Page 2 of Remain
“Yeah,” I sigh, louder than I’m expecting. “You know, that time of the year. Family.”
“Oof,” he says softly, sympathy in his eyes as he buttons his shirt. “Do you want me to head out?”
The question is careful and kind. We matched on a dating app not long ago, and I know what he’s hoping for. I onlywanted the distraction along with the brief forgetting. I’m not ready for more from him.
I’m not even ready for more from myself.
“I think I do. Thank you for understanding. I’ll text you later, okay?”
He nods, unfazed. “I’ll hold you to that.”
The phone buzzes again, insistent now, the way Pineview people are when they’ve decided something is happening whether you like it or not.
I answer. “Hi, Auntie.”
“Oh thank God. I was worried you wouldn’t pick up. I’ve been texting and emailing. Next I thought, I’d have to show up there myself.”
“I’m in the middle of something,” I half-lie, because that’s easier than admitting I was standing still, wrapped in a life that looks complete from the outside, watching a man I barely know finish dressing.
“Well, I’ll be quick.” A pause. “It’s December.”
There it is.
Pineview never dives straight in. It circles, building momentum and waits for the inevitable.
“I’m not coming home for Christmas,” I affirm, voice light. I’ve practiced and rehearsed this all year. “You know that.”
“I didn’t say Christmas.”
I close my eyes and lean back against the counter. Behind me, the man slips on his jacket, gives me a quick, affectionate kiss on the shoulder and lets himself out.
“Okay,” I say, trailing off.
“I said December,” she continues. “Your mom’s house is still sitting there, Savannah. The realtor needs your signature on a few things. And…” her voice softens. “…we miss you. We all do.”
That part lands somewhere behind my ribs, sharp and unexpected.
I’ve built a life here in New York City. I’ve busted my butt to get here. I work in publishing now, romance, of all things, shaping other people’s happy endings with a precision that feels almost ironic. I have friends who know me only as I am now, not as the girl who left town with grief packed into every suitcase, into every crevice of her being. Pineview remembers too much and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m starting to forget that version of myself.
“I can come for a few days,” I concede. “In and out.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
When the call ends, the apartment feels quieter than before.
Too quiet.
I stare at my reflection in the darkened window - grief sure takes a toll on the body. I study my sharper cheekbones, a harder mouth, eyes that don’t quite soften anymore. I’ve lost weight. I know it.
I tell myself this is practical, being away from everyone back home.
I don’t tell myself the truth.
That December always finds me and that no amount of warmth in my bed has ever been enough to make the cold stop coming.
Three days later,I’m standing in a Manhattan grocery store checkout line, my fingers grazing over the packages of gum and candy that make my teeth ache just by existing, while my friend Lena tries to convince the cashier that astring of battery-powered Christmas lights qualifies as a non-optional emotional support item.
“I’m not decorating,” Lena says gravely, holding up the box like she’s testifying under oath. “I’m preventing seasonal despair. This is mental healthcare.”