If Only I Had Told Her

It seems impossible, but it’s time to leave for college.

I finished packing without Charlie having to come home. Before Mom could suggest it, I cleaned my car to rival Finn’s, and I had room for all my stuff. The plan had been for me to drive myself. All my brothers went to Springfield too, and Dad helped move Joey, Chris, Dave, and James into their dorms, but Matt and Charlie knew the drill and took themselves down.

Suddenly, my parents wanted to come. I started to protest, and then I remembered the way Angelina looked when I gave her the first aid kit from Finn’s trunk. So I agreed to let them come.

In the end, the drive was nice. Mom and Dad took turns riding with me and driving their own car during the five-hour trip. At first, during Mom’s turn and then Dad’s, the conversation felt a little forced. But with each of them, there was a thaw, and then we had fun. I guess I haven’t had much one-on-one time with my parents. They’re funnier when they aren’t snipping at each other.

They both knew not to ask about Finn. They both knew his shadow will be following me all day. They know I’m as okay as I’m going to be, but only because I’m not having to talk about how he was supposed to be moving in with me.

“I swear, one of your bothers was assigned this floor,” my mother says. She’s carrying a box and holding the hallway door open with her back as my dad and I struggle with the suitcases. Other people come up behind us and walk through the door too, and my mother holds it for everyone. I’m about to tell her to move before she gets stuck there forever when I notice the handmade placards on the dorm doors. They seem to be themed by an assumption of what sports team the dudes are fans of, probably based on whether they live closer to Kansas City or St. Louis. Seems like a dangerous game for the RA to play. I’m already dreading whatever non-soccer team’s colors will be surrounding my name. But more than that, I’m wondering if they know Finn’s not coming.

Do I want to see Finn’s name or not? I wonder. Would it be nice to see evidence that not that long ago, he had a future, or would it simply be a reminder that the future was taken from him so recently? I won’t get a choice. Either his name will be there or not.

“Three-oh-seven, three-oh-eight,” my mother says behind me. “There’s three-oh—Oh!”

An older guy stands at what’s supposed to be my door, removing the sign with Finn’s misspelled name, Phinaes. He turns and sees us.

“Hey! I’m Josh, your resident advisor! You’re—” He glances at the remaining name tag. “You’re Jack!” He scans my face and my parents. “There’s been a reassignment! Not sure if you knew. Well, there’s always a long waiting list for first semester, so they’ll be giving us the name of your new roommate shortly. Had you connected with your first assignment?”

How much does he know? Maybe it isn’t only high schoolers who think freak accidents are contagious.

“Yeah,” I say. “I knew Finn. He’s dead. This is my mom and dad.”

These words seem to activate his RA training, and he launches into a speech about how happy he is to have me on his floor and all the good clean fun the dormitory will provide for its residents. I open the door and claim the bed and desk farthest from the hallway.

So much for college helping me move on.

It isn’t long before Mom and Dad are able to extract themselves. It’s a madhouse in the hallway, and Josh didn’t seem anxious to get to know me in particular.

Mom starts putting sheets on the bed. Dad stands in the center of the room with the two suitcases he carried, awaiting instructions.

“Get the TV, George,” Mom says without looking up.

“What TV?” I ask.

Dad hightails it out.

Mom pauses before smoothing the sheets. “I forgot to tell you. Mr. Smith came by a few days ago while you were out running. He’d bought a TV for Finn as a moving-in present. He thought you should have it.” She picks up the pillow and an empty pillowcase before glancing at me for my reaction.

I don’t know what to feel about this.

“He said something about wishing he could’ve known Finn better. I told him a few stories and how he was the most polite and helpful friend that any of you children had ever brought home. I knew he really wanted to talk to you. But he didn’t ask me.” Mom finishes fluffing the pillow. “And because he didn’t ask, I let him leave the television set.”

“I don’t want to talk to him,” I decide.

“I know, sweetie,” she says.

Dad has returned lugging the TV. It is big enough to be almost alarming. A classic Finn’s dad gesture.

“Why does he do things like that?” I asked Finn after he received a letter stating that a large savings bond had been taken out in his name. We’d finished a run, and he’d checked the mailbox as we headed inside. A drop of his sweat had dripped onto the paper.

“Proof of something,” Finn said. “I haven’t figured out what yet.”

Inside, he tossed the letter on the dining room table where it was immediately lost among his mother’s half-finished art projects. A bit over a year later, his dad invited him to Thanksgiving dinner at his house, and I was afraid that his heart would be broken, and I was right.

It’s a tight fit, but Dad and I manage to balance the TV on the top of the dresser. It dominates the upper half of the wall like a black hole. I turn my back on it and start to set up my desk.

When no one else has arrived by the time Mom and Dad want to go to dinner, part of me hopes that the RA was wrong about there being a waiting list for campus housing.

Part of the reason that my parents are still married to each other is because they are creatures of habit, so there is no discussion of where we will eat. We go to the same Chinese restaurant with the indoor fountain and six-foot-tall foo dogs that we eat at every time we’ve visited one of my brothers. Last time I was here, I was annoyed by my parents’ inability to change things up, but right now, the familiarity feels comforting.

The meal with my parents is like the ride down, better than I expected, even with both of them there. We talk about the time Chris dared me to jump into the fountain and Matt asking for the waitress’s number and being so surprised that she gave it to him that he was too scared to call.

They don’t bicker at all. In fact, midway through the meal, I set a timer on my phone, and they break their previous record for not arguing by a full fourteen minutes, making it all the way out to the parking lot before disagreeing about who would drive back. I text the news to the younger half of my brothers, who think my timer is amusing, unlike the older three, who think it’s disrespectful.

I tell Mom and Dad not to walk me back up to my room. They need to leave soon if they want to get home before midnight. Dad idles the car while Mom gets out to hug me. It’s more of a squeeze than a hug, and I’m wondering if I should, for their sake, let them walk me up when Mom lets go and holds my shoulders. She looks me in the eyes and doesn’t say anything, then nods to herself before stepping back and smiling at me.

“You’re going to be fine.”

“I know?” I’m pretty sure.

“Carole?” Dad says.

“All right,” Mom says. She gets in the car. I wave again in case they’re looking in the rearview mirror.

And then they’re gone.

I’m an adult out in the world on my own.

I’m surprised that I feel as if something has shifted within me or perhaps in the air around me. I don’t have to go back to my room. I could go somewhere on campus, or I could get into my car and drive away forever. Whatever I decide, there’s no one to stop me. It’s my choice what happens next.

I choose to go back to my room. I want to be alone.

It doesn’t occur to me until I see the partially open door that I know I left locked that perhaps someone from the waiting list was assigned to Finn’s open bed.

I remember reading the housing application with Finn, where it said it would honor as many mutual roommate requests as possible but that it was best to fill out their personality quiz just in case. I didn’t, but if I had, I doubt it would have been taken into consideration in a last-minute reassignment from the waiting list.

There’s already a new name on the door. I hope Brett likes the Chiefs.

As I push open the door, the three people in my room look up at me, startled.

“Hi,” I say to them.

The guy sitting on Finn’s bed looks surprised even as his mother steps forward to shake my hand. As I take it in mine, I see that she has tears in her eyes. I’ve interrupted something. His father has gone back to staring at his hands clasped in front of him.

“We’re the Carters,” she says. “And this is Brett!”

“Hi,” I say. “Nice to meet you. I was going to grab my stuff and take a shower.” It’s early evening, but it’s still hot as blazes out, and everyone was traveling and moving today, so my excuse to be antisocial is accepted.

“Well, if we don’t see you again, have a good semester!” Mrs. Carter says. The tears in her eyes glitter. “Let us know if you ever need anything!”

“Thanks.” I grab the basket of shower stuff that my mom forced me to pack up before we left for dinner. She told me that I would be glad later, though I don’t think she could have foreseen this exact situation. Either way, I mentally thank her as I bolt out of there.

And here I thought my parents were getting emotional about me leaving home.

Suddenly, I’m grateful for my undemonstrative family. Which makes me miss them, especially my mom. Mentally, I thank her again, this time for not crying.

He’s not dying, part of me had wanted to tell the Carters. Which would have been a dick move, so I’m glad I didn’t, but it’s how I feel. Angelina would give anything to be in that woman’s position, yet she has the audacity to cry? It seems like such bullshit.

At least I’m thinking clearly enough to know that there’s something off about my reaction, so I take that long shower as promised. I hear others coming and going, but a line never forms, so I don’t give up my stall.

I hear two guys laughing together. Clearly, they’ve been friends for years.

I turn up the shower. The water pressure isn’t great, but it blocks out the sound.

I give it enough time that Brett’s parents would have to be seriously unreasonable to still be hanging around. My fingers and toes are wrinkled raisins by the time I get out.

It’s not quiet on the floor of our hall, but it’s the difference between going to a concert and going on a hike: the woods are full of noise and activity, but compared to a concert, it’s silent. There’s some laughter and conversation, some television noise. About half the doors are closed.

It’s only nine o’clock, but I hope this Brett guy is asleep. When I get to the room, I decide he may as well be asleep, because he’s reading the new student manual.

The stapled booklet was sitting on our bare mattresses when I arrived and is filled with campus phone numbers I could get online, rules about alcohol, and a couple of maps or something. Mine is sitting in the recycling bin, where any sane person would put such paper-wasting nonsense.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey.” Brett doesn’t look up.

Perfect.

I get into bed with my CD player and pull the top sheet over my head. I listen to Finn’s best of Tom Petty album with headphones until the light filtering in through the sheet goes out.

I keep listening until I fall asleep.