Page 91 of Spiral
“No, it’s okay,” she retorts, shaking her head, “You have every right to be upset, Henry. But, what exactly are you planning to say to her when we get there?”
“I figured I’d just wing it. You know, off the dome.”
“Got it… well, I’ll be right here beside you the entire time.”
Georgia places her delicate hand on my arm, massaging it gently. I feel my body immediately relax at her touch. My heart rate, which a second ago was beating out of my chest, slows to a calm rhythm.
I’m so in love with her
“Are you sure she’s home?”
Georgia’s raspy whisper echoes through the quiet suburb as we make our way up my mother’s driveway.
“I’m sure,” I reply, feeling a bit overwhelmed by nostalgia as I take in the darkened facade of my childhood home. “She always comes right back here after a game.”
Georgia nods and makes a comment about how pretty the house and yard is, but I hardly hear her. Blood is rushing to my ears as we approach the front door and, for just a moment, I consider getting in the car and driving back to University Station.
“You can do this,” Georgia insists, as if she can read my mind.
Can I?
My loud knock on the door reverberates through the night, and I wince.
“Georgia, I think this was a mistake–”
“Henry?”
Sarah’s tall frame fills the doorway in front of us, her bewildered expression coupled with exhaustion.
“Hi, Sar. Um, this is my girlfriend, Georgia.”
God, it feels good to call her that.
“Oh, um, hi… what are y'all doing here?”
Georgia waves meekly towards my sister, a look of uncertainty in her eyes. Sarah towers above most people she meets – except me – at 6 feet tall. Her hair is long and straight, almost to her waist, and a golden blonde, like my mom. I’ve always thought she took after her, and I took after my dad.
“Henry is here to see your mom,” Georgia offers after a few beats of silence, smiling softly and nudging me closer to the doorway.
“Seriously?” Sarah raises a skeptical eyebrow at me.
“Yeah,” I finally respond, clearing my throat. “She left a note for me after the game and I need to speak with her about it.”
“Alright, weirdo,” Sarah murmurs, swinging the door open fully to invite us both in.
She’s being sarcastic, but something about it is comforting. I haven’t seen my sister in over a year and, being here now, I realize just how much I’ve missed her. She was my best friend growing up, attached to me like some sort of benign tumor. She wanted to follow me everywhere, even to college. She was just a kid when I left, but now, at 18, she looks so much more grown up than I remember.
She looks just like Mom.
Sarah disappears down the hallway, presumably to find our mom, and I guide Georgia into the warmly-lit living room. It looks just like the day I left for Texas University – large, overstuffed couches and a plaid wingback recliner that my mom has always sworn we have to keep in the house to “honor” our Scottish ancestry. A fire roars up the chimney in the center of the room, surrounded by two large windows with brightly lit Christmas trees in front of each one.
“Gosh, this house is gorgeous,” Georgia remarks, her widened eyes scanning the quiet room in awe.
She places her hand gently against the chestnut wood paneling beside her, which fills every wall from floor to ceiling. When I was growing up, their darkness and warmth always made me feel safe – like a hug, or like I was hidden from the rest of the world.
“Yeah, I’ve always loved this room. So did my dad,” I whisper to her, gesturing towards the couch and inviting Georgia to sit.
“When he was in hospice,” I continue, letting out a huffed sigh as I collapse my tired weight into the cushions of the couch. “His bed was set up right over there. He refused to be placed anywhere else.”