Back to You(72)

“Michael!” she whisper-yelled after him, noticing the precarious shine on the blacktop. “Watch out for the black ice!”
“Watch out for the black guys?” he called over his shoulder, the confusion in his voice mixed with drunken amusement. “What the hell is wrong with—” The words cut off as Michael’s legs soared out from under him, and Lauren watched as he flew into the air, his arms flailing at his sides before he landed flat on his back and glided a few feet until his legs were under her mother’s parked car.
Lauren hadn’t thought about that night in years, but now she couldn’t get the image out of her mind. Every time she thought she’d composed herself, she’d start laughing again.
“I don’t know what the best part of that story is: the epic fall you took, or the fact that you thought I was trying to warn you about black guys,” she said through her cackling.
Michael stifled a laugh. “You do realize I could have killed myself. It’s cruel of you to laugh.”
“Hey, I came running down to make sure you were okay, and double and triple-checked before I even let the first smile crack,” she said. “That was no easy feat, so I’ve earned the right to laugh freely now.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Michael said.
“You were so wasted. I can’t believe you even remember that.”
“Remember it? How could I not? You reminded me of it every chance you got for the next year of our lives.”
Lauren smiled as she laid back against her pillow, and the words were out of her mouth before she could think better of them.
“I really missed you.”
There was a beat of silence, and Lauren’s smile fell as her heart stopped. But before she could even curse herself for the slip-up, she heard him sigh, his words so soft that she wasn’t even sure they were meant for her ears.
“God…me too.”

December 2002
Lauren pulled into Michael’s driveway and cut the engine, trying to shake off the sudden sadness that had momentarily overtaken her excitement.
The entire drive to his house, she had been so eager to give him his Christmas present. Getting her hands on it had proved to be nearly impossible; she’d never tell him the lengths she went through to get it, or how much she ended up paying for it, but she could just imagine the look on his face that would make everything worth it.
But as she turned onto his road, her heart dropped slightly. Every house on the street was lit up, a myriad of blinking lights and giant blow-up Santas and twinkling artificial icicles.
Every house except his.
It was literally a blackened hole on a street full of color and festivity, its darkness somehow overpowering the brightness of all the other@whole decisions combined, and the thought of him coming home to this house night after night put an unpleasant heaviness in her chest.
Lauren exited her car, looking up at the dim light coming out of his window, and she smiled as the image of him opening his present made its way back into her mind. She turned and grabbed the bag, shutting the car door and jogging up the front steps to his house.
A long time ago, Michael had told her to just walk in when she came over. It had taken her forever to feel comfortable doing so, but eventually it just became routine. His mother was usually holed up in her bedroom, and on the rare occasions that she made an appearance, she would simply ignore Lauren anyway.
Lauren opened the front door, startled to see Mrs. Delaney sitting on the couch, staring straight ahead as she absently swirled a small glass of brown liquid in her hand.
There was no tree, no smell of Christmas dinner, not even a Christmas card displayed anywhere. And although Lauren had expected as much, there was the tiniest part of her that still hoped, that figured maybe decorating the outside of the house was too laborious for a woman, but the inside would be different.
She took a small, steadying breath. “Hi Mrs. Delaney,” she attempted softly.
The woman stared straight ahead as if Lauren hadn’t spoken.
Lauren bit her lip, dropping her eyes before she began walking past her toward the stairs.
“You seem like a smart girl.”
Lauren froze. It was the first time in two years the woman had acknowledged her at all, let alone spoken to her.
“Although I’m a terrible judge of character,” she added with a sardonic laugh.
Lauren turned toward her; she was staring down at the glass in her hand as she swirled it slowly.
“But if for once I’m right,” she said huskily, “you should stop coming around here.” She lifted her eyes then, looking at Lauren. “He’ll just ruin you.”
A loaded silence filled the space between them as Lauren stared at the woman before her, completely at a loss for words. She wanted so badly to be able to make sense of her, to find any ounce of humanity in those eyes that might belie the words that just left her lips.