Page 121 of Things I Overshared

I keep the windows drawn and my phone on airplane mode and I just . . . lie here. Sometimes I stare at his selfie on my phone. Sometimes I play songs from the playlists over and over, just wallowing in the surrounding darkness, both physically in the room and emotionally around my whole being.

I can feel myself feeling worse the longer I isolate, as if my internal battery were already on empty, and now I refuse to let myself recharge. But again, I don’t care. After breakups before, when I was sad, I wanted to talk it out. I wanted to wallow in ice cream and then maybe go out and pretend to be fine. And that usually worked, the pretending. I always bounced back after a couple days.

But this isn’t a breakup.

This is a shattering.

To be seen, understood, known, for the first time.

Angels do sing. I just don’t think you can hear them.

How do you do that? Put everyone else at ease?

You are an opus all on your own, Samantha.

As you can see, Samantha is a prodigy. . .I am very proud

of her.

I could do this for ages, just look at you.

To be really held, cherished, treasured and then . . . discarded. So maybe I wasn’t really cherished to begin with.

Again.

How can I ever trust myself?

I wait for sleep to find me. Tears find me first, but sleep follows soon after. I stay this way for days, over a week, I think. I know at one point, Sadie makes me eat. I do, a little bit. And then I retreat again. I sleep and sleep and sleep. Until I hear . . . singing?

Huh?

Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows… That is very loud, nearby singing. My brain finally registers, it’s one of my mom’s favorite oldies songs.

What?

Someone somewhere is really going at this song, holding out the words pennyyy . . . fi-iiiiine . . . miiiine.

I sit up.

And.

I.

I have trouble processing what I’m seeing.

“Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows, that’s how this re-frain goes, so come on, join in, everybody!”

I laugh.

I actually laugh a small, shocked chuckle I can’t hold in.

Because there in front of Sadie’s guest bed are all four of my sisters. Together. In Dallas. Singing an oldies song in three-part harmony at the top of their lungs.

“What the hell is happening?” I croak after they finish with a clap.

“We’re having a sister-vention, obviously,” Skye says dryly.

“You’re in Dallas?” I ask, shocked.