little brother. Been too damn long, you know,” he says, slapping me on the back.
I nod. “I know; I know. It’s just hard with football.”
He gives me a look, telling me he isn’t buying it, but luckily for me, he drops it.
His wife, Eden, appears next to him, and she pulls me into a hug. “Lane, so good to see you. How’s school and ball been going?”
I fill her and my brother in on our season. Not that they don’t already know. My entire family watches every game.
My brother met Eden his freshman year of high school. They’ve been inseparable ever since. I think that’s what makes seeing the pair of them bittersweet. I always wonder if my life would have played out the same as theirs had that horrible night never happened. I guess I’ll never know.
That’s why I’ve always hated the expression, Everything happens for a reason. If that’s really the case, what the fuck could the reason be behind taking someone so incredible off of this earth and away from the ones she loved? What would be the point in inflicting so much pain on the people she left behind? Like I said, that saying is fucking shit. Whoever came up with it had clearly never lost someone they loved.
Memphis
Mom and I finish unpacking all of the Chinese food from their bags. It probably seems odd, eating Chinese food on Thanksgiving Day instead of gorging ourselves on the American tradition of endless turkey, mashed potatoes, and stuffing.
This is just something we’ve done ever since my dad passed away. Thanksgiving no longer seemed the same without him around. So, we made our own tradition. Just the two of us. Chinese food was something he’d absolutely loved, so in a way, we do it to honor him.
My mom seems very chipper. More so than usual, which is a bit alarming. The past six months, she finally started going to a grief group, and it’s definitely helped. I had been pushing her to do it for years, but she wasn’t ready. My dad’s been gone since I was twelve, so it isn’t something new. But since he died, she was always masking her emotions to benefit me. It all finally caught up to her one day, and she broke, to put it mildly.
She’s never moved on or even gone on a date—at least, not to my knowledge. It would be really freaking weird to see her dating someone who wasn’t my dad. I’m very aware that my feeling that way is selfish. Eventually, she’s going to move on. She has to. Hell, she deserves to.
“So, tell me what’s new, sweetie. Any new friends? Perhaps ones who are boys”—she giggles—“aka boyfriends?” She says the last part and bumps her hip against mine at the word boyfriends.
I know she worries that I bury myself with school and homework, never allowing myself to have many college experiences. Which is completely accurate. I’m acutely aware that I have no life.
“No, Mom. Haven’t you learned by now that I live a rather boring life?” I answer her.
She’s always asking me if I am seeing someone. I’m not going to tell her about the steamy night in Lane Rivers’s room. That doesn’t exactly seem like an appropriate conversation for a mother and daughter to be having on Thanksgiving.
Sighing, she gives my forearm a gentle squeeze. “You are such a catch, Memphis Lee Montgomery. And I just want you to allow yourself to feel things. To feel … alive.”
“I’m alive, Mom. See, breathing, talking, and soon-to-be eating.” I downplay her comments. I’m awkward when shit gets deeper than a puddle.
Putting a hand on her forehead, she laughs, looking at our personal never-ending Chinese buffet. “We ordered way too much food. We will never eat all of this!”
Shaking my head, I smile. “You say that every single year, Mom.”
She does too. And she’s right. We order enough food to basically cover our entire table, and we only ever eat maybe a quarter of it. But this tradition we have, it’s comforting. That’s why we stick with it. We both know that it beats trying to reenact the days when Dad was alive and we were a family of three.
“How’s the job at the library going? Do you still love it?” she asks as we make our way to our
seats.
“Really good actually. I think I could work there seven days a week and not tire of it,” I answer honestly, picking at a crab rangoon on my plate.
I’ve found comfort in books since I was a child. So, working in a library is honestly perfect for me.
Twisting some lo mein on her fork, she smiles at me. “I’m not surprised in the least to hear that. You’ve had your nose in a book since you were five years old.” She touches my shoulder, looking at me with nothing but pure, unconditional love and adoration. “That makes me so happy, knowing you chose the right college major. That doesn’t always happen the first time around, love. But I’m so confident that you did. It suits you.”
I nod, agreeing. “Thanks, Mom. I think so too.”
I really believe her words. I do think choosing a bachelor’s degree in English will lead to a lifelong career, where I will be very happy and fulfilled. I’m hoping to be a high school English teacher. I want to teach about all the books that made me fall in love with reading. I want to light that fire inside of students, so they connect with the words like I did. When you finish a story and you wish you hadn’t started it yet because you want to relive it all over again for the first time, that’s an incredible feeling, and I want to share it. Though I know not every high school kid—or even most—will share my excitement about books, I still want to reach those that I can.
The rest of our night is uneventful. We watch a few Nicholas Sparks movies because they are my mom’s favorite. We hang out in our pajamas, like we do every year. And this year, even though I now have my own apartment, I’m going to stay the night with my mom, just like I used to when I lived here. She’ll never say it, but I know she needs me on these types of days. She just would never want to voice it out loud and make me feel guilty. Instead, like always, she puts on a brave face.
I can only hope that, one day, I’ll be lucky enough to find a love like my parents had. They had the type of love that was so strong that even years after he’s gone, she still can’t move on. A love that seemed so effortless even though I’m sure it wasn’t always. I’m sure it took work every single day. But I didn’t see that struggle. I saw them dancing in the kitchen. I saw him kissing her before he left for work and as soon as he got home. I saw … soul mates. No matter how hard of a day he had or how much pain he was in at the end of his cancer, she was his comfort, as he was hers. I want that. And I won’t settle for anything less. Maybe I’ll find it. If I’m lucky enough. Although first, I suppose I’d have to actually allow myself to feel something.
sixteen
Lane
Her brown eyes twinkle as she looks at me. She looks so happy. So healthy. She doesn’t speak but instead watches me. Her dark brown hair spills all around her shoulders, like a waterfall made of silk. She’s truly the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. And likely will ever see.
“Don’t leave me again, okay, baby?” I ask her softly, hoping she’ll actually listen this time. Even though a part of me knows that she won’t. She never does.
She doesn’t speak. Instead, she just gives me a small, sad smile. I reach out to touch her face, to pull her into me so I can finally kiss her lips. Lips I’ve missed so fucking much. But when I try to touch her, she begins to disappear. Just like every other time. Little by little, her body evaporates into the air.
“Abby! No!”
I try to grab on to her to keep her here. But it’s too late. She’s leaving me again. She’s always leaving.
When will I learn that I can’t keep her?
“Why do you come back, just to leave again?! Why the fuck would you do this to me?!” I scream.
Anger flows through my veins like poison. Consuming every ounce of my body. I’m tired of living through this nightmare. If she ever loved me at all, why would she keep doing this? I would never make her relive this pain over and over again. It’s a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Not just because I love her. But also because every time I see her, I’m reminded of the guilt that lives deep inside of my soul.
The fury I feel fills my entire body. Making it hard to even breathe. All I want to do is punch something, anything.
She’s gone again. She’ll always be gone. And I’ll always be here instead of her. What a fucking waste that is.
“Lane! Wake up, sweetheart!” Something shakes my body by my shoulders. “Lane!” My mother’s shrieks fill my ears, pulling me out of my sleep.
Confused, I open my eyes and look at her sitting on the edge of my bed, next to me. My father is pacing at the end of the bedframe.
What the fuck is going on? I drag my hand over my sweat-covered face. Oh, right. It’s coming back now. Another nightmare. That’s what this fucking town does to me.
My mom reaches down and touches my arm. “Lane, how long has this been going on?” Her chin trembles. “You said it was getting better. I thought you were doing better.” Tears fall down her cheeks. She looks like she’s aged five years since the dinner we had just hours before.
I try to steady my breathing. My body is covered in a cold, thick layer of sweat. Causing my body to shiver. I look away from her and focus on a spot on the ceiling. “Sometimes, I go months without one. Sometimes, I have them multiple times a week. But they were getting better. I was having them less.” I sound confused, I’m sure. Because I am.
I have no idea why the dreams come at certain times. Even though a part of me stopped believing in anything the day Abby took her last breath, another part believes these dreams are coming for a reason. Someone is trying to tell me something.
“Is it worse when you come home?” She glances around. “To this house?” she asks nervously, waiting for my answer like her life depends on it.
I cringe, not wanting to hurt my parents even more than they already hurt. Even though that’s what I always do. I hurt people.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I shake my head. “When I’m here, they are a guaranteed thing. Here, there’s no escaping it,” I answer honestly. I don’t want to lie to them.
Back at NEU, I might have them, and I might not. When I close my eyes at night, I never really know if they’ll haunt me. Here, when I go to sleep, I know what’s to come.
“But I don’t think it’s this house … I think it’s this town.”
Hurt covers both of their faces.
My mom shakes her head and looks away. “I don’t know when it’s going to get better, Lane. You can’t live your entire life like this. You just can’t.” She cries harder. “And I can’t watch you live like this. You are my son. I’m supposed to protect you, and you won’t let me. You won’t let anyone.” She holds so much defeat in her voice.
I’ve aged my parents so many years. They are the true symbol of unconditional love, and what they want more than anything is to fix me.
“We could move,” my father says.
I shake my head and sit up. “No! No fucking way. Ella is here. The new baby will be here. You can’t move just because of my fuckups. I would never allow you guys to do that.” I look from my mom to my dad. “You have both done way too much for me as it is. Much more than I deserve.” I feel shame as they watch me. I feel like a burden.
“My sweet boy, why do you always think that you aren’t worthy? You are so worthy of anything and everything life has to offer. You have a heart of gold,” my mom says while wiping her eyes.
“You know why,” I whisper, barely hearing my own voice.
My father speaks next, “Son, you’ve carried this guilt for too long. For years, I’ve watched you feel the weight of this burden. It’s time to let it go.” Putting his hand on my shoulder, he gives it a squeeze. “That night wasn’t your fault. You need to believe that. Or else this will eat you alive.”
My heart feels like someone is squeezing it, and breathing becomes harder and harder. I wipe my eyes before any evidence of how fucking broken I feel is apparent to my parents. Even though I’m sure they can already see it.
“Lane,” my mom’s voice speaks softly, “w
e need you to allow yourself to be happy. We need you to do that, not for you, but for us. Okay?”
“I can’t do it, Mom. I’ve tried, and I can’t.” My own voice breaks. Making me feel like a damn pansy. Men aren’t supposed to cry or break down in front of their parents like a little bitch.
“Lane—” my dad starts to speak, but I cut him off before he can finish his sentence.
“No, Dad. Do you guys think I just enjoy being miserable? Do you think I want to be completely fucked up in the head? Because I don’t. I’d give anything to not feel the way I feel.” Burying my face in my hands, I try to hide myself from them. “I’d give anything to not be like this.”
I have tried to outrun my past time and time again. But the minute I think I’m making some progress, a nightmare or some girl who looks like her pops up, and there I am, back to senior year, reliving my own personal hell. I deserve it. They’d be living their lives if I had just kept my mouth shut that night. Nobody understands what it’s like to carry around a guilt that potent. It consumes you like a thick, dark mist. It sucks every ounce of life out of you and then turns around and wants more.
My mom leans down and hugs me. Her small shoulders shake as she cries. “We have watched you torture yourself for far too long. I can’t watch it anymore,” she tries to speak bluntly, but I can tell she’s barely keeping it together.
My father’s throat clears. “You know, maybe it’s time to talk to someone.”
My father—a simple, hardworking man, who has never been one to believe in shit like therapy or counseling—is now suggesting it to me.
“Like a shrink or some shit?” I growl.
Taking a breath, he nods once. His usual carefree demeanor has completely vanished. Left behind is a man who looks completely defeated. “Yes. You need to get to the root of this problem, so you can move on. It might be the only way.”
