Page 58 of Small Town Sizzle

I sit there, turning my face to the sun and allowing the wind to kiss my cheeks, it’s almost as if I can feel all of them, Carson, Megs, Greta, Carolyn. It’s like I can feel all of them hugging me goodbye.

I’ve been avoiding this moment for so long, afraid that if I let myself sit with this grief, if I let myself truly feel it, I might never get back up. That it might consume me the way it consumed Carson. But sitting here, with the world stretched out before me, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.

I feel lighter.

I let out a shaky breath and stand, brushing the dirt from my leggings. The view is breathtaking. The mountains in the distance, the sun dipping low, casts everything in a surreal glow. The crisp wind carries the scent of loamy forest wrapping around me like a promise.

The weight I’ve been carrying for so long—the one I thought I’d never be able to set down—finally lifts. The constant pressure in my chest is gone. For the first time in years, I feel relief.

I close my eyes, whisper their names into the wind, and let them go.

Goodbye, Carson.

Goodbye, Megs.

Goodbye, Greta.

I will carry your love with me always, but I won’t carry the pain anymore.

It’s time to start living again.

By the time I get home, the kids are still at school, and the house is blessedly quiet. George crashes onto his bed in the corner, exhausted but content. I grab a glass of water and head upstairs to the guest room—the room that I’ve piled a lot of my sister’s things into. I’ve confronted so much of my past already, and the only way to move on is to go right through it all, and to do that, I have to go through my sister’s things and stop pretending that she’s not really gone.

The closet is full of her things, untouched since the day we packed them away. I’ve been meaning to go through it for months, but every time I try, something stops me.

Today, though, feels like the right day. It’s necessary. I slide open the closet door. The faint scent of lavender still clings to her clothes. Boxes are stacked neatly on the floor, labeled in my own rushed handwriting: Clothes, Books, Miscellaneous. I start with the smallest box, pulling it onto the bed and lifting the lid.

Inside are little pieces of Meg’s life—ticket stubs, Polaroids, a bundle of letters tied with a ribbon. At the bottom of the box, I find a journal, its leather cover is worn and soft from years of use. My breath catches as I run my fingers over it, memories of Meg flooding back in a painful and comforting wave.

I sit on the bed and open the journal, the pages filled with her familiar looping handwriting. The first few entries are mundane—notes about work, funny things she’d heard or seen, random thoughts. But as I flip through, the tone changes.

April 12

I’ve never felt like this before. Like the world is brighter, sharper, more alive when I’m with him. We tried ecstasy for the first time and it’s like…it’s like it opened up a portal in my brain to allow me to see things more clearly. He makes me laugh in a way no one else does, like he sees a part of me that’s always been invisible. I can’t believe I waited so long to take a chance on this. It feels… magical.

May 3

He’s introducing me to so much. To an entirely new world as we open our minds up with whatever he can get his hands on. The floaty feeling, there’s no pain and no fear, no anxiety or bad memories where he takes me. We stayed up all night talking. About everything. His dreams, my fears, the things we want but don’t know how to ask for. I’ve never felt so close to anyone. It’s terrifying and amazing all at once.

He feels as though his family has abandoned him. I think I’ve almost gotten him to come around to talk to them.

July 14

OMG. We had sex.

I had been drinking with some friends, and he texted to see if I’d come over to talk. He said he was having a bad night. We were so high on life, so floaty and free, it was the most beautiful experience of my life.

I’m not sure what happened before I got to his apartment, but the second I walked in, he grabbed me in a hot kiss, and we had sex. I’m a little disappointed because it wasn’t the mind-blowing moment I always thought it would be. I’ve beencrushing on this man for some time, and I was positive that it would be something magical.

It wasn’t.

Things were so weird when I got out of bed this morning. It was awkward and I’m not sure what to do next. I mean, I love him, and the first time is usually weird. Right? It’ll get better.

When I sobered up, came down from the high that we were on, I realized that we can’t come back easily from this moment.

July 18

Something’s shifted. I don’t know when it started, but I feel it now—this weight I can’t ignore. That’s a lie. I know when it changed. He’s dating other women. I told him that I wanted to be exclusive, and he told me that we were just friends and that he didn’t want to be tied down by a relationship. I care about him so much, and I stupidly told him I was okay being his fuck buddy, then immediately regretted it. But… it no longer feels like love or friendship. We’re only together when we’re high or drunk. It feels like I’m his anchor, always holding him steady, always keeping him from drifting too far. But who’s keeping me steady? He always wants to drink and party, and that’s not what I want for my life.

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