I stare at the dress on my bed in contemplation as the late May glow shimmers in through the window. On the one side of my bed lies a white shirt â my usual uniform shirt â folded over a pair of black dress pants. Itâs boring, because this is what I wear all the time, and itâs alternative in a way that doesnât even match up to my personality. Either way itâs not what I want.
Yet looking at the pants option doesnât make me feel like Iâm about to vomit up my intestines, much unlike the dress. Whereas my Homecoming dress from three years ago was sweet, with its baby pink bodice and clouds of tulle, this dress is demure and sophisticated. Itâs a full waterfall of black satin, starting right under my neck and draping all the way to the floor, with bare arms to expose my skin and a sweeping cowl back to⦠well, I suppose to do the exact same thing there, too. Donât get me wrong, itâs not flashy â Iâll be utterly blend-in-able if I choose this dress â and it matches the Old Hollywood theme for our senior prom perfectly. But still, I canât help the anxious flutter I feel in my stomach when I look down at it, nor the flashbacks that resurface.
No more skirts.
I pick up the hem and run the smooth material over my fingers. Itâs so glossy that it almost glitters in the early evening sunlight streaming into my room from over the roof of Tateâs former home. The warm summer scents of sweet-pea blossom and coconut suntan lotion drift in from outside, and I drop the dress from my hand as I fold my arms and look out across the street. My room is bigger than it used to be after the reno that Mitchâs guys did, but other than the extra space, itâs still pretty much exactly the same as it was before. The memories sure as hell have hung tight. The all-consuming tension in my chest dulled down after the first month, but it never seemed to fully go away. Once I get my exam results and I subsequently know whether or not Iâll be admitted to my college choices the pain will have to go. Iâll move away and Iâll move on. Iâll be so busy with school â a whole But I wonât have Tate.
I suppose he will have already moved on, and I canât blame him. If I was him, I would have moved on too. Why spend your time pining over somebody like me, someone who is too shocked to even say And itâs not as if he didnât try, for months, repeatedly. He She has slowly been reintroducing Mitch back into her own life â they took a break for the first month and then started to see each other once every few weeks, whether as friends or partners I do not know, but he hasnât been around here at all. She told me that Mitch wants to see me but she told Overall, I feel very Bella Swan spinning-round-on-her-chair empty.
But at least my mom is happy.
Thereâs a knock on my door and I instantly check the time on my phone. It flashes 18:35. Doors open to our prom at seven so I need to get going soon. I promised Kit that I would be there, and it would be nice to see all of our efforts â making posters and banners and menus and playlists â having their moment after all.
âYes?â I ask, and my mom opens the door. Sheâs been out all afternoon, which is weird because she wasnât working today, and she looks a bit flushed, like maybe she caught the sun.
âYou should just go like this,â she jokes, jerking her chin to gesture at my attire. Iâm wearing plaid pyjama pants and a baby pink tank top, but my hair is floofed up out of its usual scrunchie prison, and Iâve applied some mascara and lip-gloss.
I nod in agreement, although my arms tighten across my chest. âIt would be very me,â I admit.
âKit would do something like that,â she remarks, but I donât comment. I feel like I have a right to be slightly bitter.
When she takes a step inside my room I know that something is up. I move closer to the window so that I can take in some deeper inhalations of the fresh May air, and I watch her cautiously as she moves to stand in front of my prom outfit choices, her hand pressed against her cheek. She rolls her lips into her mouth so that it becomes a tense flat line, and then she sighs as she lets it go.
âI met up with Mitch today,â she says.
My stomach instantly drops. Is she baiting me? This feels like a trick conversation starter, so I stare back at her in silence.
She rubs her palm up her forehead and then gestures down to an empty spot on my bed. âCan we sit?â
She can sense my suspicions from the waves of tension rolling off my body and she holds her hands up to me in surrender. My stomach drops further. âWe had a conversation,â she continues, and her voice is a little shakier now. She takes a seat at the edge of my bed and nods her head for me to do the same. Immobilised, I ignore her and grip onto the window ledge for dear life. âAbout you,â she finishes.
I turn around and drop my elbows onto the window sill, gripping my hair in my fingers and willing myself not to ruin my amazing spidery mascara.
âHe told me that you had told him something â on that night⦠the night of the worldâs most ironic housewarming party â and that it was really important that I asked you about it. It had something to do with his son and something to do with that boy who was there, too.â
She pauses for a minute, expecting me to turn around, but I donât. I look up and stare across the street, right into the room that used to belong to Tate. How long will he haunt me? When will this feeling end?
âIâm going to admit this to you right now,â she says, matter-of-factly. âI absolutely forced him to tell me everything. I mean, I know that â gentleman that he is â he undeniably spared specific details for your sake, but I couldnât risk you I shake my head but I actually feel a weight lift from my shoulders. Maybe Mitch was right â a problem shared is a problem halved. I feel powerful to be seen in the light of such naked truth.
I guess a guy with shoulders like Mitchâs would know a thing or two about carrying a heavy burden.
âI donât want pity,â I say finally, turning back to her. My eyes are, to my own amazement, dry.
âI know, River. Youâre a strong girl. I Actually I do. I could hear them outside every single night, and I made a note in my journal every single time. No words needed. Just a little heart.
âIt doesnât matter,â I say, moving to pick up my shirt and pants, hoping that sheâll get the message and clear the hell out. âHis momâs step-son kind of raped me, so I am officially not going to ever be involved with their family.â
She stands up and places herself in front of me. âThatâs why we were out so long today, River. Giving up on Tate because of some pseudo-connection toâ¦
Tears are burning in my eyes but not because of what she just said. Iâm emotional because moments like this always come too late. Tate wonât be waiting for me anymore, I have no idea what to do if I There isnât enough time for me fully digest my momâs words and she thankfully makes no move to embrace me in my overwhelmed state, but a palpable sensation squeezes between us in silent promise.
The sun burns a little brighter on my back as I drop the shirt and pants onto the floor, and lean across the quilt to pick up my dress.