Left Behind

“Did you just sniff something?”

“No!”

“Liar. What did you smell?”

“Ugh….” I growl because she knows me so well. “My pillow,” I confess.

“Smells like Zack?”

“Yes, if you must know.”

“I must.” We both laugh. Aunt Claire would definitely be upset if she knew I hadn’t washed my pillowcases in weeks. But I just can’t bear to give up the smell. It keeps me company when he slips out from my bed in the morning.

We talk for a while. She tells me about a new guy she’s dating, yet doesn’t really like, and I tell her more about school and last night with Zack. He took me to another lighthouse to watch the sunset. The sixth one we’ve visited so far.

“So did you buy anything special to wear tomorrow night?” Ashley asks.

“Aunt Claire bought me a cute sundress I haven’t worn yet, so I thought I’d wear it. It’s blue, Zack’s favorite color.”

“I was talking about what you planned to wear under the sundress.”

Panic sets in. I hadn’t even given any thought to wearing any special underwear. “Oh my god. I didn’t even think about that! Am I supposed to wear something special for the first time? Like a teddy or something?”

“Calm down. I don’t think there are any set rules. I just thought you might have since it’s been such a big buildup to the day.”

The nerves I had temporarily been able to set aside for the last ten minutes, come back blindingly strong. “You’re right. It has been a big build up. What happens if it isn’t what we expect it to be?”

“What do you expect it to be?”

“I don’t know. Special. Emotional, I guess.”

“Well, what you wear has nothing to do with any of that. So I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Aunt Claire knocks on my door to tell me it’s time for dinner. “I have to go,” I say to Ash. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Right after you fornicate.”

“Fornicate? Someone’s been reading the dictionary.”

“Do you like riding the baloney pony better?”

“Stick with fornicate.”

“If you insist.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait.”

***

The smell of Belgian waffles wafts through the air the next morning, the corners of my mouth turning upwards before I even open an eye. Aunt Claire knows they’re my favorite. I’d never had homemade waffles before coming to California. Honestly, I’m not even sure I realized you could make them at home, no less make them taste as incredible as she does.

I pad through the house, my feet shuffling sleepily on the floor, even though my senses are wide awake from the smell.

“Happy Birthday, sleepyhead! And Happy Valentine’s Day!” Aunt Claire smiles as I enter the kitchen.

I eat one waffle, then half of a second, poking with my fork at the rest. It hits me how strange it’s been to have someone cooking all the time for me. A stove in a trailer isn’t quite the same as the one Aunt Claire has. Plus, Mom wasn’t much of a cook anyway. She never ate much, she thought if we had unexpired milk and Cheerios all was golden. Dinners generally consisted of frozen food thawed in the oven or fast food. None of it good for Mom’s diabetes, but she was always stubborn. Even when I started working in a supermarket in the months before she died and I’d bring home fresh fruit or vegetables, Mom would say she wasn’t hungry.

Aunt Claire must spot me drifting into a sad place thinking of Mom because she jumps up from her chair like a puppy that spotted a treat, exclaiming, “I almost forgot your presents! Stay right there!” and disappears to her room in a flurry.

I’m hit with a pang of guilt when she rushes back in with a pile of beautifully wrapped presents— more than I’ve ever received at once before. She’s rushing to cook for me and give me gifts before school, and I’m keeping a major secret from her. Today I feel more guilt than I have in the past few months. Maybe it’s because I’m wondering if someone made my sister a special breakfast for her birthday. A sister I pretend to know nothing about to Aunt Claire. Each day my dishonesty gets harder and harder.

Aunt Claire piles the boxes at my feet. They’re dripping with curled ribbons and bows and wrapped in red shiny paper covered in pink hearts to commemorate my Valentine’s birthday.

“Open them!” she insists as I’m inspecting the beautiful packages. She shoves the first of the larger boxes onto my lap. Somehow she always seems to know when I’m overwhelmed with emotions that make me uncomfortable, drawing me back into a conversation and away from the awkward mental space I’m stuck in.

There are three boxes of the same size and then one very small box that has me the most curious. I want to rush at the small one first, but instead I open them as Aunt Claire hands them to me. Clearly, she is building drama.

Inside box number one, I find a beautiful teal green dress I had stopped to look at on a mannequin at Bloomingdales when Aunt Claire and I were shopping at the mall last week. The color drew my attention at first. The shade of teal looked like water in a Caribbean beach photograph. Beyond the color I fell in love with the row of tiny white shiny pearls lining the scoop neck of the dress. I’m not a particularly “girly girl” but this dress was stunning and I couldn’t help think about what Zack might think if he saw me in it.