Bring Me Back(54)

“I’ll take the display if I have to,” I tell her, desperation lacing my tone.

She winces. “I’m sorry, we’re not allowed to sell displays. Let me go look in the back, though.” She all but runs away from me before I can grab her arm and beg and plead for the mobile.

I look to my mom with panic in my eyes. “Mom—” I begin.

“Don’t worry about it,” she tells me, holding up a hand. “We’ll figure something out.” She’s already on her phone, probably Googling paper crane mobiles.

I want this one, though. With the different colored paper cranes—white, cream, and gray—and waterfall style it’s beautiful and I want it to be mine. It feels like a sign it, being here. I haven’t found a note from Ben in a while, and I feel like he guided me to this because he knew I needed him.

Before I can have a full-blown panic attack the clerk returns with a large cardboard box. “It’s still here,” she cries with joy. She was probably afraid I’d hit her or something if they didn’t have it.

I take the box from her and hug it to my chest like it’s a person. I feel a single tear wet the box.

“Thank you,” I tell her. “You have no idea how much this means to me. No idea,” I repeat.

She looks from me to my parents and there seems to be some sort of understanding passed through all of us.

“Come on, let’s get you checked out.” She smiles and leads me over to the register. “If you like the paper crane theme,” she begins, “I can look around and see if we can find some bedding for you.” she suggests.

I nod eagerly. “That’d be amazing. Thank you.”

She rings up the mobile and I hand over my card.

“Do you want it in a bag?” she asks, giving me back my credit card.

“If you have one big enough,” I say. “It’s no trouble if you don’t.”

“There should be some right here.” She clucks her tongue as she searches. “Aha, here you go.” She stands up from behind the counter with a large bag and slips it over the box. “I’m Stephanie, ask for me if you come back.”

“I will.” I take my bag and meet my parents at the front of the store. They start to head back the way we came, presumably to leave, but I point in the opposite direction. “Why don’t we look around for a little while?”

They both stare at me in surprise and then my mom breaks out into a grin. “Of course, you lead the way.”

There’s a clothing store I love in the mall, but I haven’t been there in months. I head inside and straight to a jean jacket with fraying edges. “Ooh, I like this,” I say more to myself than them.

I see them exchange a look, but I ignore it. I know I haven’t been this exuberant about anything in months. I pick up a few shirts in a larger size—preparing for the belly I’ll soon have, and get some dresses since summer will be here in no time and all the good stuff gets picked over.

“We can go home now,” I announce when I’m done.

“Maybe we should go out to eat?” my mom suggests. “Get some lunch?”

I have to laugh to myself. Her main concern is always whether or not I’m eating. “Sure,” I say.

They both look surprised that I agreed so quickly.

“Where would you like to eat?” she asks me. “Any preferences.”

“Um … Red Lobster?” I ask. “I could really go for some biscuits right about now.”

My mom nods eagerly. “That sounds like a great idea.”

“Cool,” I say for lack of anything else to say.

We head toward the exit and I don’t look for Ryder as we go. I definitely don’t, so why am I disappointed when I don’t see him?





Spring was officially in bloom as we reached the end of April. Flowers began to blossom, and the weather turned from chilly to warm. I no longer had to wear a jacket and could get by with a thin sweater and sometimes even a t-shirt depending on the day. May was fast approaching and it marked four months since Ben had been gone. Four whole months since he held me in his arms and whispered I love you.

“What are you doing, Kid?” my dad asks when he steps into the kitchen. I can’t blame him for his question—it’s two AM and I’m baking a cake.

“I couldn’t sleep.” I blow out a breath and a piece of hair goes flying with it.

“So you decided to bake a cake?” he asks, his slippers shuffling across the floor. “Makes sense.” He shrugs and takes a seat on a barstool. “Your mom won’t let me eat cake anymore, but you’ll slip your old man a piece, right?”

“Of course.” I laugh lightly and stir the batter.

“You have some kind of powder on your nose,” he tells me. I rub it away, but I think I actually just smear it more. “Got a lot on your mind?” he prompts, playing with the pepper shaker.

“I guess you could say that.” I stir the batter like I’m trying to beat it into submission.

“Talk to me, Kid.” He looks up at me from beneath his fuzzy eyebrows. “I only seem to find you in the kitchen at the ass crack of dawn when you really need to talk,” he continues. “So talk.”

I set the bowl down with the batter and stick my hands on my hips. “It’s going to have been four months, dad. Four months without Ben. It feels like an eternity.” I put my hand over the slight roundness of my stomach. “I keep thinking about all the things he’s going to miss out on.”