Page 8 of Moving Forward

“Ellie . . .”

She holds up her hand. “Tell those wheels to take a break and listen to me. This month means a lot to me and I want it to be a time we reminisce about when we’re old and gray. This isn’t going to be easy for you. It isn’t going to be easy for me either. So, I guess what I want you to hear is that it’s okay to be a wreck because I’m going to be a wreck. There’s no use in hiding it when we can just be wrecks together.”

I slow down at the next light, even though it’s green, so I can close my eyes and stop the onslaught of tears. I don’t know what to say. I never know what to say. Not when people apologize or when I have to explain my past. And no matter what, no matter how long the lull, there’s always something that takes me two steps back—some little reminder I once had Ethan and now I don’t.

Some days it hurts to be around Ellie. Instead of her, I see him. The eyes, the smile, the dimples—all replicas of his. After Ethan died, I started separating him and Ellie entirely, doing my best to never think of her as my dead fiancé’s twin sister. I try to only think of her as just Ellie or the future Mrs. Ellie O’Shannon or as my best friend. But never as Ellie Miller, Ethan Miller's twin, younger by one minute and forty seconds. It’s been a long time since I let myself see Ethan in her.

As we drive past the welcome sign that declares we are now in “Orchard Valley: A Lakeside Haven,” I’m suddenly flooded with both memories and a lack of memories. The first time Ethan brought me home to meet his family. The first time he took me out on a boat—the way he kissed me in the moonlight. When we made a pit stop here before we left for the mountains. I think about how somewhere in this town, behind the church we would have been married in, is an iron-gated family plot I’ve never had the courage to visit. How I never had a chance to say goodbye because a goodbye meant no more hellos.

“Do you still want to stop by Danny’s?” I ask to relieve the pressure of silence.

She lets out a sigh as she leans into the door. I hate that she’s so frustrated and disappointed with my reaction whenever she mentions Ethan. Talking about him helps her mourn him. I’ve never been able to do that.

“Yes,” she answers tonelessly.

“Okay,” I say. “Where do I go from here?”

“I know you’re talking literally, but it’s really hard to take it that way when it feels more like a metaphor,” she points out, obviously trying to lighten the mood. Except her small smile is too tense. She finally gives up and motions to an upcoming street. “Cherry Blossom Way.”

Ellie directs me to park in front of the hardware store Danny lives above. They’re planning to live there for the first few years until they’ve saved enough for a down payment on a house.

“You coming up?” Ellie asks me.

Their original plan was to go ahead and move in together now. Her parents were dead set against the idea. They claimed they wanted to spend as much time with Ellie as possible before the wedding. I think they just don’t like the idea of her living with Danny before marriage. When I finally agreed to stay in Orchard Valley for a month (not that the decision had ever really been in my hands), she stopped digging in her heels and said she’d stay with her parents. I think she secretly wants to spend time with them too.

We don’t have a reason to stop by Danny’s. Ellie just wants to see him. The minute he moved back here, she started missing him. “Alright, I’ll try to make it short,” she says once I shake my head. She starts to slide out of the car and then stops. “We’re okay, right?”

“We’re perfect,” I lie, offering a weak smile.

“Promise,” she commands. “Promise on the life of all the ice cream that exists in this world.”

“I promise on all the ice cream and fudge.”

Once she’s out of sight, I get out and walk toward the lake. I know she was only trying to be a good friend, but I need silence to clear my mind. Ellie is a talker; I’m not. I like to simmer, sort through details on my own and at my own pace. Ellie is confrontational and not afraid to share. The difference between us has only gotten worse with time.

I sigh as I slip off my flip-flops, promising myself that this month won’t go by as slowly as it’s threatening to.

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