"Where's mom?" I asked, flipping the page. Her entry was also a photo and a name, yet it felt like so much more. It was a glimpse into a time before marriage and children aged her -- before the years burrowed into her face and streaked her hair. She was a young girl, pretty like Lauren, but otherwise unremarkable. Aside from her red hair and freckled features, she was hardly any resemblance to the elegant, dignified woman who danced through my memory — a young stranger. Now dead. The thought was eerie, and it made me shiver.
"It's hard to believe she was ever this young," Lauren said, running her finger across the image.
"I suppose your kids will say the same thing about us, one day."
She gave a brief smile at my comment before lifting off the bed and moving toward the closet. Even with her back turned to me, I could sense her smile fade to frown. "I wouldn't bet money on that if I were you."
It was a remark that shouldn't have shocked me - given her confession the previous night - but it did because of the finality in her voice. There was a certainty in her tone that filled the room with heavy air. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. Instead, I let the comment hang there and continued to flip through the black and white pages of our mother's yearbook.
"I'm going to make some tea," she announced. "Would you like some?"
I declined. Lauren padded off, and I turned another page, absorbing my mother's history. Each page was a collage of different events; track and field, football games and school plays. I scanned each image for my mother's youthful face, but when I found her next, I was caught off guard.
She was standing left-of-center, in a group of eight other students - each in suits or long gowns. Homecoming or Prom, I assumed. Her red hair swept up in a sideways bun, accented with yellow flowers. Her dress was green, long and flowing with a sweetheart bodice. She looked vibrant and joyful, young and full of promise. Beautiful. That wasn't what surprised me. What I hadn't anticipated was the man standing directly to her right. His arm wrapped around her, cupping her lovingly under her elbow, their fingers intimately intertwined. Trever McEntire.
That answered the question of whether she had known him or not. They had known each other very well. The notion felt bizarre to me. I had never imagined my parents with anyone but each other. Even though it made sense that she would have had boyfriends before him. They hadn't started dating until after she had graduated high school.
And then I saw him, standing on the far end of the group — our father. I hadn't noticed him at first because I hadn't been looking for him, but there he was. His arms folded across his chest, and his signature scowl twisted into an unfamiliar expression - a smile. He looked almost handsome but older than the others. I knew he had been a few years ahead of our mother. He was most likely a senior at the time the photo was taken. Seeing both my parents in the same picture, from a time before they were a unit, felt backwards and wrong, like watching the sunrise from the western horizon.
Of course, they had all known each other. River Bluff was a small town with little migration. Friends and lovers tended to overlap in incestuous ways. Still, an interest bubbled inside me. I found myself questioning: how long had my mother and Trever dated? Why did they break-up? How long had my father pined for her? Had Trever known? Did their friendship survive when my parents started dating? I tried to shrug away the questions. They were pieces of a past that didn't belong to me. And yet, the curiosity continued to build inside me. I wanted to know - needed to know.
"You're sure you don't want any?" Lauren asked, returning with a red steaming mug. She dipped the teabag several times before leaving the string to rest along the edge of the cup.
I nodded and closed the book, letting it rest on my lap for a moment before moving to place it back on its shelf.
"So, how are you and Bryce getting along?" She asked, sipping her tea from a perch on the edge of the bed.
"Alright, for the most part." I wasn't sure if it was a lie or not. "He's a tough guy to read." That much was true.
Our gazes locked. "He told me about the other night," she said abruptly.
I found myself panicked. "What do you mean?" I asked, trying to play coy.
"Your argument - over what you overheard him tell Jack and the others."
I relaxed a little. "Bryce told you that, did he?" His lack of discretion slightly miffed me. I wondered what else he would eventually tell her.
She nodded. "He wanted some insight into how best to handle it. He's a good man, but sometimes an idiot and he knows it." She lifted the mug to her lips.
"What did you tell him?"
"That you were dramatic." She watched me for a moment. "I also told him that you've had people talk about you, behind your back, for most of your life. So, while your reaction may have seemed extreme, it was justified."
"Did you tell him anything else I should know?"
She rolled her eyes. "Only to fix it. I assume he did, or I doubt you would have agreed to stay with him."
Yes, he had repaired the situation. That was until he had done something even more stupid. Although, if I were honest, I was also to blame for the current state of our friendship. How could a friendship so new have gotten complicated so quickly?
I realized I had let the question hang too long while my mind had wandered. "Yes, we're ok now." Were we? "You two seem close," I said, wanting to steer the conversation away from Bryce and me.
"We are. Sometimes I feel like I'm married to both brothers." She looked to me for a sarcastic comment. I said nothing. "Oliver and Bryce have always been inseparable, being so close in age and all. When Oliver and I started dating, I felt like I was intruding. I felt like I had to fight Bryce for Oliver's time. I felt like that throughout high school. Nearly broke up with Oliver a few times because of it. But then, right before we married, I realized that instead of trying to compete with Bryce, it would be much easier to accept them as a package."
"You make it sound like a creepy TLC program," I lowered my voice to a classic announcer's tone, "On the next episode of Brother Husbands..."
She laughed. "Maybe I'm explaining it wrong." She tried again. "It's almost like he's a child or --"
"A puppy?"
She chuckled. "Yes! That's it! He's exactly like a puppy. He's sweet and loyal and always there to greet me or comfort me if I need it. He needs a lot of attention, and he often wears on my patience, but feeding him and cleaning up after him helps give my days purpose. I even enjoy doing his laundry." She did his laundry? "He completes our family, and I would miss him if he weren't around."
"You love him." It wasn't a question.
She seemed surprised or insulted that I'd even said it. "Not in any way that matters. He's my family. More than that, he's my friend. I worry about him and want him to be happy." To me, that kind of love mattered a lot, and it pained me that she had dismissed it.
I had left home before Lauren was even a teenager. Before she had matured. Before I could like her for the person she was, rather than for being my blood. Before she was old enough to talk with me in any genuine, open way. As a child, her manner had always been joyous and spirited. I used to watch her dance and twirl throughout the house, wearing Mary-Jane shoes and fancy Christmas dresses. Always floral patterned and always lace trimmed. The type of dress that reminded me of a princess, except the fabric looked too much like ugly drapery. Every step she took was with ease and confidence. She never seemed aware of or affected by the heavy air that filled our home. At those moments, she would shine, brighter than I ever thought fair. I would watch her, too envious to appreciate her carefreeness, my spirit too bogged down and bruised to dance along with her. And now, as we conversed, I wondered - not for the first time - what happened to that little girl. Yes, the woman who sat before me was beautiful and caring. So full of love and understanding. So quick to put the needs of others before her own - which was an admirable quality. But looking at her now, I could not deny that her shine was gone. I wondered if she still danced. I wondered if she remembered how.