Chapter 4: Packing Up the Past

When I returned to the Whitman house, the tea party had already dispersed.

I trudged up the front steps, rain still dripping from my hair, the porch light flickering overhead like it was tired of pretending to be welcoming. The living room was empty except for the faint scent of Earl Grey and the distant hum of the dishwasher. Outside, headlights swept across the driveway as guests pulled away.

Mrs. Whitman saw me come back alone. Her face looked a little unpleasant, and her tone carried a hint of blame:

"You left Derek out there by himself?"

She hovered in the hallway, arms crossed, her lips pursed as if I’d failed a test I didn’t know I was taking.

As if I had deliberately left Derek outside.

As if I was responsible for every choice he made, every step he took.

But she knew perfectly well that whatever Derek wanted to do, no one could control him.

The unspoken rule in this house: Derek’s word was final, and the rest of us scrambled to keep up.

Before, when she said things like this, I would feel wronged, and even more so, uneasy—afraid I'd done something wrong and made her angry.

I’d stammer out apologies, my heart in my throat, desperate to please her. I’d lose sleep over every conversation, replaying it in my head.

But now, I just calmly stated the facts:

"He didn't want to come back."

My voice was quiet, but clear. I didn’t shrink away or make excuses. For once, I let the truth stand on its own.

"Even if he doesn't want to, you should persuade him. You know his health isn't good."

Her worry was real, but misplaced. I’d spent years trying to be the buffer between them, absorbing every bit of tension.

"Who was he with? Why didn't you wait for him there?"

I lowered my eyes, not wanting to argue with her:

"Just his usual friends. And Aubrey."

Aubrey’s name landed in the air, heavier than I expected. Mrs. Whitman’s face softened, as if that changed everything.

When she heard Aubrey's name, Mrs. Whitman's face instantly softened.

It was like she’d been given permission to stop worrying. I recognized that look—relief mixed with something like resignation.

"Aubrey was there too."

She repeated it, almost to herself, as if that explained everything. Maybe it did, for her.

As if she suddenly remembered something, she frowned and looked at me.

Her gaze was sharp, assessing. I knew she was wondering if I’d somehow ruined things for Derek by being there.

I knew what she was thinking—she was afraid my presence would make Aubrey uncomfortable.

In her mind, Aubrey was the future. I was just a temporary guest.

I didn't act as I used to, getting anxious and small whenever she was displeased.

Instead, I held my head high, refusing to shrink beneath her disappointment. I’d earned that, at least.

I slipped off my sneakers, headed upstairs, and started packing—one last time.

The kitchen still smelled faintly of last night’s takeout and lemon Pledge. The fridge was covered in old school photos and a faded Cubs magnet. The house was quiet, the kind of silence that fills every corner and makes your footsteps echo. I opened my closet and started sorting through the life I’d built here.

I had few belongings at the Whitman house. What needed to be thrown away, I threw away. What needed to be discarded, I discarded. The rest fit into a single 28-inch suitcase.

Years distilled into a handful of clothes, a few books, and a faded photograph from graduation. I folded everything neatly, one last act of care.

Only one thing, I didn't know how to handle.

It was a teddy bear in a brown dress, which Derek gave me the day Grandma Carol died.

The bear’s button eyes seemed to follow me as I moved around the room, a silent witness to everything I couldn’t say out loud.

The young man had gently hugged me, his voice hoarse:

"Lillian, don't be sad."

His arms around me had felt awkward, but warm—a rare moment of kindness that I clung to for years.

"From now on, I'll take care of you."

That promise echoed in my mind, even as I realized it had never been real.

A hug and a promise out of sympathy, but I took it as Derek's unique proof to me.

I’d built my whole world on that moment, blind to how fleeting it really was.

The teddy bear stared at me, as if mocking my wishful thinking.

I almost laughed—of course, a stuffed animal was the only thing in this house that would stay loyal to me.

I originally wanted to return it to Derek, but then I thought—

even if I gave it back, knowing his personality, he'd just toss it in the trash without a second thought.

I tucked the bear into my suitcase, a final act of defiance. Let him throw it away if he wants, but he won’t get the satisfaction of seeing me leave it behind.