Seventeen-year-old Hazel never saw having a sick mom in her future. And the last thing she expected was for her new next-door neighbor to give her a checklist that would change everything.
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After Hazel Winter's mom got sick, all emotion vanishe...
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The funeral was a blur. I don't remember much, just crying, people wearing black and sad, depressing music. It's funny because now that my mom is gone, my family members couldn't stop asking how I was doing. They never seemed to care when she was sick, and in the hospital, my mental health didn't seem to matter, but now that she's gone,they can't stop asking.
And I know life gets in the way, and I know my mom's health at the time took priority over mine, but at some point, it would have been nice to be thought of. It would have been nice to be checked in on. Now that they're doing it, it seems too late. If they had done it before, my mental health might have been salvageable, but now? Now it's destroyed.
Boxes surround my bedroom filled with everything I felt needed to be saved. This past week, all I've done was go through the motions. Go through my mom's stuff and my absent father's things, who didn't even attend my mother's funeral. I didn't want visitors. I didn't want to see River. I didn't want to be reminded that I have to leave in just two days to go to an entirely different state. The odds of us working out are slim to none, and the realization of that is something I'm not ready to face yet.
Knocks on my door interrupt my thoughts. I lift my head off my bed to see my aunt standing in the doorway wearing the same expression she's worn for the past seven days, a sympathetic grin as she tries to coax me out of my state of depression. "Someone's here to see you."
I close my eyes and sigh as I try to come up with another excuse to send them away, but before I can, Joy strides into the room and sits on the edge of my bed. "Thank you," she tells my aunt, who smiles and gently closes the door to my room behind her, leaving us alone.
I turn on my side to face away from her. "I told her I didn't want any visitors."
"Good thing I didn't give her a choice then," Joy replies.
We sit silently for another minute, and it becomes so loud that it becomes unbearable. "If you're here to ask how I'm doing orif I'm okay, then please, leave."
"I'm not here to do any of those things. I'm just here to sit with you."
I scoff. "Doesn't sound like much fun."
"Not everything I do has to be fun. I know it's better to be with someone in silence than alone."
Propping myself up on my elbows, I narrow my eyes at her. "You don't know anything about what I'm going through. You have no idea how much pain I'm experiencing, Joy."
She twirls with her thumbs in her lap, avoiding eye contact with me as her lips form into a thin line. Then she sighs and says, "My mom died of brain cancer five years ago. It was quick. They found the tumor in July, and four months later, she was gone."
My breath seems to be taken from my body. I suddenly feel like shit for snapping at her, and then I'm racking my mind for some apology until she shakes her head.
