Bound Read Free

been … exhausting. Hugging squealing girlfriends, smiling for pictures and thanking the aunts, uncles, cousins and friends who’d come to my graduation party had taken all the energy I could muster.
    This wasn’t how I pictured graduation day. But then again, only the first month of my senior year had been anything like I’d imagined. The past five months had been a lot like today – going through the motions. Studying lik e hell, packing up my apartment, applying for jobs …
    But all I wanted to do was sleep. The moment I pulled the covers up to my neck was the only honest moment in my day anymore. It was when I could let go of the fake smile, stop pretending I was excited about graduation and just let the sadness exist without worrying about anyone seeing it.
    When I closed the door on the old trunk, I felt a little lighter. I wouldn’t be reminiscing over college memorabilia anytime soon. Or maybe ever. This year had tested me in ways I ’d never imagined.
    The narrow wood staircase took me up to Mom’s kitchen, where she was wrapping le ftovers from the party.
    “Need any help?” I asked.
    “I’m just about done. Did you ever get a chance to eat? You were so busy visiting that I never saw you make a plate.”
    “I nibbled. I’ll have some cake later.”
    “Thanks for doing this,” Mom said, meeting my eyes.
    “What? I sho uld be the one thanking you. You did all the work. And you helped me with college, and you’re letting me move back in since I can’t find a job.”
    “I’m glad you’re moving in, Kate. But I know this day wasn’t easy for you.”
    The hair on my arms stood up. Was it that obvious I wasn’t feeling the graduation day ritual?
    I opened the dishwasher and poured detergent into the dispenser. “Mom, it was good. It was a good day.”
    A plate appeared on the counter above the dishwasher. “Please eat,” Mom said. I eyed the pulled pork sandwich and potato salad and though my stomach growled, I didn’t feel like eating it.
    “It was just a long d ay,” I said, sighing while I pushed the dishwasher closed and turned the knob to start it. “I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed early.”
    “You don’t want to go out with Laurel and Emily?”
    “No, I’m too tired.” The last thing I wanted was to hear about Laurel’s wedding plans and Emily’s great new job. I’d offered the appropriate amount of excitement already. I headed across the wood kitchen floor toward my old/new bedroom, eager to escape.
    “Kate …” Mom paused, holding the refrigerator open. She s ighed, looking at me. “I’d really like you to try the grief support group at the hospital.”
    I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Mom, let’s not have this conversation again . I don’t want to sit around and cry with a bunch of sad people. It’s been five months, and I’m fine .”
    “You’re not fine, not even close.” She pushed the refrigerator door closed and approached me. “What happened was—”
    “I don’t want to talk about it.” There was warning in my tone, and I willed her to hear it.
    “You need to get help with—”
    “What would help me more than anything is if you’d stop talking about it!” I yelled , whirling around to face her. “How can I move on when you keep bringing it up?”
    “Moving on is different from forgetting,” Mom said softly. “You can’t move on until you deal with it. It wasn’t fair, the way you had to jump back into classes right after. I’m glad you haven’t found a job yet, because you need time to step back and process everything.”
    I sighed, torn between arguing like I wanted to and agreeing just to placate her.
    “Just think about it , okay? Tuesday nights at seven in the old conference room. I don’t expect you to talk to me about it. Just give it a chance, Kate. I’ve been around a lot longer than you and I’ve never wanted anything but the best for you.”
    “I know, Mom, but— ”
    She put a hand up, interrupting me. Her