Page 49

Ordinary People by John Legend

My foot taps nervously as I sit in the passenger seat of Henry’s car, and, as if he can read my thoughts, he turns the music down before he parks in his driveway.

“They don’t hate you, Mills. They’re not going to be mean or turn you away.” He grabs my hand. “It’s just dinner.”

Just dinner? “Henry, after what I did—”

“I never even told them what happened.” His admittance surprises me. “I told them we broke up, but I didn't talk to them about what happened. It was too hard.”

That kills me even more.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he says as he presses a small kiss to my knuckles. “We can leave whenever you want, okay?”

“Should we have some sort of signal or something?”

He shakes his head. “We don’t need signals, Amelia. I can read your mind, remember?”

I laugh—of course he can. “Okay,” I say as I pull my shoulders back. “Let’s do this.”

Even though I’ve only met his parents a few times, that hasn't stopped the spiral. I spiraled so bad last night after my medication wore off that I called the girls, and they helped to soothe my thoughts. It was actually really helpful, having them be here for me when my mind got too loud. Then, I cried to them on the phone for not giving up on me. Let’s just say last night was an emotional one, but I actually slept through the whole night.

He opens my door for me, and as we walk up the beautifully gardened path to the front door, I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. I want so badly to cower behind Henry, but as soon as the door opens and their familiar faces hit my mine, they smile.

And they both bring me in for a hug.

“Amelia!” his mother says into my ear. “We’re so happy you could make it tonight.”

I have to stop myself from questioning that; my own parents would never be this happy to see me, so it confuses me as to why his are, especially after I broke their son’s heart and left the fucking country.

“Hey, Dad,” Henry says as he hugs his father. “How’s the recent puzzle coming?”

“Well, if you head to the dining room table, you’ll find out.”

I step into the house, Henry’s hand on the small of my back as the scent of garlic bread hits my nose. This house is more home-like than the one I grew up in. Colors look brighter here. It’s an exact contrast to my childhood house that’s devoid of the things that make a house feel like a home.

“Hen, he refused to move it off the table,” his mother says as he takes my coat. “I knew he took his puzzles seriously, but he’s making us squish around the table in the kitchen because he didn't want me to move it.”

“It’s the puzzle of both of Henry’s book covers, Sheila,” his father says. “I couldn’t move it when I’m almost done!”

“You have a puzzle with his covers on it?” I ask, wanting to see it for myself.

“Come on,” Henry says as he leads the way. I find myself remembering the layout of the house since I came here for Thanksgiving our senior year, then a few times after that for dinner. It’s weird how certain memories don’t fade.

As soon as I see the red cover of his debut, I smile.

“Wow,” I say as I run my hand over the completed sections. “This is so cool. Where did he get this?”

“Henry made it for me on some create your own puzzle website,” his dad says as he hands us both a glass of water. “It was a wonderful birthday present a few weeks ago.”

“Where’s Lucy?” Henry asks.

“She’s out with some friends at the beach,” his mother says from the other room. “She’s not coming, unfortunately. You know how teenagers are.”

“I know how excited you were to see her,” his father says. “And she was excited to see you as well.”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to me. “Really? Me?”

“Amelia, you were her favorite person to talk to way back when. She would not stop mentioning her new friend Amelia to all her classmates.”

My throat practically closes. I guess I didn't just break Henry when I left.

I loved his little sister, and even though most children annoy the ever-loving crap out of me, she never fit into the category.

Matter of fact, I remember telling Henry multiple times that I thought his sister was marginally cooler than him. He agreed, of course.

I swallow the knot in my throat—the memories overwhelming me—and I have to remind myself to stay in the present. Henry is on his way to forgiving me. I’m showing up for him. I’m here and trying not to run from the things that terrify me.

Henry meets my eyes, and I can tell he’s asking me if I’m okay.

I nod, and then he shows me that beautiful Henry smile.

“Feel free to help me out a bit,” his father offers. “I’m going to help your mother with dinner. Okay?”

“Sounds good, Dad,” Henry says before he pulls one of the dining room chairs out for me, the two of us sitting down to work on a puzzle before dinner.

And for the next few minutes, Henry and I fill in parts of the puzzle, the two of us working silently as my shoulders loosen and I feel my breathing get easier.

Amelia has been strangely quiet since she got here. I’m unsure if this is overwhelming her, but when I asked her if she was okay, she said she was.

It must be something else, but I’m not sure what. I know she doesn't have the best relationship with her family, so maybe seeing me with mine is too much.

Back in college, anytime she talked to her family, Ames curled in on herself.

It was hard seeing her like that, but her parents always made her feel small, unimportant, as if her dreams were useless.

I can only imagine how she feels thinking about them now.

I know her main reasons for leaving were to prove she could be something despite them not believing in her, but I wonder how she’s going to navigate that relationship since she’s back on U.S.

soil. Especially after all she went through alone in England, I wonder if she thinks about mentioning any of that to them.

Back then, I never pressed on the things that made Amelia curl in on herself. I didn't like seeing her in that state, and she didn't deserve to be living in it. I wanted to make her happy, so we avoided talking about it.

Looking back, I wish we laid it all on the table then. Maybe the past two years would look a little different, but I’m glad we’re here now. I’m glad she came back and we’re on our way to repairing what she broke.

“So, Amelia, you worked all the way in London for National Geographic, is that right?” my mother asks as she sets the bread down. “That’s very impressive.”

“Oh, please.” Amelia waves her off. “It’s not as fancy as it sounds.”

“You traveled all over Europe and wrote articles about different parts of the world, Amelia,” I remind her. “That’s impressive.”

“Yes, well, you wrote and published two books, Hen,” she tells me. “That’s far more incredible than anything I’ve done.”

“Now, honey.” My mom reaches for her hand, and I feel Amelia’s entire body tense. “Do not downplay your accomplishments.”

“I keep telling her that, but she doesn't listen,” I say as she jostles me with her elbow.

“I remember when you sat at that table and talked about your major.” My dad pauses to take a drink. “Journalism, right? ”

“It was, yes,” Amelia affirms.

“Your eyes lit up like Henry’s did when he talked about being an author.” He smiles to himself. “You should be proud of yourself, Amelia. You had a dream, and you made it a reality.”

“Not many people can say they did that,” my mom reminds her. “You two have already achieved so much.”

“Mom, please don’t start crying during dinner,” I tell her, knowing how emotional she gets when she thinks about Lucy and me.

When I look over at Amelia, she has a look on her face I’ve never seen before. It almost looks like surprise mixed with longing. Her eyes are glassy as she looks between my parents, her chest rising steadily as she fiddles with her fork.

“I won’t, Hen,” she says as she looks at Amelia. “Is everything alright? Is the food okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Amelia says before I can answer for her. “Everything is perfect.”

I can hear the wispiness in her voice, and just before I think she’s going to excuse herself, she launches into questions for my parents. For the rest of the night, we chat around the dinner table, and Amelia surprises me in a thousand different ways.

She’s leading the conversation most of the time, and she laughs like she hasn't a care in the world. I can’t help the smile on my face the entire night; it feels like old times, before everything got complicated.

It feels like the clouds are starting to clear, and even though the sun isn't fully through yet, I can feel it coming on the horizon.