Bring Me Back(70)

Life will never be the same after losing Ben, I accept that, but I believe now that in time everything will be okay. Maybe even better than okay.





My phone rings beside me on the couch, flashing Ryder’s name on the screen. I stare at in confusion, wondering why he’s calling me.

“You gonna answer that, Kid, or look at it all day?”

I look up from the phone to my dad. He turns down the volume on the TV and nods at my phone, urging me to answer.

I sigh and answer, “Hello?”

“Hey, Blaire, it’s Ryder.”

“I know.”

“Oh, right. Of course,” he says awkwardly. “Anyway, I wanted to call you to see if you wanted to come over for the Fourth of July? I’m having a cookout. My parents are coming over, a few friends, and some of the people from Group. Ivy will be there,” he adds, knowing I talk to her frequently. When I don’t say anything immediately he continues, “I know it’s super last minute and I promise my feelings won’t be hurt if you say no. And your parents can come too if they want.” He’s rambling now, and I find it endearing.

“Sure,” I say. “Sounds fun.”

He breathes out a sigh of relief. “Really?”

I laugh. “Yeah.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow then. It starts at two o’ clock.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Great, bye.”

“Bye.”

I hang up the phone and plop it in my lap.

My dad gives me a knowing look. “You’re grinning, Kid.”

“Stop it,” I say, turning my head away so he can’t see my smile.

“Someone’s got a crush.”

“Dad,” I cry, and hit his arm lightly.

“It’s true.” He chuckles.

I shake my head. “He invited me to his house tomorrow for a Fourth of July party. He said you and mom could come too.”

“Oh, we’re going,” my mom calls from the kitchen. I think she’s baking cookies. The woman is always up to something in the kitchen.

My dad chuckles. “Looks like we’re going, Kid.”

“Yeah, only because Mom wants to spy on me,” I joke, smiling at her over my shoulder.

She winks and stirs some sort of batter.

“I better figure out what I’m going to wear,” I mumble, spreading my fingers over my belly. My stomach is now large enough that there’s no hiding the fact that I’m pregnant.

I hop up from the couch and start up the stairs. I hear my mom say to my dad, “She’s doing good. So much better. She smiles all the time now.”

My dad grunts in response.

My heart clenches for my mom, though. When I think of my daughter, and her going through something like this, it breaks my heart. I understand now that this has been difficult for my mom—worse than she’s let on. I know there’s no way I can ever thank her enough for the last seven months, but I hope somehow, someway, I can show her that it’s meant the world to me.



“Stop fidgeting,” my mom scolds as we walk up to Ryder’s front door. “You look nice,” she adds in a softer tone. “You don’t need to worry.” She smiles up at me, tightening her hold on the bowl of macaroni salad she holds.

I ring the doorbell and wait. My nerves are all over the place. Coming here, to Ryder’s party where his parents and friends are in attendance, feels pretty personal. Then again, I guess kissing the guy is pretty personal too.

The door swings open and an older gentleman stands there. He’s tall, with salt and pepper hair, and kind brown eyes. I know instantly that he’s Ryder’s dad; the resemblance is uncanny.

“You must be Blaire,” he says to me, pulling me into an immediate hug.

“Oh, uh, hi,” I mumble, hugging him back.

“I’m sorry.” He releases me. “It’s just that I feel like I know you. Ryder’s told us so much about you.”

“Oh, of course. It’s okay,” I say awkwardly. It appears that even at twenty-seven years old, I still haven’t learned how to handle uncomfortable situations. “These are my parents: Maureen and Dan.”

“Hi,” Ryder’s dad says and shakes each of their hands. “I’m Kenneth. Most everyone’s in the back. I’ll show you guys the way.”

He gestures with his hand and we follow him down the hall and out the back door.

There’s a small deck that leads out into a fenced-in yard. The grass is green and well taken care of with a few trees. A few tables and chairs are set up for people to sit at. There’s a game of horseshoes going on—a few guys standing around with beers partaking with that while I assume their wives or girlfriends watch. Ryder’s standing with them, laughing at something. I study the side of his face. The elegant slope of his chiseled cheekbones and the slight crinkles by his eyes from laughing so much. His skin was always darker in tone, but the summer sun has deepened it even further to a russet color.

He must feel me staring because he turns slightly away from the guy he’s speaking to and looks toward the deck where I stand.

Our eyes connect and I feel butterflies fill my stomach. A part of me wants to believe that what I feel is simply the baby moving, but no, those are definitely butterflies.