Page 82 of To Go
I tap my foot impatiently, waiting to see the car start moving again. When she climbs back in and it does start moving again, she starts heading due South out of the city.
That makes sense, she’s from around that area. I guess she really is going to see her dad. I settle in for a long drive.
Huh, never thought I’d meet someone’s parents, but there’s no way she’s shaking me now. Maybe her dad will give me the answers his daughter refuses to.
The road twists and turns into an area I’ve never seen before, my car creeping around the corners cautiously. The trees are thin out here, providing no shelter from the gently falling snow, and there’s a path to a clearing. I don’t see any parked cars, so she must have continued on foot.
Does her dad live in the fucking woods?This is so fucking weird.Maybe she’s a witch, or in a cult.
I slowly step down the path in eerie silence, except for the crackle of my shoes in the packed snow.
I stop when I hear a soft, low voice.
Stella.
As I approach the clearing I see where we are, gravestones litter the area. It’s partially overgrown, but there are fresh flowers next to two graves, which Stella sits between. The one on the right is beautiful, carved, showing her mother’s name and a sincere epitaph. The one on the left, the one she’s speaking to is in disrepair, simple, and crumbling.
“I don’t know what to do, Dad.” I hear her whisper. “It’s been just you and me for so long, and I’m not staying. I can’t feel this way, it’ll only hurt in the end, and I don’t want to— I don’t want to hurt anymore.”
I can pinpoint the fissure where my heart cracks open while I watch her talk to her father’s grave. Her watery voice carries across the empty clearing, and I can’t eavesdrop anymore. It wouldn’t be right. Despite all of my anger, she deserves to have this moment to herself. I quietly slink back to my car to give her some space, trying to settle my shame as I wait.
Fuck, I’m such an asshole, aren’t I?
It only takes a half hour before a ball of bright pink emerges from the treeline into the parking lot. She’s looking down at her phone before she glances up, confusion written all over her.
I get out of the car, circling it to silently hold her door open for her. She gets into the car, nodding at me before putting her hands directly on the heater. We don’t speak as we drive. I know I should take her home, give her some space, but my heart won’t let me. Not on Christmas. Not after what I caused.
If I were her, I don’t know that I would have even gotten in the car with me.
Unlike our usual drives, Stella doesn’t connect her music. She stares out the window, mute and contemplative. When we enter the city limits, a soft dusk has fallen over our surroundings. I try to put my hand on her knee to comfort her but her flinch is so noticeable I retract it right away.
What do I say? How can I even begin to apologize for this?
Stella’s head whips around to face me when I pass the turnoff for her street. I stare forward, keeping my face stoic.
“Are you kidnapping me?” she accuses venomously. I don’t try to make her feel better. Angry Stella hurts less to watch than sad Stella. I pull into my parking spot, not checking behind me when I walk into the building, knowing Stella’s tiny, enraged frame isstorming in behind me. By the time we get upstairs, she’s worked off the majority of her anger.
She makes herself at home on the couch as I try to ignore the tightness in my lungs, and I watch her wrap herself in my blanket.
I settle down on the other side and face her.
“Okay, talk.”
Chapter 29
James
“Did you know that only five people showed up for my dad’s funeral?” are not the words that I expect to come out of Stella’s mouth. I keep silent and incline my head, encouraging her to continue. She’s not speaking to me, so much as wrenching out the words.
“It was weird. For my mom’s funeral, everyone showed up. Friends, her family, even some of her old students came. It was a beautiful day, which felt so weird. The ceremony was lovely, we played her favourite music. There were flowers everywhere. Everyone cried. It sucked, but it was kind of nice, you know?” Her voice is flat, effortfully emotionless as she fidgets with the edge of the blanket.
“My dad… he didn’t deal with the loss well. I was still in middle school, and all of a sudden, my mom was gone and Dad, he was a shell of himself. I took care of us for a while. Made sure we ate. Cleaned the house. Fielded calls from family. It was like both of them had died.”
Small rifts snake their way through my heart, breaking off tiny pieces with every word she says.
“When he finally came back to himself, he said he would take care of us. He promised. He found all of my mom’s old postcards, said she would have wanted me to have them, that she couldn’t give me the world, but she could inspire me to explore it. We even started collecting our own, expanding on what she started. We used to dream together of all the places we’d see, where we would have our adventures.” She’s wistful , her expression softening as she remembers out loud.
“We were really close, best friends more than parent and child. We hung out all the time. There were some expenses that insurance and healthcare didn’t cover while my mom was in the hospital. He couldn’t take out a loan, his credit score was shot. Mine was still intact though. Pristine. So, when he asked if I would help him get some credit cards to keep us afloat, of course I agreed. I trusted him.
