twisted ✔️ (being edited)

1| Empty Handed Condolences

eight years later

It's been a week since Dad died.

People won't stop reminding us about it. Every day someone new stops by with homecooked meals and empty handed condolences. I wish they would stop. Each time the wound closes, a hot burning knife rips it back open. I know he's gone; I know he's never coming back, but I would like to live with that in peace. I miss him so much. His death was horrible. The morning of Mom and Dad's eighteenth anniversary, a drunk driver swerved into him as he was coming home from work. He died on impact and never made it home. Nickelback's song 'She Keeps Me Up' blasts through my headphones as I sit on the couch, staring at the boring, yellow walls as I've been doing the past week. The doorbell rings. Again. Another griever. Great. I turn the volume down as Mom starts to walk over. She takes in a deep breath and wipes under her nose with the same tissue she's been holding for a half hour now. Her hand shakes as she opens the door with a sad smile.

Mrs. Greenwald, our oldest neighbor three houses down, greets us with—surprise—a plate of homemade brownies. "Hi, Tami. I wasn't able to attend the funeral, but I wanted to come pay my respects."

"Oh, Sandy, that is so sweet." A line Mom has reused and recycled a million times. She takes the plate. "They look delicious." She hates brownies. "Thank you."

"I'm so sorry for your loss." Mrs. Greenwald grabs and squeezes Mom's hand. "It was hard losing my dear Phillip, but I promise it gets easier with time."

"How much time?" Mom asks, faking a laugh.

She smiles and adds quickly, "If you ever need anything, dear, please do not hesitate to call me."

We don't even have her phone number. How does she expect us to call? Send a dove? A personal Hogwarts letter in the mail? Hang a banner that says, 'Congrats, you're a shitty neighbor'?

Mom hugs Mrs. Greenwald, whispering, "Thank you so much." She waves goodbye and closes the door.

"Why don't we just put up a sign that says: 'Doorbell Out of Order'?" I mutter, tossing my phone aside before I cross my arms over my chest. "It's so annoying."

"Codi..." Mom sets the plate of brownies on the counter. "They're just being nice. Besides, they'd knock, anyway."

I roll my eyes. "None of them were ever friends with Dad! They never came over when Dad had barbeques. They never checked on us when Dad lost his job. They never—"

"Codi! Drop it!" She suddenly shouts, glaring. "Just drop it. Now. Please. Not today."

"How can I when every five minutes someone comes over and reminds me of what I don't have anymore?" I stand up and challenge her, yelling, "I'm trying to deal with the fact that Dad is dead and I'll never see him again! I'm trying to move on and live with it, but I can't. Mom..."

She sighs, and walks over to pull me in a hug, rubbing my back. "I know it's hard, Codi. It's hard for me, too. He was... everything. I can't help if people want to check up on me. Let's just be grateful I don't have to cook for a while."

"You don't even eat any of that," I remind her, gesturing to the mountain of food containers sitting on the counter. "You hate brownies. If it isn't vegan, you won't eat it."

Mom chuckles. "Alright, then you don't have to cook for a while," She corrects as she tucks a stand of hair behind my ear and kisses my forehead.

"You hate cooking," I mutter, thinking about the time Mom almost burnt down our kitchen. She learned a new recipe for vegan chocolate chip cookies and was excited to try them, except she forgot they were in the oven after an hour and there was smoke everywhere. Dad went crazy with the fire extinguisher, and we ended up sleeping in the backyard because the house smelt like burnt plastic. My shoulders shake as I break into another fit of tears. "I miss him so much," I whisper, tears blurring my vision, and I hug Mom tight, tighter than I ever had, like if I let go I'll lose her just like I lost Dad.