Page 9 of Choosing a Forever
“Obviously not.” I want to scream,If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.
“The Thorpes passed away in a car accident five years ago. Mackenzie moved back to take care of her sisters,” my little sister, Lauren, says as she enters the kitchen.
My jaw drops open.How the heck did I not know that?
Mom nods. “It was very tragic. A semi-truck driver had a heart attack at the wheel and swerved into the opposite lane of oncoming traffic. The Thorpes died on impact. I’m just glad they didn’t suffer.”
The story sounds familiar. I remember seeing something about it on social media or maybe the news, but I didn’t know Mackenzie’s parents were involved becauseI never read the article, and no names were mentioned in the title. If I had known, I would have reached out. It explains the sadness in her eyes.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Mom shrugs. “I figured you knew. It was all over the news and social media. I’m sure I mentioned it at some point.”
My heart cracks in half. I had no idea something so tragic happened to her. No wonder she looked so shaken, even though the accident wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Gosh, I can’t even fathom how she must have felt or how hard it must have been to have to step into the role of parent after a tragedy like that.
“I guess I never realized it washerparents. That’s terrible. I feel bad I never reached out.”
“Well, why would you? It’s not like you two were particularly close,” Lauren adds, and I feel the weight of guilt grow heavier.
She’s right, of course. After I broke up with her, we weren’t even really friends. We were castmates at best. We got paired together a few times for dance numbers in musicals, and we went to dances with the same group of friends sometimes, shared choir classes and the occasional English class, but we didn’t reallytalk.I remember thinking she always looked so sad after our breakup. Defeated, almost. It got particularly bad senior year, but I never paid much attention to the rumors going around about her. I had to keep my distance so I wouldn’t give into the desire to beg her to give me another chance.
“We may not have been close friends, but I’ve still known her for years. This feels like something I should have given my condolences for.”
“She probably didn’t even realize you never reached out. She’s clearly got stuff going on. I wouldn’t worry about it or feel bad.”
Why does that make my chest feel like it’s burning? Did she truly just…forgetall about me? I mean, I can’t be upset if she did. I haven’t exactly been thinking abouthertwenty-four-seven, but sometimes a song or a movie would remind me of her. She would pop into my head, and I’d wonder how she was doing.
This week, though, I’ve thought about her more than I have in the last ten years. I have this overwhelmingneedto see her. Even some of my drawings are starting to look like her, and I’m starting to feel like a freaking teenager with a crush again. I went to the grocery store and saw a flash of red hair and thought it was her, so I followed the poor stranger down the chip aisle until I realized it wasn’t.
I don’t say any of that to Mom and Lauren, though. I don’t know if Mom still holds ill will towards her, and I don’t need to have Lauren gossiping to Lacey, who goes to the same school as her sisters.
Conversation shifts as we sit around the table and start eating, but my mind never strays far from the girl who was my first love. My first kiss. My first real regret.
It takes all of dinner for all of us to give updates since there are five kids and my parents. My brother Thomas, who’s two years younger than me at twenty-six, is finishing up his master’s in civil engineering at BYU, tells us about his internship at the church headquarters where he’s pretty much guaranteed a job after graduation.
Lauren’s the next youngest at twenty-three and is just starting her master’s program at BYU to be a musicteacher. Mom asks her about her dating life, and—per usual—Lauren says she’s not dating anyone. I don’t know if she just doesn’t date or if she doesn’t tell anyone, but she’s never brought anyone home, and I know my parents are worried she’s too serious about school. I personally think it’s good she’s focusing on school instead of trying to get married, but I’m no longer blinded by the Mormon haze of thinking the only purpose in life is to get married and have babies.
The twins, Lacey and Timothy, are seventeen, and Timothy is on the track and field team while Lacey is in choir and theatre like I was. Tim is quiet and responds with one-word answers while Lacey could talk for hours if we let her. She’s got a solo in the spring concert, and she hasn’t stopped talking about it. I’m proud of her, though. I know sometimes her anxiety can get the best of her, and she gets stage fright, so this is a big step for her.
When it’s my turn to give an update, I simply shrug and say nothing’s new. Other than running into Mack, I don’t have much Icantell them. Admitting I don’t want to be a member of the religion I was born into isn’t really something I can say over dinner, nor is it something I want to talk about in front of my siblings. Tim will be deciding whether or not he wants to go on a mission soon, and I don’t want to be the reason he doesn’t go, even if I think he could find a better use for his first two years out of high school.
“Well,” Mom says as I help her serve dessert. “Sister Gleeson’s daughter is moving back to Utah and was asking around for some eligible bachelors to date. I mentioned your name and said I’d see if you’re interested.”
I nearly roll my eyes. Mom means well, but I don’twantto be set up with someone’s daughter or granddaughter or niece or second cousin.
While the pressure to get married isn’t as heavy for men as it is for women, I still get a good dose of it because I’m almost thirty and single. It’s not for a lack of trying, though. I just… haven’t had the best luck finding someone to match my energy. I can be over enthusiastic about my affection, and sometimes it’s a turn off. I can’t help it, though. When I want to be with someone, I don’t do it halfway.
When I don’t respond, Mom continues to tell me all about this girl. She’stwenty-twoand just graduated with a communications degree. She’s moving back to Utah to work as a social media assistant to the Utah Polar Bears—our local ECHL hockey team. She’s got blonde hair, blue eyes, loves to do Pilates, and—most importantly—is looking for a “worthy priesthood holder” to be her eternal companion.
I can’t tell my mom that just isn’t me anymore.
“Mom, she’s seven years younger than me. She’s younger thanLauren.”
Mom waves me off. “Only by a year. She seems like a nice girl! She comes from a good family and has a good job. Why won’t you give her a chance?”
“She’s too young!”
“Nonsense. Your cousin Hannah married a man ten years older than her. What’s wrong with seven?”
