Page 64 of The Long Way Home
Margo slows her pace and huffs out a laugh.
“You do know who you’re talking to, right?” she teases. “When we lost Josh, I was certain that the girl who existed when Josh existed was gone. I shaped myself into whatever people needed. I didn’t even notice how deep the hole I dug was until I met Anderson. And he let me be angry. Sad. Happy. Whatever I wanted to be. Didn’t matter how I felt that day; he was just there. And he helped me realize that the girl I thought I lost, the one I thought I had to give up, was still in me.”
“I think I’ve spent too much time letting someone else decide who I am. What I’m worth. I’m worried I’ve spent so much time making myself small to the point where I lost the girl. I lost who I loved being.”
“Maybe.” Margo nods once. “But I don’t think you can ever truly lose the person you are. She’s your essence. Your core. I think you just have to choose to stop covering her up.”
We keep walking. When we reach the end of the trail, where the trees open and the sun hits full-on, she looks at me.
“You want to come over?” she asks. “I’ll make us pancakes for dinner. The ones you love, too much butter, and exactly three chocolate chips per bite.”
A small smile tugs at my mouth. “Tempting,” I say. “But I think I need to go home. Be alone. Just feel this for a little.”
She doesn’t push. “You know where to find me. Love you, sis.”
“Love you too.”
We part with a brief squeeze of her hand. I watch her walk to her car, then turn toward mine.
When I get home, Ben’s truck is gone from the driveway. I glance down at my phone and check the time. It is five thirty on a Sunday. He is probably out with the guys, parked in front of a TV, pretending beer will make everything okay. I’m pretty sure that is what he did last week. I’m not relieved exactly, but the absence of his presence allows for my shoulders to drop an inch or two.
As I walk up the steps, something catches my eye. There is a yellow envelope sitting on top of a small rectangular box on my welcome mat.
I blink, and my brows furrow with confusion. Maybe Ben realized how last night looked and felt? Maybe this is a peace offering after everything that went down last night?
But as I step closer, I see my name written across the front.
Not Rachel.
Sunny.
My breath catches.
I crouch slowly, lifting the envelope. The box is taped shut with simple brown packing tape. I recognize Rhett’s handwriting immediately, slightly uneven, the way he always presses a little too hard with a pen.
My fingers tremble slightly as I tear open the envelope and pull out a folded piece of notebook paper.
Sunny,
I wanted to apologize for last night. I never meant to make things harder for you or to make you feel worse. The last thing I want is to see you sad. You know it kills me to see you cry. I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you, stronger and brighter than you realize.
I found some things while unpacking the rest of my boxes, and I thought you should have them. Thought maybe they’d bring a little light back into your life, the way they did in mine.
I also grabbed some of your favorite snacks. I figured you might need them today.
—Rhett
I read the note twice. The handwriting blurs on the third. My throat goes tight.
I sit down on the front steps, the box in my lap, and slowly pull at the tape until the flaps open.
Inside is a small stack of things I haven’t seen in years. My old college sweatshirt, the one from Josh’s intramural team that I’d practically lived in during sophomore year. A photo strip from that stupid state fair we’d all gone to, me, Josh, Rhett, Margo, all crammed into one frame, making ridiculous faces. A burned CD labeled “Study Jams / Vol. 3” in Sharpie, my tried and true old playlist Rhett used to tease me for obsessing over.
And at the very bottom, I see a bag of white cheddar popcorn, Oreos and a bottle of cherry Coke.
I let out a shaky laugh. The sweetness of the gesture twists in my chest, warm and painful at the same time. Rhett has never been careless with me. So why have I been so careless with myself?
The front door looms behind me. I don’t want to go inside yet, into that space that suddenly feels too quiet and too full of things I’m not ready to face.
