Remembering Taylor Mason (Rewritten, 2020)

Chapter Seventeen: Liam

TRIGGER WARNING: talks about depression, smoking scene

Samara picks me up the next day in her sister's Subaru laying on the horn, as if I'm not already on my way out the door.
As I grab my house key, I spot a few of Ainsley's spare darts and stuff them in my pocket, slamming the door behind me.
—
"Are you sure we have to go?" I ask, as I slide into the passengers side.
"To be honest, I don't want to go either, but these people lost their child on our watch," she says, staring straight ahead. "It's the least we can do."
I nod, biting my lip. I can't argue with her.
—
Once we get there, I get out of the car and stand awkwardly in front of the house, as Samara gets the pie her mother had asked her to bring over. I take a deep breath as I look around me. The house looks the same; yellow- bricked structure, surrounded by fresh country air, and full, long green grass. Two stone fountains sit side by side near the front door, water cascading in an X- like pattern.
Everything looks the same as it always has and I find myself filled with envy for all that cannot feel this pain.
Because nothing is the same. And it never will be.
I clench my fist as I feel my heart racing in my chest. My breathing decides to stagger, but then Samara slips her hand in mine.
"Come on," she says, "we'll do this together."
—
The afternoon starts off pretty well; Taylor's parents fill the living room with sweets and have some sort of rap music playing in the background; I think they're just glad to have young people in the house again.
"When someone dies, the one thing you can count on, is the abundance of food that seems to magically appear," Tiffany says, sliding me a piece of shortbread to dunk in my mug of Earl Grey. "Of course, nobody tells you what to do with it all."
—
For a while after that, the four of us sit in silence. And when I can't take it anymore, I hear myself blurt: "He was good at ball; quick, reliable." As if it's not the absolute worst thing I can say right now. Or ever.
—
For the rest of the visit, Taylor's parents ask us about our lives, our plans for the future; And Samara tells them how she wants to go to medical school one day, and I tell them how I'm really not sure what I wanna do. Just get out of this town. And for a minute, we all laugh together like old friends. Like we've forgotten why we're here.
—
"We just want to thank you guys," Tiffany says, as we're about to leave. "He loved both of you so much, and you really helped him, especially durning that awful relapse of his."
"Relapse?" I echo, looking to Samara, who looks just as confused as me.
"His depression, honey," she says, in a tone that implies we just need reminding.
"Right, well we better go," Samara says, loudly, giving each of them a hug.
"Promise you'll keep in touch," Tiffany yells as we walk down the lane to the car.
"Of course," I yell over my shoulder. It really is the least I can do.
—
Samara doesn't say anything on the way back to my place. She clenches the steering wheel so hard her knuckles start to swell. I want to say something, anything, but I can't.
I feel guilty for feeling comforted by the fact that even she didn't know what Tiffany thought we had; even if it is just one more thing I failed to notice.
—
"Well, I could use a dart," I say, pulling one out of my pocket along with the lighter. I half expect Samara to lecture me on the dangers of smoking and snatch it from me like my sister had.
But instead, she walks toward me, arms crossed, head hung.
"You got any more?" she asks, holding out her hand.

For a while we just stand there in my backyard, watching the smoke drift slowly through the air.
And then she turns to me, letting her whole body fall into mine.
"Why didn't he tell me?"she sobs as I wrap my arms around her. "Why didn't he tell me, why didn't he tell me, why didn't he tell me!"
I pull her in closer to me, stroking  her hair as I glance back at my house.

It looks real sad.

—