Before I knew where I was going, my feet started guiding me away from the car and from the key that I had just dropped.
Dad looked confused about my reaction, but I couldn't come up with any reasonable explanations. He didn't try to hold me back.
As I strolled on the sidewalk, the sun ironically smiled down at me, permanently hovering behind me and watching over me.
I walked into the cemetery. I had been to Riley's grave so many times that my feet could retrace my steps without any orders from me.
White lilies rested against the headstone, withering away just like the writing on the sticky notes.
If I were to write anything now, I would tell her that it was all my fault.
The car was my idea. I could have prevented all that if I had just encouraged Dad to get her a T-shirt or a concert ticket. Why did I pick a car out of everything?
I didn't know how long I stood there, mindlessly staring at the words engraved on the stone: Beloved sister. For once, my mind was blank. No lingering memories. No haunting thoughts. Nothing but disturbing radio silence.
"Avery." I heard the name, but it took a while for my brain to register that it was mine.
Avan was standing there when I turned around, his hands tucked into his jean pockets.
"I didn't think I'd find you here," he said.
I supposed a cemetery wasn't where teenagers usually celebrated their birthdays.
"I was just thinking," I told him.
I had been trying to push back all the things I could have been thinking about to soak in the eerie calm that resided here. Many other things hung around in the back of my head, competing for my attention: Mom, her son, school, car. Those words seemed to rotate continuously in my mind, but when I was here with Riley, they faded to the background.
"I have an idea," Avan said. "Come with me?"
I watched him suspiciously as he nodded towards the exit. I followed him to his car outside.
He rarely ever drove it, and the last time he gave me a ride, some guy yelled that we were moving like snails. I wondered if he shared my phobia.
"Would it be pointless to ask where we're going?" I asked, putting on the seatbelt.
Avan nodded with a smile.
"How have you been?" I asked him as he pulled away from the side of the road.
He didn't answer directly. "My parents are coming for a brief visit in two days."
"You don't sound particularly excited about it."
"Well, Mom said that they had good news. And from what I've learned over the past few years, she uses 'good' loosely."
I smiled to myself, but only for a second because soon, he added, "I heard your mom came back." His voice sounded cautious, as though he didn't know how to approach this.
"How did you know?" I asked, mostly to buy myself some time before having to think about it.
"Your dad told me. He called me earlier this week."
"They've been getting along well," I said. "I don't know how to feel about it."
Maybe it was selfish, but I didn't want them to get any closer. I didn't want family dinners with her and her kid on Sunday evenings, I didn't want shared vacations, I didn't want any mother-daughter bonding hang-outs, I didn't want to babysit her kid.
Avan didn't say anything for a while. But when he spoke again, his words were even slower than before, like he had to weigh each one before saying them.
"Look at it from your Dad's perspective. You'll be off to college in a few weeks."
'If I passed my classes', I thought but chose not to interrupt him.
"He'll be alone," he continued. "Being around the kid can only help."
That made a lot of sense. "There's just something about it, about this whole thing, that scares me."
He briefly glanced my way before focusing on the road again. "Are you scared your Dad will fall in love with her again?"
Hearing the words I hadn't been able to admit to myself before seemed to knock me into my seat. My worries now felt real.
Of course, I was afraid he would. He did once. What would stop him from falling for her again?
"That's if he ever did stop loving her," I heard myself say.
The thought of my dad getting hurt again troubled me, and I wished I could protect him from her. The slim seatbelt now felt heavy on my chest, and I felt trapped. Trapped and helpless.
"What would be so wrong about that?" he asked, and I looked at him like he was insane because he definitely was.
"She hurt him before." My breath hitched in my throat. "Do you think they might get back together?" I didn't know why I even asked or what reply I expected to hear.
He hesitated before finally saying, "They're only human."
I didn't like that answer. I wanted to be sure Dad would be okay, and maybe I should have started by talking to Dad himself.
Avan pulled up in front of a church—the one where we held Riley's funeral. It was only two stories high, but I remembered not having the strength to walk up the stairs that day.
"We're not getting married, are we?"
I wanted to knock my head against the dashboard after saying that, and I would have if he hadn't been watching.
Oh, the things that left my mouth! Why on earth was I still allowed to speak? I clearly didn't know how to.
Avan scoffed as we walked out of the car. He didn't comment on it, and I was so grateful for it.
I followed Avan across the hall and into the sanctuary. No one was in there, but I could hear a choir rehearsing somewhere on the second floor.
Avan walked up the stage and gestured for me to mimic him.
"Are we even allowed to be in here?" I asked, and my voice echoed in the room as I walked down the center aisle in between rows of polished wood pews.
The memories of dramatically running out of the church through that very aisle were still vivid in my head.
"Not sure," he said from the stage. "I didn't see any signs the last time I came."
"You've snuck in here before?"
He laughed. "I think "snuck" is a strong word."
"So, what are we doing here?" I walked up the few steps to join him.
The only lighting came from the house lights, and they were dim.
"I've finally realized," he said, "what the point of eulogies is. I used to think it was because we believed that wherever the dead are, they could hear us. But, I guess we're just saying what we want to remember about them."
Avan brushed away some of the dust from an acoustic guitar leaning against the wall.
"Most of the time—" He sat on the floor. "Most of the time, we think that moving on means to stop thinking about them, but it doesn't. The entire process is accepting that all we'll have are the memories we did get to make and nothing else... nothing more.
"And that's what a eulogy is supposed to be, I believe. A record of the memories that you're fond of. I know you didn't get to read yours. But it's not too late. That's why we're here. Let's rewind all the way back to that day. You didn't panic, and you didn't run."
He picked up the guitar and started adjusting the tuners.
"Is this the time when I get to hear you play?"
He dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. "Go ahead and speak. I'll just be the dramatic background music."
I smiled and turned to the seats as he played his first few notes.
The familiar faces of Dad, family members, and Riley's friends soon filled the room and the empty seats. I knew I was imagining them, but the soft smile on Dad's face appeared real because this time, I walked to the podium instead of leaving him all alone. Because this time, I didn't run away.
I couldn't remember the things I wrote on that paper. I had never even thought about it again after crumpling it and tossing it in the trash at the park where I went. But I guess it didn't matter. I didn't need a piece of paper to tell me what I wanted to remember about my sister.
So I read off my nonexistent paper to a nonexistent audience the most random anecdotes I could remember.
I talked about the light-hearted stories that I hadn't spent nearly enough time thinking about these last few months—the Apple Festival, the pranks, the beach days, the summer camps, the trips to Disney World, the Halloween costume parties, the long hours of cooking the Thanksgiving meals, and the midnight jam sessions Dad always complained about.
And it felt great to talk about those for once, and it took the unnecessary hefty weight off my shoulders.
Avan played a soothing melody as quietly as he could, and he didn't interrupt me until I ran out of things to say.
"You're talented," I told him when we were back inside the car, even though I had only heard snippets of what he played.
"This is an insult to all the talented musicians out there," he replied, a lopsided grin on his face.
"I mean it, you're really good." Not that I knew what I was talking about. I knew absolutely nothing about music.
"Well, you see, I don't really trust your judgment either," he said, referring to the conversation we had, weeks earlier.
"Thank you for bringing me here. I needed that." And I hoped he knew I wasn't just saying that. "Was that my gift?"
"Oh, right! Today is your birthday, isn't it?"
I scoffed and shook my head. He shifted and reached over to the back seat. As he settled back behind the wheel, he handed me a rectangular object enveloped in yellow wrap paper.
He started the car and returned to traffic, as I scrutinized the object in my hands.
"Be honest. Did your aunt wrap this for you?" I joked.
"I have many skills that you don't know about."
"Thank you for this." I held it with both hands and shook it next to my ear to keep myself from adding that he shouldn't have gotten me anything.
The gift made no sound, and though I already had an idea of what it could be from its shape, I still asked, "What is it?"
He laughed. "Do you really expect me to answer that?"
"It's the polite thing to ask." I ran my fingers over the sunflowers designed on the wrapper.
"You know, you can open it," he said after I stared at the gift for a few seconds.
"Your gift-wrapping skill is such an art that I can't bring myself to ruin it." I grinned, and he shook his head at the jest.
"Do your worst."
I tried to unwrap the folds as carefully as I could, but I still managed to tear some parts of it.
It uncovered Elena's painting of Riley with the sun in her hand and a gleam in her eyes. This time, the bright smile on her face seemed to tell me, "Happy birthday, Ava."
A/N: Thanks for reading!
These days, my writing process has mostly been me, staring at a blank page from the second I wake up until evening, and then hysterically typing when I realize I have homework due that same night.
-D.T. ➷