Living With Regret by Lisa de Jong Page B

getting tired.”
    He watches me a little while longer, then nods, walking back to the blanket. “Why don’t you go sit in the car, and I’ll grab this stuff.”
    “I can help,” I reply, tossing the empty containers into the picnic basket.
    He shakes his head. “You’ve always been stubborn.”
    “I wouldn’t be any fun if I always did what I’m supposed to do.”
    Neither of us says another word as we finish cleaning up, or on the quick drive back to my house. I like the short moment of silence because it allows me to separate my thoughts into safe little compartments. Tonight, I feel more normal than I have in weeks, and the only thing holding me back from really, truly enjoying it is my guilt. And just like that, with too much time to think, my mind drifts away. Should I be out having fun when Cory can’t do the same? Do I deserve a night like this?
    I’m so lost in my own little world of thought that I don’t realize we’re in front of my house until I hear Sam shift into park. “Am I going to see you again soon?”
    Shaking my head, I ask, “What are we doing, Sam?”
    “I just want to be your friend.” His voice is low, but sure, with absolutely no hesitation.
    “Is that all this is?” I stare at him, but he looks straight ahead. I’d do just about anything to see his eyes, to receive some of the easy comfort they give me.
    His face finally shows, the corner of his lips turned upward. If only I could believe it when I look up into his eyes. “It has to be, doesn’t it?”
    I nod, biting my lower lip. There’s more I want to say, more I want to explain, but it’s been a long day. “I’ll call you.”
    “I’ll be waiting.”
    As I shift to open the door, his fingers wrap around my forearm, halting me in place. “Take care of yourself.”
    “I will,” I say, forcing out an artificial smile. “And thank you for tonight. It meant a lot.”
    He winks, letting me go. “Only for you.”

WHEN I WALK IN the house, there’s a box waiting on the table, my name scribbled on the top in thick, black permanent marker. I slowly walk up to it, like it might explode if I make a single sound on the old hardwood floors. I just stare at it, unable to bring myself to actually look inside. For God knows how long, I stand there, lightly tracing my finger over each letter of my name. I know exactly where it came from; I’ve been waiting for it since I saw Cory’s mom in the cemetery, but finally having it in front of me fills me with an incredible amount of angst.
    Being this close, running my finger over every curve, I can practically hear Cory’s voice saying my name in his low, husky way. Having something that came from him—his house—makes me feel close to him yet again. It’s a feeling that can’t last forever because time steals away the powerful emotions that arise from our memories.
    When I come back to reality, I push against the cardboard to gauge how heavy it is. Realizing I can carry it, I pick it up and bring it to my room. Once it’s there, beside my bed, I just stare at it again. From the interest I’ve taken in it, one might think it is something more than a plain box—a plain box that came from Cory’s house with my name scribbled on top.
    Maybe I should be more anxious to open it right away, but I’m too nervous about what’s inside. Is it just a bunch of Cory’s things his mom thought I should have, or is it something else?
    Feeling tired and worn out, I decide to save it for the morning.

    As I wake up, I stretch my arms up and the first thing that crosses my mind is the box. I fell asleep last night thinking about it. It only makes sense that it would be the first thing on my mind this morning.
    I wait until my mom leaves to run her daily errands in order to avoid any interruptions. No matter what’s inside, I’m going to feel it. It’s going to bring memories to the forefront that I’ve slowly begun to bury … there’s no way around that.
    Sitting on the floor, I pull