Left Drowning(54)

With one hand, I stir the pot of spaghetti sauce that is simmering on the stove, and with the other hand I hold an invitation, staring at the cursive lettering. It’s an invitation from my parents’ old friends Lani and Tim Sturgeon, who have asked James and me to their Christmas Eve party.

I’m going to accept.

This feels like a spectacularly bold move, and I know that’s completely silly. People RSVP to invitations all the time. I, however, do not. But I dial their number anyway with my free hand, using the other to keep stirring the sauce. My family spent many dinners and even a few weekend vacations with the Sturgeon, and they knew our family well.

Lani answers and is unable to disguise her surprise that it’s me. “Oh, Blythe McGuire! It’s so good to hear from you. Tim and I think about you often.”

“You do?” I blurt out. “That’s … that’s so nice. Um, I was just calling to say that James and I would love to come over on Christmas Eve if it’s not too late to reply.”

“We would be thrilled to see you,” she says. “I’m really excited that you two are coming.”

“Well, thank you so much. I guess we’ll see you—”

“Blythe?”

“Yes?”

There is an uncomfortable moment of silence, and I dread what she is going to say next.

“How are you?” she asks.

“Fine, fine.” I blather on about college courses for a few minutes.

“I’m glad to hear you’re doing all right. We never heard from you after … after your parents died. I know it was such a chaotic time then, and later your aunt assured us that you were both doing as well as could be expected and that you were busy with school and moving on. And we didn’t know if you’d want to hear from us or not. I mean, we were your parents’ friends, after all, and you probably had your own friends to lean on. After the funeral service, Tim and I almost picked up the phone so many times, but we didn’t want to intrude or …” Lani fumbles for words. “We didn’t want to make things worse. If seeing us would have made it harder on you, we would have felt terrible. I hope you didn’t think that we didn’t care. Or that we don’t care. We loved your parents so much, Blythe. And we love you and James.” I hear her voice crack and am moved beyond words. Somebody did and does care about us. “But you’re happy now?”

I am nodding and smiling and furiously stirring the pot on the stove. It takes me a moment to be able to answer her. “I am. It’s been …” I am trying to think how to phrase it. I want to be honest. “It’s been a very, very hard time, and I’ve struggled a lot, but this year things are finally turning around. I have good friends now, and that makes my world bright again. I’ve missed you, also. It’s going to be just great to see you.”

“Wonderful. Tim will be delighted to hear you’re coming. Oh, and Nichole Rains will be here with her parents. You two were friends in high school, weren’t you?”

“We were. It will be good to see her.”

“Excellent. We had dinner at her parents’ house last week, and she was asking about you.”

“She was?” I’m surprised.

“Absolutely. She said that you had sort of fallen off the map after graduation, and she was really hoping to reconnect with you.”

Flabbergasted does not begin to describe how I feel, but I manage to thank Lani again for the invitation. My plan was to force myself to go and simply get through the party. Instead, I’m realizing, this might actually be nice. Really, really nice.

I turn down the heat on the sauce and reexamine the apple pie that I baked. The pie is cookbook-photo-worthy, and I nearly text Chris a picture of it with a note saying that he was clearly the downfall of the Thanksgiving pies. But I don’t.

I go to the living room. It looks as though Christmas vomited all over the room, but I wanted to use every single decoration that had been stored in the six boxes in the attic. I’d forgotten that my mother had a thing for old-fashioned Santas, and there are all sorts of St. Nicholas items displayed around the room. It borders on creepy, but I think I’ve pulled it off by covering the room in white twinkle lights. Those do a lot to offset the tackiness. A lot of decorative accessories in the house were tucked away for the renters’ sake, but after I took out the holiday stuff, I retrieved the dishes and bedding and such that James and I are used to. I already unpacked the boxes of stuff that Lisa unceremoniously moved here from her house, and it’s nice to see our familiar bedding. The relief that she is out of town is immense, and I’m convinced that seeing her would undo the tone that I’m hoping to set for this time with James.

I’ve been torn, because as much as I want this house to feel the same as it used to, I also want to make it feel fresh, so I’ve been trying to mix in the old with the new. All the decorating, unpacking, shopping, and general fussing I’ve been doing has been good for me. Even though I’ve felt torn up a few times, I can feel a level of competence and independence growing.

I am proud of myself.

The tree looks crazy. It’s absolutely covered in ornaments. So much so that there is barely any green from the branches visible, but I think it’s damn awesome. I’ve arranged and rearranged James’s presents a hundred times and moved his stocking from one part of the mantel to another over and over, even though I’m quite sure that he’s not going to walk in here and have some kind of meltdown because his stocking should have been three inches to the left, or one of his presents is at an improper angle.