Page 33 of Into the Deep Blue

The dust settles.

Two weeks later, and after countless tubs of ice cream with Dad, I finally come out of my cocoon.

Turns out dumping everything doesn’t work because you can’t throw away the sad.

The sad sticks to you.

It’s a lazy Friday afternoon at the end of summer.

The sound of crickets chirping fills the air, my favorite part of September.

It means I can pull out some Halloween decorations.

We always go big on Halloween, but we pretty much skipped it last year.

A few hollow metal jack-o-lanterns are scattered around the living room floor, and my poison apple candleholder sits on the coffee table.

Decorating this early might seem strange to some, but it’s normal strange for us, and it feels good to have these small pieces of normal.

Dad’s last official night shift is tonight.

I’m trying to make sure his final daytime sleep is a good one, so I’m going up to Portland State.

Even though I’m not going to school there, I want to take the campus tour for Mom.

***

The sun shines bright over the gothic buildings, making the university grounds glow like a lost city.

I can picture her and Dad sitting under the towering copper beech tree outside the library.

Part of me wants to change my plan and go here, where I could envelop myself in their history with the bonus of being within driving distance of Dad.

I stroll through the grounds.

New students mill about, excitedly exploring while a few summer-school veterans push past them with purpose.

Up ahead is the Karl Miller Center, the spot where Mom took my picture thirteen years ago.

It’s the picture we wanted to recreate during our visit but couldn’t because she had to leave.

There’s no one around, so I position myself a fair distance from the entrance and hold out my phone to take a selfie with the glass windows behind.

It’ll have to do.

My tears fall as I study the photo on my way back to the parking lot.

The sunlight reflects off the facets of glass like endless beams of light, and a Cheshire cat grins mischievously from the chain around my neck.

Of course, I fixed the necklace; a piece of me was missing without it.

Mom would approve.

“?”

I look up. Alex is standing in front of me.

“Hey!”

I chirp, quickly wiping my eyes.

She scans the quad.

“Is Nick here?”

“No, I’m on my own.”

“Oh.”

And then, as if she’s not sure she should ask.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,”

I say, because it’s what people say, even when they have a full blotchy cry face.

“I was on my way home. It’s just a street over.”

She hesitates a second.

“Do you want to come check out the place? If you have time. No pressure.”

“I couldn’t. I don’t want to intrude.”

“Are you kidding? I would love it! I haven’t had a chance to show it off to anyone yet.”

How could I say no? Some things are easier to roll with. “Sure.”

As we walk down the path, she points to the oldest building covered in ivy at the far end of the quad.

“That’s where I met Casey. I never believed in love at first sight or anything like that, and I still don’t know if I do, but something in me knew.”

She smiles. She’s different here, less the antagonistic sister, more human being. She pulls up a backpack slung low over her shoulder.

“Do you have to get back in time for counseling?”

“No. I don’t go anymore. I think I had my fill of the group thing.”

“I didn’t know. My brother tells me nothing.”

We wait on the sidewalk for a stoplight to change. A swarm of students floods around us, like we’re in a pack mob.

“You get used to it,” she says.

Around the corner and two streets down is the cutest strip of townhouses. The noise from the busy university hub melts away. Mature trees line the sidewalk, and flowerbeds dot the railings.

“This is us,”

she says, excitedly, stopping before a townhouse with a robin’s egg blue door. A floral hydrangea wreath hangs over it. The one from Nick’s house.

I follow her up the walk and inside.

“It’s still a work in progress, so don’t mind the mess. We painted last week.”

The walls are sky blue with white trim. White subway tile lines the kitchen and the dining room is full of vintage pieces.

“The table is Casey’s,”

she says.

“It was her nan’s.”

She leads me upstairs. Their room has a fresh, airy vibe with a few boxes still scattered around. Then she takes me to Max’s room.

“We wanted to finish his room first,” she says.

It’s perfect.

She used some of their mom’s pieces—a blue shag rug, and a paper lantern.

A navy tent with glow in the dark stars is attached to the posts of his bed.

Some old action figures are on his shelves—Batman, Star Wars, Superman. I glance back at Alex and clutch my chest.

“I know right? Those used to be Nick’s. Now, if only he’d come by to check it out.”

She straightens some pencil crayons on Max’s desk.

“How’s he doing?”

Now I have to come clean. Part of me worries she won’t want to talk to me if she knows the truth.

“I don’t know, actually. We’re taking a break.”

“A break?”

She pauses.

“From what?”

This conversation is quicksand.

“Each other?”

“Huh.”

She picks up on my I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it vibe.

“That’s too bad. You two really seemed to click.”

“Yeah. I think things just got a little too real. Part of me feels like we were only together because of what happened, and maybe it wasn’t the greatest reason.”

I don’t know why I’m telling her this.

Alex picks up a pair of Max’s pajamas from the floor and puts them in his hamper.

“I don’t know. Casey went through a lot with her parents like I did, so she gets it. And it’s nice to have someone who gets it. Not that you need that.”

She holds her hands out.

“Don’t listen to me, but for what it’s worth, it didn’t seem like that was the only reason you were together.”

The front door opens from downstairs, saving me from this conversation.

“Hey, Babe, can you give me a hand for a sec?”

a woman’s voice calls out.

“Coming!”

She touches my shoulder.

“I’ll be right back.”

She dashes away, leaving me there.

“Guess what? We have company.” Her voice trails as she runs down the stairs.

Max’s room is brimming with details.

His bookcase is filled with graphic novels.

On his red desk is a notepad with a pen next to it, the same layout as Nick’s.

It takes everything in me not to text him a picture. It’s achingly sweet—a room full of promise and dreams for a boy filled with joy and light.

I put my bag on Max’s bed and dig through the zippered pocket inside.

My fingers brush against the jagged edges of the black obsidian I swiped from the waterfall.

I leave it in Max’s bookcase next to a microscope and a book about space.

It fits here, this small piece of us.

Alex is coming back up the stairs, so I move away from the bookcase and scoop up my bag.

“, this is Casey.”

Casey bounds past Alex and throws her arms around me in a hug.

“It is so nice to meet you! Max talks so much about you and Nick. Where is he? Is he here?”

She glances around, excited, and Alex draws a line across her throat, trying to murder this line of questioning. Casey finally gets it.

“Oh! Okay then! You could’ve told me that downstairs.”

She gives Alex an exaggerated stare, and Alex shrugs it off.

Casey tucks her blonde hair behind her ears—although, with her pixie cut, there isn’t much to tuck.

She has black glasses and is shorter than Alex.

They couldn’t seem more opposite.

Alex has a nomad vibe, and Casey seems like the grounding force.

Maybe we all need an opposite, an anchor. It always felt as if Nick and I were both treading water, but I didn’t give us a chance to find out who we are when we finally reached the shore.

“You didn’t show her our room, did you?”

Casey asks.

“I did.”

“Oh, Babe, it’s a disaster,”

she groans.

“Come, have a lemonade,”

she offers, beckoning me out of the room.

“Can I get a rain check? I should hit the road.”

“See? Nobody wants to hang out with us,”

Alex says to Casey.

“No one wants to hang out period,”

Casey argues.

“Us included.”

I kind of love them. We make our way back downstairs.

“We’ll hold you to it,”

Alex says, leaning into Casey’s shoulder.

“You’re always welcome to drop by if you’re in the neighborhood, Nick or no Nick.”

“Thanks, Alex.”

“I heard you went to Monterey!”

Casey says.

“Oh, yeah! I have a picture on me.”

It takes a minute to find, but I pull out the photo I printed of Nick, me, and the sea lion. It’s Nick’s copy. I meant to give it to him but never did. I hand it to Alex, and she and Casey share a smile.

“Can I keep this?” she asks.

“I guess. Yeah.”

“Is it weird of me to ask?”

She turns to Casey, who shakes her head.

“It’s just . . . I don’t have any recent pictures of him.”

She takes the picture to the fireplace and places it on the mantle.

“He just looks so happy.”

We both do. Tears sting in the corner of my eyes, and I quickly blink them away.

“Can we get the hell out of here?”

imaginary Nick says. I picture him beside me, beyond annoyed with Alex. His eyes meet mine, and I feel so grounded when they connect, like we’re in our own world.

“I’m trying,”

I mutter softly to no one.

Alex and Casey eye me curiously.

“To . . . beat the traffic,”

I add louder.

“I really should go.”

They both give me a hug goodbye.

Outside, I let my head fall against their front door.

Tiny blue petals tumble against my shoulder.

Strange, because the wreath is fake. I turn around and trace my fingers along the flowers. Peppered between the faux hydrangea blooms are an endless sea of fresh forget-me-nots.

They turned it into something real.