The girl sat huddling her knees, waiting for the storm to be over. Not a minute went by without the big window shaking. She watched the drops cascade over cars, the branches of broadleaf maples. The girl had been zoning in on a particular raindrop that took its time falling on the window. It fell a lot faster toward the bottom. It dove into the earth, and the girl figured soon it would be mud.
She ached to feel bare soil underneath her calloused toes again, but the rain wouldn't stop falling. Her mother allowed her only to stay inside on days when the weather had a chance of painting her skirts and blouses. Rain is Nature's tears, she would scoff, and no daughter of mine shall be cried on by someone's mother.
The girl curled her toes and bit back a yawn. Her favorite book sat on the counter, still waiting. She turned to get up, but decided against it. Thoughts started walking through her mind.
Black knee-length dresses and coats. No umbrellas, but absolutely pouring. It was a surprise to most, as these things often are. The thoughts ran now. People speaking and crying and hugging and tapping their toes and tapping their smaller ones to quiet them down. A particular thought raced with the others, a constant battle with an obvious winner.
"I'm so, so sorry," the woman exclaimed. She said longingly, "I remember the day Benny went off to college and it's never been the same since."
The girl was engulfed by the lady's arms who she still hadn't caught the name of. She cringed as she inhaled ugly perfume and wet dog.
Her mother approached with a fake smile because she never necessarily cared for her. "Hello, thank you so much for coming," she echoed.
"Oh!" The woman released her arms and turned toward the girl's mother, her hands clasped as if in prayer. "I am so, so sorry."
"Thank you."
"It means a lot that I have another mother to relate to now. You should come over more. Oh, ever since Lindsey went on that exchange program, and Colin—I've been so lonely I barely have time to remember little Zac is at home. But he's far from leaving the nest, ha! My children are so cultured and out there. Oh, it'll be so nice to reminisce about the—"
"Don't." The girl's mother took a small step forward and reverted her eyes to the ground. "Don't you ever compare your children being gone to my—"
A voice spoke from behind the girl. "You're going to open it eventually. I know it."
If only this would be the last of her hearing this. Instead of responding, she itched her nose.
Three steps closer. "It's not just because I tell you to, either. You know it's okay."
She already knew that. It was fine to open it, to see the last thing that was left, to find closure.
A hand came to rest on her shoulder, which she wasn't expecting. Her cheek twitched. The hand was more comforting as she got used to it resting there. After a moment, the boy whispered, "Nothing will change, even once you see what's in there. It's fine. We're all fine with it."
The girl swung her legs over the edge of the window seat, letting her shoes slide off. Once they hit the ground, she looked into his eyes.
"Maybe I will someday. But I don't want to get used to her being gone yet."
She struggled a little at the end, but he didn't seem to notice. He merely nodded.
***
They continued like that for years. The girl focused on her studies and her brother too, as well as sports. Their mother reluctantly told them after school one day that the cat had passed. She assured them it was in a better place and that it hadn't been painful. It died in its sleep.
The boy didn't see it coming even though it was obvious, just like the last time. He said this and the mother striked him in the back of the head. The girl was offended and cried for the rest of the night.
When they buried the cat, they originally chose to dig a hole in a random spot, but at the last second the mother said, "Let's bury him by Callie's plants. I think she would have liked that."
The boy instantly nodded, not wanting to upset his sister again. She was still crying and fragile at the moment. A tear fell off her chin and onto the ground. She nodded as well.
"All right then." The mother put the shoebox down and picked up the shovel, carrying it to the big tree in the corner. She leaned her elbow on it in contemplation. "On the right or left?"
"It doesn't matter," said the boy.
The girl knew different. It did matter. "The left."
"That's good." The mother laughed for the first time that day. She was still looking at the tree. The children were still a few feet behind her. "Callie always liked being right, anyway."
"What?" the boy asked. "Oh, I get it."
He chuckled, but he didn't think the joke was that funny. Nothing was funny. So he kept laughing and the mother turned around and smiled and laughed and the girl didn't want to but she did it to fit in just like she did at school but it felt okay to laugh because the cat died and they were burying it like they did her sister.
She stopped to take a huge breath and picked up the shoebox with the cat in it. The mother was looking at the tree again.
"The left," the girl whispered. And she brought the box closer to the tree with her grip tightened and she set it down and wiped her face and tried not to think as she watched her mother dig a hole big enough to fit the box and put it in.
They scooped the dirt back into the hole with their hands and cried and remembered Callie's funeral and how all the other moms cried even though they didn't know what it was like. Now they had to bury someone else they lost because nothing was good but everything was funny.
The shovel was forgotten while the three went back into the house. The boy took off his coat and the girl her shoes, and they made their way to the kitchen. The boy dropped his coat and the girl cried out.
When the mother noticed they had seen her pick up the book, she held on tighter and said, "Just open it, damn it. We just buried the cat, for god's sake."
"That was supposed to stay there, it—it was where she left it for me." The girl made a lunge for the book.
"No, listen, okay? It's been three years. I can't take it anymore. She would have wanted you to read it, honey."
The boy was crying again. "Mom's right. And it's not like it'll change anything." He carried his coat and tear-stained cheeks out of the room.
The girl was speechless. It felt like everything was different now, like things were finally hitting her instead of barely settling in for all these years. It had been normal for the family for a long time, but something changed that day and the girl knew she had to see.
"We're all for taking your time, sweetie," the mother assured her, "but it's only going to keep haunting you the longer you wait." She set the book down and walked toward the stairs, stopping right before she took the first step. "And you've been waiting an awfully long time."
"Goodnight, Mom."
"Goodnight."
The girl was alone in the house she'd lived in her whole life, but she felt like everything was unfamiliar, the way they left her standing in the kitchen, with a dread that weighed her down until she was sinking into the floor. Her eyes scanned the walls for many minutes before resting on the book for years to come.
