Bring Me Back(57)

“Um, sure,” I say, flabbergasted by her request. “When are you thinking?”

“I’m busy with work all week,” she says, “but I was thinking Friday before Group?”

“Uh … let me check my schedule.” I flip through my planner, making sure I don’t have a meeting that day. “Yeah, I’m free. Does four o’ clock sound okay?” I ask, poising a pen above my planner pages.

“That’ll be perfect.” She breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Blaire. See you then.”

“Mhm, bye.” I hang up and set my phone on my desk. I make a note in my planner so I don’t forget.

My mom knocks on my office door and I look up. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“I’m working,” I say, motioning to my computer and suppressing a laugh.

“Right,” she says, and looks a bit ashamed. “Anyway, I wanted to let you know that your dad and I are going out to dinner. We can bring you back something, if you like.”

I raise a brow and look at her over the top of my computer. “Do you spend ninety percent of your day thinking about what and when I’m going to eat?”

“Yes, and I spend the other ten percent wondering when you’ll shower,” she quips.

“Ha, ha, ha,” I intone, trying not to smile. “You know what I like so just get me whatever.” I wave a hand dismissively.

“Okay.” She eases out the door. “And Blaire?” She pauses, looking unsure.

“What?” I lean around my computer to see her better.

“You look better,” she says softly, like she’s afraid those words might set me off. “Happier.” She shrugs. “It’s nice to see that.”

“Thanks.” I nod. “When you guys get back I’ll have to tell you about something I’m starting.”

She leans forward curiously, but doesn’t press me to answer. After a moment, she turns to leave, and I hear them head out a few minutes later.

I finish up with my emails and then grab a book, settling onto the couch to read for a while. It’s nice to have a moment home by myself where I’m actually comfortable alone. I don’t feel worried about anything or overcome by the fact that Ben’s gone. I still have a long way to go, but I’m getting there, and that counts for something.



I’m almost finished with the book when my parents arrive home. I set the book down as they come inside. My dad holds a takeout box in his hand and shoves it at me.

“Here you go, Kid,” he says before taking a seat beside me. He lets out a groan. “I ate too much,” he complains as he rubs a hand over his stomach.

I open the box and nearly moan out loud when I open the box and see the chicken tenders, fries, and honey mustard sauce.

“You know me well,” I say to my mom when she comes into the room.

She laughs and sits on my other side. “I know you love your chicken tenders, but I’m pretty sure it’s the honey mustard you love more.”

“You’re right.” I shrug, already dunking a chicken tender into the sauce. I take a bite and moan again. “So good.”

“So what’s this mysterious news of yours?” my mom asks, vibrating with barely-contained energy.

“I … um … I’m starting a charity in memory of Ben. Maybe not a charity, per se, but a movement.” I take another bite of chicken tender—I’m pretty sure nothing has ever tasted this good before.

“And?” she prompts when I’m too busy stuffing my face to continue.

“Oh, right,” I say, wiping my hands on my pants. Very lady-like, I know. “I call it The Paper Crane Project. Basically, the goal is to spread the love and happiness Ben gave me in the notes. A random act of kindness sort of thing,” I explain. “Like Ben did, I’m going to have people write short notes and make them into paper cranes to leave around at random places. Hopefully someone will find them and it’ll make their day.” I go back to stuffing my face. When my mom begins to cry, my eyes widen in surprise. “What? Why are you crying? I’m usually the one crying,” I muse.

She laughs through her tears. “It’s just … I’m so proud of you, Blaire. You’ve been through so much and I think this is an excellent way to honor Ben. There’s no better way, honestly.”

I smile. “You think?”

“I know.” She nods and reaches over to rub her fingers over my cheek. “You’re so strong, Blaire. So much stronger than you think you are.”

I shake my head. “You’re wrong.”

“A mother’s never wrong.” She kisses my forehead and stands. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks.” Emotion clogs my throat as she and my dad leave the room to get ready for bed.

I feel like I’ve barely been getting by, but maybe she’s right. Maybe I am stronger than I think. I haven’t given up, and that has to count for something.





Ivy and I end up meeting to get an early dinner instead of coffee. I told her I couldn’t stomach any more hot tea this week and she agreed to the change in plans.

I park in front of the restaurant and head inside to wait to meet her. I’ve only spoken to her briefly in Group and pretty much the only thing I know about her is that she knew how to make the paper cranes.