I've recently engaged in a new hobby. Every day after homeschool is over I wander to the park near us and skip rocks in the lake. I enjoy the feel of the breeze lightly brushing against my cheek and the sound the rocks create when they touch the water. It calms me down after dealing with mom the entire day. As much as I hate to admit it, it also drowns out my constant thoughts about Poppy. A typical day in my life is now spent doing either this or keeping vigil at her grave. She deserves hours of dedication after how much I've wronged her.

As I stroll back into the house I notice my mom lying on the living room couch face down. She looks extremely worn out so I quickly shuffle past her, hoping she is too tired to hear my footsteps.

"Oh hey Ivy, you're home, where were you?" She asked, a smile plastered on her face like everything was normal. She does this although nothing is normal. I'm not normal. Things between us aren't normal. My life sure isn't normal.

"None of your business," I replied with a stern look on my face.

"Oh, don't be like that Ivy. I already apologized for what I said yesterday," Did she really expect me to believe that? It's clear she still believes what she said and she hadn't even considered the fact that it hurt me.

"I have a right to be angry," I practically shout. Maybe now she'll realize that it's not okay to just go throwing Poppy's name around like it's nothing. She doesn't seem to understand that I'm trying to shake off the grief of her death. I let out an exasperated sigh.

"Right now I just need to be alone," I know what she's on the verge of saying, 'I spend too much time alone,' so I leave before she gets the chance to. Alone time is how I process my thoughts, and my method of coping with the pain.

I enter the comfort of my own room and collapse onto my bed. I'm exhausted even though I haven't done much today. I eye the computer sitting in the middle of my desk but don't grab it since my eyes are far too sore to stare at a bright screen.

Instead, I open the drawer to my desk and grab the blue hardcover journal resting on top of everything else. Right now I feel the need to get my thoughts out on paper. I throw the book open to an empty page and vigorously scribble down everything.

I write about my infuriation with mom.

I write about my never-ending grief.

I write about the fact that it feels like I'm missing out on life.

I write until it feels as if my hands are about to fall off. When I can't write anymore I cap my pen and take a series of deep breaths in and out. After journaling I start to feel lighter, like a huge weight has been lifted off my back. Although, I slightly feel deep down inside more anger rising up inside of my chest. So I pick up my pen, turn back to the page and quickly jot down the words that have been stuck in the back of my mind for as long as ever, words I feel the need to get out on paper.

Ryan, he was the one that deserved to die.

I look at the name, written in tiny letters in my book, until I can't bear to look at it any longer. I fling the journal across the room, taking out all the rage I had locked up inside. I feel my heartbeat start to speed up and I think maybe it wasn't a good idea writing this out. Breathe Ivy, just breathe. I urge myself. I breathe repeatedly although my heart is still beating painfully a mile a minute. I lay back and shut my eyes, attempting to erase every thought from my head.

I imagine myself at the lake, tossing rocks into the water and hearing the familiar plop, plop sound. I imagine the warm spring breeze brushing against my skin, as if it was speaking to me. These pleasant thoughts suffice me until I dig up a memory far back in my brain. A memory meant to stay far back in my brain.

Once it enters my stream of thoughts, it won't leave no matter how hard I try to push it away. It fogs up my brain and once I shoot my eyes open my vision starts to become blurry. The entire room spins and I feel nausea start to climb up my stomach. Suddenly, before I know it, everything fades into darkness.

"Honey! Are you alright, can you hear me?" I heard a woman's voice ask me, her words laced with concern. Her frigid hands seemed to be caressing my face and arms. I wanted to turn my head and face her but I didn't have the energy to do so.

"Ivy! Speak to me!" With these words I then realized that this wasn't just any woman, it was my mother. I opened my eyes, greeted by her extreme look of relief. Her eyes were red and watery as if she'd been crying.

"What just happened?" I questioned, confused. Why was I lying here unconscious and why had my mom been crying?

"Well, you-"

"Oh, I blacked out again didn't I?" I put two and two together before she could even finish her sentence. I'd been having blackouts every once in a while since the Poppy accident. Just another thing her brutal death has brought me.

"Yes, you did. I heard you fall so I came in here and saw you lying on the floor unconscious," She explained slowly.

"I don't know exactly what it was about but I did see your journal face down in the corner of the room,"

As usual, I couldn't remember a single thing from before or after I blacked out. I picture myself picking up my journal and writing in it, trying to formulate what had happened. I urge myself to replay the scene in my head but all I see is darkness.

"How about you come downstairs and have something to eat," My mom phrases this like a command, not a question. She always used to make me a snack after I'd had a blackout like this. It's been quite a while since one occurred but here we are now. I get up and follow my mom to the kitchen just to humor her. My energy is way too shot to argue anything right now.

I watch my mom rummage through the kitchen cabinets, taking things out with a huge smile taking up practically half her face. I flashback to when I was younger, when I always sat here watching my mom cook me food. Before Poppy was dead when life was still good. I would come back home after a day in elementary school, way back before I started getting homeschooled. It was the same ritual day after day, I'd return faking a gloomy look just so I could receive comfort from my mom. Some days I'd come back truly sad due to an argument with Poppy or something.

After a second or two she'd successfully cheer me up with just a lame joke and a tickle fight. I wish it was still that simple. Things are much simpler when you are young. They are also much simpler when the best person in your life isn't dead yet.

"Ivy, are you okay over there?" My mom asks with a slight chuckle. I sit still with a blank stare on my face.

"You were just zoning out for a minute. Something on your mind?" She says when I don't provide a response. I wish I could open up to her about what I was just thinking about but Poppy isn't a safe topic to talk about around my mom. I don't want to risk bringing her up again and spoiling this surprisingly pleasant moment between us. These don't come very often.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just a little worn out," I say, making sure not to show too much sign of emotion on my face.

"Good," she responds while pulling something out of a top cabinet, "I hope you have enough energy to enjoy these!" She turns to face me, waving a huge family-sized bag of chocolate covered pretzels in her hand, a childhood favorite of mine.

Of course she had to surprise me with these, she knows how much I adore them. I vividly remember 9-year old me begging her to buy that exact same bag of chocolate-covered pretzels every time she brought me to the grocery store. I would storm through every snack aisle, selecting what I wanted, and when I got to where they were I would grab two of the biggest bags and stuff them in our cart. As soon as I got home I would eat them until it felt like my stomach was about to explode.

Afterward, my lips would be covered in chocolate and my tongue would be entirely stained brown. I would laugh so hard when I saw my reflection in the mirror. "You have a chocolate mustache!" My dad would say, teasing me. My dad. Sometimes I forget about him and that he still exists, off living his new life.

When my mom lays the bag on the table I immediately unseal it and bite into two at the same time. The delectable, bittersweet dark chocolate taste fills my mouth, and the sweetness has an undertone of nostalgia. With the salty crunch it makes a perfect combo. My mom takes notice of me enjoying them and watches with a smile on her face as I chew. She actually looks genuinely happy.

"I see you're enjoying those pretzels," She comments, waiting expectantly for my answer. She's clearly expecting me to thank her and so I humor her and do.

"Thank you, mother dearest," I state in a sarcastic manner.

"Haha," My mom says blandly, but I could see a slight smile appearing on her face. I continue pulling pretzels from the bag and my mom does too so we can share that perfect nostalgic taste. I soon notice my mom zoning out and when I focus on her I could sense a little spark of sorrow in her eyes. I never stopped to focus on her enough to notice what's lying beneath her bright smile. I know what she must be thinking about, dad. He always used to join us when we shared snacks and had extensive conversations about how we were doing.

Now he ditched us for his new wife, his new kids, his new life. When the Poppy drama got too 'heavy' for him he just set off to California to start anew there. He took all his stuff, packed his bags and it was easy since him and mom were never even really married to begin with. They just acted as if they were husband and wife but didn't want to go through all the trouble of planning and having a wedding. He left with barely a goodbye, just a rushed hug and "I'll visit you soon." He hasn't come to see us once since that day. He wanted to be a movie producer and soon met a woman down in Los Angeles that was able to satisfy that dream. I guess our small house here in Denver wasn't enough for him.

My mother only has me left and I don't think I fully understood that until this moment. I wasn't the only one affected by my dad's departure. She needed someone there for her too at the time and I didn't provide that. I close my eyes, inhale a deep breath, and a memory of this time strikes me.

Dad was out buying a few final things he needed before having to leave for his plane ride the next day. All his suitcases were packed and ready to go, sitting in disorder in the middle of the living room. It was just a blatant reminder that he was leaving us, that we weren't good enough. I remember now hearing mom sobbing in her room as I was going downstairs to the kitchen. At the time I was a typical moody teen, too caught up in my angst to realize just how much my mom was going through. The thing is I haven't changed, I'm still like this now.

"Mom, I'm sorry," I blurt out of nowhere.

hii again guys! i finally updated after a few days! since the last chapter was pretty short i made sure to make this one a little longer. i hope you guys enjoyed!

-mari 💜🩷