“Hey, Dad,” I mumble back.
“I got you a dress, sweetie. I want you to wear it to the dinner they’re having for us tonight. Your father has to work on Monday so we can only stay tonight. We’re gonna make the best of the time we have together.”
I force my lips into a smile. It almost hurts, definitely feels strange and wrong because I’m not even close to being happy.
“Thanks, I’m so happy you guys are here. I need to head back to my apartment and drop off this stuff, then we can do whatever you want.”
The next twenty-four hours are going to be pure torture, but at least it won’t last forever. Soon enough, they’ll leave, and I can get back to my life, or what’s left of it.
“Of course. Let’s go,” Mom exclaims, and I want to groan, but bite back the sound. If one thing is off, this could turn into so much more than a weekend from hell.
“Let’s,” I reply and start walking toward my apartment again.
It takes far too long to get my mother to leave my apartment, and by the time we do get out, it’s too late to show them around Blackthorn because the dinner party is starting soon.
With each step I take, I worry about the dress my mom made me wear riding too high up my thighs. It’s not terribly short. It sits above the knee, but only a few inches higher is where my scars begin. I don’t want anyone to see those, least of all, my parents. God, they would ship me off to the next loony bin in a heartbeat.
“I don’t understand why you couldn’t have put on a bit of makeup?” my father says under his breath as we walk inside that banquet hall. His remark both hurts and angers me. It’s obvious when he says put makeup on, he’s asking me to cover my scar, so I don’t draw any attention to us. Or, more so, to him. It’s been clear to me for some time that my father cares more about himself than me. Ever since the accident, I’ve been more of a nuisance to him than a daughter. He is ashamed of me, and he doesn’t miss a chance to show it.
My stomach lurches into my chest when we walk into the event, and I see how many students and parents are inside. I’m tempted to turn around and run back to my apartment, but if I do that, my mother would question me, and my dad would have yet another reason to belittle me.
I’ve told her I’ve been working on being more social, working on getting outside my bubble. I’d be giving myself away if I tried to leave now.
“Let’s get a table,” I say and tug my mother in the direction of an open table. She’s bubbling over with excitement while I’m drowning in misery. Guess things never change.
“Kennedy, is that you?” I know that voice. The softness of it. For a long time, Jillian and Jackson’s mom was like a second mother to me. I can’t tell you how many times I slept over at their house. How often she made me pancakes or bandaged up my scraped knees. Still, seeing her after what I did, all those good memories are tarnished by the one bad thing I did.
I really don’t want to turn around because I know Mrs. Wislow isn’t alone. Her husband is here, and Jackson is definitely here. This is slowly becoming an actual living nightmare.
Building up the courage, I turn around and come face to face with Trish. Her eyes become glassy when she sees my face, and she rushes toward me, wrapping her arms around me as if I didn’t kill her daughter. As if there isn’t tons of misery and pain between our two families.
“Kennedy,” my father calls my name sternly, but I’m an adult now. Not some kid that can be pushed around. If I want to hug Trish, then I will.
“You look good,” she says, pulling away, her emotions written all over her face. It’s stupid of me, but I chance a look around her and find Jackson’s green eyes feral and honed in on me. He’s not even bothering to cover up his disdain of me. “I’m so happy you’re here and going to school.”
“We’ll be at the table, sweetie,” my mother leans forward and whispers into my ear. I can’t see my father’s face since my back is to him, but I’ll bet he looks close to murder. He and Jackson probably have matching facial expressions.
“We… We don’t have to do this,” I tell her, the wounds of my past becoming raw as she stands before me.
Ken, her husband, walks up to me as well, leaving Jackson to stand alone, his arms crossed over his chest, a sinister look flickering in his eyes.
Trish wipes away a couple stray tears that have escaped her eyes. “There is nothing to do, honey. Ken and I, we just, we had tried to reach out to you before, but your parents said you moved away. We wanted to let you know that we forgive you.” She places her hands on my shoulders as if she knows I need the weight to hold me to the ground.
“You… you forgive me?” I’m shocked. That is not how I envisioned this would go.
Ken nods, his eyes are soft, and the same color green as Jackson’s. “Jillian loved you like you were her sister, and we know you loved her too. We’ve come to terms with the fact that it was a horrible accident, and sometimes things happen that are out of our control. We miss her every single day, but hating you, or being mad about it isn’t going to change that she’s gone. Jillian wouldn’t have wanted us to treat you that way. You’re like a daughter to us. Losing Jillian wasn’t a choice, something out of our control, but we can control our relationship with you.”
Tears fill my eyes, but I blink them away. I will not cry. Trish smiles at me, and her smile reminds me of Jillian’s. She was always so happy, even when everything looked like it was headed south, she made the best of a shitty situation. She was smart beyond her years.
“I thought you would hate me forever,” I manage to whisper.
“Oh, sweetie, we are sorry, and I’m sorry we didn’t come to the trial. At the time, we were just too hurt and grieving too heavily to go,” Trish pauses, “we lost Jillian that night, yes, but we didn’t lose you, and we kind of forgot that at the time.”
My throat tightens. What do I say to that? I can’t even get my brain to form a coherent response. They shouldn’t be apologizing to me. I should be apologizing to them, and yet my tongue feels like it’s weighed down with concrete.
Somehow, I get a response out, “I… I’m so sorry. I love you both, and I loved Jillian so much. I miss her every day. Every single day,” I tell them, damn near breaking out into a sob. Forcing myself to breathe, instead of falling face-first into my emotions, I slowly get myself.
Trish’s lips quiver, and I know she wants to cry too. “I would love to have lunch together sometime. Catch up? I want to hear all about your life since you disappeared with your parents.”
Again, I’m shocked. “I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” For some stupid reason, my eyes cut to Jackson, who is staring fiery holes through his parents and me. His mother turns and looks over her shoulder, discovering what I’m looking at.
“Don’t let him scare you. He’s still mourning her loss. He doesn’t know how to deal with pain. Someday, he’ll find a way to heal, but until then, he’s going to be grumpy,” Trish says, snickering. “Life is short, and losing Jillian taught us that.”
“Would your parents be okay with us all sitting together?” Ken asks.