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2
TAMMY
Istared down into my suitcase. A dozen pairs of underwear were stacked neatly in one corner, overrun by the tank tops and jeans I was trying to take. There was very little room for the jewelry box that my mom had given me or the blue monster stuffed animal that I’d had since I was a kid. Trying to pack my entire life was giving me a headache. I wanted to call it quits and go for a jog or head down to the local bar and buy a drink. But I was leaving the next day, and I had to pack.
I checked three of the drawers in my dresser: all empty. The fourth was a collection of pictures in small frames, phone cords, and an old plastic recorder. I tossed the instrument in the “donate” pile. It had been years since I had played, and even then, it had just been an assignment for music class. I sat down on the floor to detangle the cords, finding some that were too big to fit my newest phone. In the back of the drawer, I found a coffee mug full of pens and a portable charger, that might be useful. I emptied the pens into the trash and put the mug and the charger in my suitcase.
I’d moved into this apartment a couple of years ago, after my parents died. I didn’t clean it often, but it wasn’t a hoarder’s paradise. Still, there were hundreds of little things I was finding, tucked away in places I didn’t go. One of the pictures was of my mom and me, dressed in cowgirl gear, standing in front of a ranch house.
I tucked the photo between two pairs of jeans, moving on to the next drawer. Inside, I found a necklace my dad had given me when I turned eight, still packaged in its miniature jewelry box. It was a gold star on a gold chain. I had come in second place in a bowling competition, and it was his way of saying that I would always have first place in his heart.
Two years ago, I had been working at a clothing store in Austin. My manager had asked me to stay another few hours, so we could get inventory done. I had agreed, greedy for the extra pay. When I asked my parents to pick me up late –my car was in the shop -- I didn’t think anything of it. It was just a quick trip on the highway, an easy fifteen minutes from our home to the store. I didn’t think they would both come, and I became frustrated when neither of them answered my texts.
The owner was closing up the store and found me still waiting on the sidewalk outside.
“You want a lift?” she said.
I shrugged. “Yeah, thanks.” I had no idea where my parents were or why they were so late. It wasn’t like them at all. When I got home that night, the lights were off, and my parents’ car was gone. It took me hours to figure out what had happened. They had decided that we would all go out to dinner after they picked me up, so both of them had left home on that fateful night.
They had made it halfway to the exit when a semi-truck jumped the guardrail and barreled into them. The accident had made statewide news, the leading story at eleven o’clock that night. But they didn’t release the names of any of the victims. I had to wait until the police called to learn the specifics. I was an adult, twenty-four at the time. My dad’s insurance paid for the house and the funeral and gave me enough money to rent an apartment.
I sold the house, quit my job at the clothing store, and did nothing for almost a year. I ate pizza and watched television movies. I went for long walks around the city, exploring neighborhoods far from my own. I hit up dozens of bars and danced until midnight. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew it was time to stop. I had to make a move that would bring me closure and help me to heal. That’s why I was going to stay with my cousin.
My phone rang just as I was scooping a collection of mismatched socks into the trash. The caller ID said it was Macy.
“Hey,” I answered on the third ring.
“Hey, yourself,” Macy replied. “I’m just checking in to see how things are going.”
“They’re going. Slow, but going,” I said, already exhausted.
“You sure you don’t want me to fly out to help?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m almost done. I’ve had months to work on this. It’s just down to my bedroom.”
“I’m sorry,” Macy said. “It must have been hard to make decisions about all your stuff.”
“Yeah, well.” I rolled my eyes. “I had a bunch of recipe books that I’m never going to use, and I had all my dad’s old fishing magazines. I kept some furniture and a few knickknacks, but most of it I donated or threw away.”
“You can put whatever you want into storage,” Macy pointed out. “You don’t have to throw everything away.”
“I’ll sort it all out,” I said. “How old is your littlest one now?”
“Emily is eighteen months,” Macy answered.
“My gosh, I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in that long.”
“Since the funeral,” Macy reminded me. She had been very pregnant at my parents’ graveside, her stoic husband holding a wiggling little girl.
I didn’t want to think about the funeral, so I pushed the thought from my mind. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
“She’s very adventurous,” Macy laughed. “I have to keep an eye on her all the time.”
“Maybe I could help,” I offered.
“I’ll take you up on that any day,” Macy said seriously.
“Do you think you’ll have any more kids?” I asked, just to make conversation.
