Losing Grip

Chapter 5➷ So, He Was Walking Me Home!

My fingers gripped the object as if it would give me the strength I needed to stand up. "Thanks," I whispered, not even bothering to wipe out the tears.

Still holding up the umbrella, Avan bent down to pick up my backpack and offered me his free hand.

I tucked the marker into my pocket; it was still uncapped, but I couldn't bring myself to care. He helped me up and handed me my bag. The dark clouds gave the impression that it was late even though it couldn't have been past six.

"Thanks," I said as we walked toward the exit. "I, uh... I thought you left."

"It looked like it was about to rain," he said with a small shrug.

We walked side by side in tense silence for a while. I was too busy trying to remain under the umbrella and within my half of the sidewalk without bumping into him to maintain a proper conversation. I didn't even know why we were walking together.

"You don't have to walk me home," I told him, truly looking up at his face for the first time in a while. His eyes were slightly tinted red, and his usually-polished hair was disheveled.

The corner of his lips tugged up in slight amusement. "Who said I was?"

I stared down at my shoes because I had no idea where to look to make things less weird. My laces loosened a little bit with every step until they were untied and poked the puddles of water, creating small ripples that distracted me from Avan's presence.

"It's been a while, huh?" he said, slowing down and turning to glance at me.

"Yeah." I nodded. "And, as it turns out, a debate on the death penalty was not the best way to catch up," I added with a small smile.

He laughed. "Right. I'm sorry about that. I kind of made a scene, didn't I?"

"Hardly. I had no idea what I was saying most of the time. You're good at debating. You actually made me consider your side for a brief second."

Hopefully, the sound of the rain drowned the cracks in my voice. My cheeks and my eyes lived to tell the tale of my tears from a minute ago, but there I was, having a conversation, or whatever this was.

"A brief second?" he repeated as if amused.

"Well, you're convincing, but you know, you're wrong."

"Bold claim. It doesn't quite sound like something you should say to the guy holding the umbrella."

"I'm already drenched." I shrugged. "You'd only be harming yourself."

"Well then, you should have said so earlier," he said and took down the umbrella, not bothering to close it.

I scoffed, and we continued walking in a silence less awkward than before until we reached my house.

He nodded towards it as if he thought I wouldn't have noticed it otherwise. His eyes lingered on the house, and I knew that it must have brought back a riot of memories.

"I thought you weren't walking me home," I said when he stopped in front of the driveway.

"I wasn't. It just happened to be on my way," he said with no certainty.

"Right. Well, either way, thank you for the umbrella. I, uh, I'm sorry we haven't, you know, talked much."

"I've been avoiding you too."

"Oh, good! Not that I'm exactly proud of it now... but well, I don't feel as guilty about it—" I said, though I knew I didn't before tonight—"not that I did." I breathed out, trying to relax. It was only then that I realized that I didn't have to say any of that.

He smiled, and raindrops slid past his cheeks down his chin. "Good night, Avery."

I was glad he didn't take my babble seriously. "Right."

I walked up the marble pathway leading to the front door and went in, trying not to look back to check whether he had continued walking or if he had turned back. Unable to tame my curiosity, I stepped towards a window and looked out to the place he had been standing.

He was barely a few steps away from the spot where I left him, but he was heading back the other way, at a slow pace as if his legs weighed a ton.

"So he was walking me home!" I said out loud even though the realization brought me to nothing.

Then he stopped and simply stood there, leaning on the hand holding the umbrella. I couldn't be sure, but next to his feet, there was a small ripple in the puddles, and at about the same time he brought his sleeves to his face as to wipe away tears.

I stepped away, trying not to feel like a stalker. I was concerned about him. How long had he been sleeping at her grave before I found him? I had not seen him at school in the morning. Had he been at the cemetery all day?

Walking away from the window, I stubbed my toe. I bit my lip so I wouldn't scream, but as the pain faded and I headed to the kitchen, I tripped over nothing apparent. I blamed my shoelaces.

"Avery?"

I looked up from the floor at my dad.

"How did this happen?" he asked, helping me back on my feet.

"I have no clue. I was walking, and suddenly I was not," I joked, finding my balance before letting go of his arm. My body was aching from the fall.

He shook his head and smiled at me. "That sounds about right."

We walked to the kitchen, and I watched my feet as if daring them to trip again.

"Are you okay? Were you at school?"

"Uh, yeah. I went to the cemetery. I mean, I went after school... I met Avan there. I think he had been there for a while... He walked me home. Well, something like that or maybe he really wasn't, like he said. He..." I caught myself babbling again, so I shut up and breathed.

"It's been a while since I've seen him. Did he seem to be doing okay?"

I shrugged. "Kind of? I don't know. We didn't get to talk much."

He nodded. "I invited a few friends over to play cards this afternoon. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not. I'm glad."

After we had dinner and I took a shower, I headed to our library. There was a family portrait on the wall next to the door that always pulled me in. We had taken it the week I was born. I was in my mom's arms and Riley, two and a half years old, was on Dad's shoulders.

It was the only record of my mother's presence, the only trace left to confirm that she had ever been there. When Dad wanted to get rid of it, Riley insisted on keeping it. I was too young when she left to remember much about her, but Riley did.

She looked almost flawless in the picture. Mom and Riley had the same huge and beautiful smile that lit up the picture. A similar glow resided in our brown eyes. I sighed when I remembered why she had left, wounding our family. According to the little Dad ever said about her, she had realized that she was going to grow old and that she still hadn't done the things she had promised herself she'd do before dying. Apparently, her utopia didn't include a family.

I often wondered how she was living now and what her days looked like. I wondered if she was happy with the way her life turned out. If her violinist career took off, if she had gotten married again, and if she had realized she had made a mistake. If she knew that one of her daughters, someone she claimed was one of the best things to ever happen to her, had passed away. I wondered if she realized that she missed her funeral; if her life was all that she wished it would be with us out of the picture.

Even if I tried not to, some part of me still hoped to see her again; I had so many questions. I wanted to know what it felt like to have a mom—even if it was just for a day.

I never quite felt her absence like I did now that Riley was no longer around. A large void loomed around the house, screaming that we were lacking something important.

And maybe the worst part was knowing exactly what was missing and understanding that it was never coming back.