"I don't know," I sighed. "I just don't want to hear it if someone gets too drunk and then asks me the wrong thing. I don't want to be the freak anymore."
"They need to get over it, and so do you," Sara argued. "You can't stay locked away forever because you're afraid someone's going to say the wrong thing. Someone always says the wrong thing eventually, so fuck them. Who cares?"
I grinned, knowing she was right. "Just not tonight, okay?"
"Okay," Sara shrugged. I knew she was disappointed. I hadn't been to a party with her in over six months.
"But why don't you go," I suggested. "I don't want to, but there's no reason you shouldn't."
"Are you sure?" she questioned cautiously.
"Of course," I replied adamantly.
Sara's face lit up. She went back to her phone and began texting the masses to get the details.
Anna hollered up the stairs, "Girls, we're home. Come down and tell us about the party."
Sara jumped up and hopped down the stairs. I followed behind, still not accustomed to this family sharing thing that Sara had going on. Anna and Carl were so patient with me, not prying too much. But even the slightest questions about my day caught me off guard―questions that were so very natural to them.
Sara sat in her usual spot, cross-legged on their king sized bed, and I sat down on the edge of the bed, very much a spectator. Anna was unpacking while Carl flipped through the mail. He pulled an envelope from the stack. "Emma, this is for you."
"Thanks." I replied, as I took it from his hand.
I examined the plain business envelope with no return address while Sara completely recreated every detail of the evening―from the décor, to Vivian's award, to the fireworks display.
I was running my finger over the Boca Raton, FL postmark when I heard, "How did Evan react when you told him about Stanford, Emma?"
I flipped my eyes up upon hearing my name. All three were eagerly awaiting my response, making me realize that Sara and I hadn't talked about it either.
"He's excited," I replied awkwardly.
They waited a second longer, and when they recognized that was the extent of my account, Anna said, "I'm looking forward to meeting your mom in the morning."
I nodded, my stomach tensing at the thought.
"Then I thought you, Sara and I might go shopping after."
"Mom, you should know by now that Emma dreads shopping. But I'm in," Sara answered on my behalf.
Carl looked over at me knowingly and offered, "College football?" I nodded in relief.
"What are you doing tonight?" Anna questioned. "Isn't Marissa Fleming having a party?" I shouldn't have been shocked that Anna knew this. She seemed to know the social schedule of just about everyone in town.
Sara's face flashed with excitement, "Yes, and I'm going with the girls."
"What about you, Emma?" Anna asked, hanging a dress in the closet.
"I'm just going to hang out here and read," I answered feebly.
Sara slid off the bed. "You have to help me pick out something to wear."
Knowing I wouldn't really have any input in this decision, I answered, "Sure," anyway.
I saw Sara off to the party, with several assurances that I would be fine. I was then able to redirect my attention to the mysterious envelope, while sitting on the pile of pillows beneath Sara's floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
I tried to recall if I was expecting something from Florida. It didn't look official enough for college correspondence; it was simply a plain white envelope with small handwriting addressed to me at the McKinleys'.
When I pulled out the folded paper, my heart stopped. I unfolded it with shaking hands to find it streaked with crayon. On the front was a rudimentarily drawn picture of a boy, a girl, a man, and a woman with grey hair standing by a pink Christmas tree. I opened the paper to find, "Merry Christmas Emma. We miss you!" slanted across the page in a child's oversized handwriting. The message concluded on the back with, "Love always, Leyla and Jack."
I stared at the words, tears trailing down my cheeks, and swallowed against the knot in my throat. I took comfort in the large red smiles and the mountain of presents under the festive tree. The man was undeniably George, but I couldn't figure out who the woman was supposed to be. I wanted to believe it was Carol's mother, Janet, but she didn't have grey hair.
I dismissed it, thinking it must be a teacher or someone they met in Florida. I guess I knew where they were now―not like I'd ever see them again.