Remember to Forget, Revised and Expanded (26 page)

Delilah comes over and puts her arm around me. I know she can tell that I'm still
nervous, even though I know my dad is happy. She knows what I'm going to do. She
always seems to be one step ahead of me.

“This is the best surprise. I love it. Thank you so much,” my dad says, wiping his
eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” I whisper, hugging him again.

I hear him start crying while we're still embraced.

“You talked. You're talking,” he whispers.

“I know. I'm sorry for being so awful,” I mumble.

“Don't be sorry, Levi. I love you. You have no idea how proud I am.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

“I never thought I'd hear you call me Dad again.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

DELILAH

I
found some extra Christmas decorations at my house, so I decided to bring them
over to Levi's and see if he'd like them. He was so excited about the Christmas tree
and decorations the other day, I figured he might want some more.

I go over to Levi's right after school. I ring the doorbell, but no one comes to
answer it. After a minute, I walk inside since the door is unlocked and head down
the hall to Levi's room. His dad must not be home, and I'm not sure if Levi is home
either.

Before I even step inside Levi's bedroom, I see him sitting on the floor in front
of his bed with a calendar in front of him. I put the bag of decorations down quietly.

“One hundred twenty-seven, one hundred twenty-eight . . .” he's whispering to himself.
He has tears streaming down his cheeks. He doesn't even notice me standing in the
doorway because he's so focused on what he's doing.

“Levi, is everything okay? What are you doing?”

“One hundred thirty-two . . .” he continues, completely ignoring me.

I sit down beside him on the floor.

“Levi?”

“One hundred thirty-six . . .”

“What are you trying to do?” I ask, patting his hand to try to get his attention.

“I didn't count . . . One hundred forty . . .” he mumbles, wiping his teary eyes.

“Count what?”

He flips to the next month on the calendar and continues counting.

“I can help if you just tell me,” I say, putting my hand on the calendar.

He pushes my hand away and shakes his head. “Just let me do it, okay? One hundred
fifty—fifty-two? Or was it fifty-three? You made me lose track!” he says, raising
his voice. He looks up at me, his eyes frantic and wide.

“Track of what? What is going on?” I ask.

He flips back through all the months in the calendar, seeming panic-stricken.

“Levi, just tell me what's wrong. Maybe I can help,” I say again, calmly.

“You're the reason this happened!”

“What happened?” I ask, confused. How do I have anything to do with this?

“I've lost count of the amount of days since Delia died, okay! I stopped right here,”
he says, going to November and pointing to a day toward the end of the month. He
forcefully jabs his finger onto the paper and looks at me. Every day has a blue
X
written across it, up until the twentieth. “I don't remember anymore. I forgot to
keep count. I have to figure it out. I don't know how I didn't realize sooner.” He's
talking quickly and frantically, like he can't catch his breath. He looks back down
at the calendar and starts again.

“One, two . . .”

“Levi . . .”

He continues to count and ignore me.

“You can't keep count of the days forever,” I whisper.

He snaps his head and looks at me sternly. “Yes, I can. And I will. I need to. How
else will she be remembered? I can't forget—I can't.” He shakes his head and tugs
at the ends of his hair.

“Just because you don't know the number of days since she left doesn't mean she won't
be remembered,” I tell him, reaching for his hands.

He pulls his hands away. “No. I have to! I need to know the days she's been gone!”

“Levi, just listen—” I reach for his hand again, but this time he pushes me away
from him. He's not forceful, but it's enough to make me move away. I'm taken aback
by the fact he's like this. I've never seen him so upset and frantic.

“Delilah, no. I won't listen. I want you to leave. I lost count because of you.
You
distracted me this whole time. I was too focused on you and didn't keep track. This
is
your
fault.” He starts sobbing and leans his head against the edge of the bed.
“Just please leave. Please.”

“I'm not leaving you home alone like this. You're not okay.”

“I'm fine,” he snaps, turning away from me. “I just need to count the days, and everything
will be fine. It will be okay.”

“Why is keeping count of the days so important?” I ask. I don't understand how knowing
the amount of days since Delia died will make him feel better. If anything, I would've
thought it would make him feel worse knowing how long it's been. I remember when
he first got here, he ran away because it had been two hundred ten days since Delia
died, and he was a mess. I thought after that, he might stop because it was making
him so sad.

He doesn't turn around to look at me. “No reason.”

“Then why do you have to know?”

“I just do,” he mumbles. He sniffs a few times.

I don't say anything.

“Please leave. I need to get back to counting, and I can't do it with you here,”
he says harshly.

“Okay, fine.”

I get up and walk toward the door. He doesn't stop me like I thought he would.

“C'mon, go!” he says loudly, still not turning to look at me.

I take a deep breath. “I can't leave you like this,” I say once more.

“Yes, you can. I can handle this on my own. I don't need you every step of the way.
Delilah, just go!”

His words sting. I remain standing in the doorway.

Levi stands up and walks over to me.

“I said
go
,” he says, glaring at me. His cheeks are stained with tears and his eyes
are red.

I shake my head.

He rolls his eyes and exhales a shaky breath. It's like when I first met him. He's
trying so hard not to cry.

He clears his throat and won't make eye contact. “I don't want you here right now.
I can figure this out on my own. I need you to leave.” He grabs his door and leans
against it like he's ready to shut the door in my face.

“I'm sorry, I can't do that,” I tell him. I reach for his hand and bring it away
from the door. “I'm not leaving you alone in this state. We can either count the
days together and I will help, or you can step away from it. You need to let go.”

He whips his head away from me and folds his arms across his chest. “I can't believe
you just said that! I don't
need
to do anything! You're not in charge of me, Delilah!”

“I didn't mean it that way! I meant you
can
let go. You know what I was trying to
say.”

“No, I heard what you said, and I know exactly what it meant. You think this is stupid
and pointless. I'm just wasting my time doing this. You're thinking exactly what
everyone else has always said.” He pounds his fist against the wall and then drops
his hand to his side. I flinch and nervously bite my nails. I have no idea what
he's capable of doing when he's so upset.

“Levi—”

“Leave! Look, I'll even put the calendar away,” he says angrily, shoving the calendar
into his desk drawer. “See? It's over with. You don't have to be concerned. I'm
fine
.
Now go.”

I shake my head and start to leave. I stop for a second and look over my shoulder.
“I know you're going to pull that calendar back out the second I leave. Call me when
you figure it out, and you're back to being the Levi I know. Enjoy the Christmas
decorations I brought you.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

LEVI

I
t's two o'clock in the morning. I've been trying to fall asleep since midnight
but all I've been doing is crying and thinking and crying some more. This has been
happening way too many times, and I can't stand when I do this.

Sometimes I feel like when things finally start going great for me, I overthink everything,
and it all comes crashing down. Lying here alone in the darkness, I recall everything
that's happened to me, whether it was yesterday or last week or last year or five
years ago. I just keep thinking and thinking until I regret every single thing I've
ever done and realize that my whole entire life is one big mess. I hate it. I feel
so alone everywhere I go, especially at night.

Tonight, I'm thinking about Delilah and how rude I was to her earlier. I don't know
what came over me. I realized I'd lost track of how long I'd been without Delia,
and I was distraught. My mind became frantic, and it was like I couldn't control
myself. For over an hour, I was back to how I felt when I first moved here. Delilah
looked afraid and nervous, like I was some sort of monster. I
was
a monster. I would
be scared of me too.

I've come to the conclusion that I have completely and utterly messed everything
up with Delilah. I need to somehow mend things, because for a while, everything was
going well.

I stumble out of bed and head to my dad's room, because I need someone to talk to.
I slowly open his door, and he's sound asleep. I quietly walk over to his bed.

“Dad,” I whisper, poking his foot. He doesn't move. “Hey, Dad.”

He slowly moves, but then quickly sits upright.

“Levi? Is everything okay?” he says, sounding worried.

“Uh, I know we've never really done this. And, like, we've never really talked, like,
actually had a conversation where I'm speaking, but, uh, I was kinda hoping you wouldn't
mind helping me right now. I'm just really confused.” I rub the back of my neck and
awkwardly rub my feet together.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he says frantically, turning on his bedside lamp. He moves
over on his bed and pats beside him. I slowly sit beside him, hugging my legs to
my chest and resting my chin on my knees. “So, what's wrong?” he asks.

I don't really know how to have a conversation like this or say what I want to say.
I'm kind of new to this whole saying-what-I'm-thinking thing.

I nervously clear my throat and take a deep breath. I have no idea how to put my
thoughts into words. This was a stupid idea. I should've just stayed in bed. I don't
even know why I came in here; it's pointless and awkward.

“I made a mistake,” I mumble.

“With what?”

“Delilah.” I slowly look over to my dad, who is smiling. “Stop looking at me like
that.”

He smiles wider. “What about Delilah?”

“I got mad at her for trying to help me with something,” I start. I don't mention
that it was because I lost track of the days since Delia died. Then he'd
really
think
I'm insane. No one, besides Delilah, knows about the counting. “And I got really
angry with her and told her to leave and she left and I didn't actually want her
to but she did and—”

“Slow down. What were you mad about?”

“It was stupid, really.” I sniff and rub my eyes.

Thankfully, he doesn't ask again. “Have you apologized?”

“No, should I?”

My dad nods. “If you were that mad, she's probably not feeling that great either.
Call her up in the morning and talk to her about it. Tell her you're sorry for whatever
you did.”

“That'll work?”

“It should.”

“Is that all?” my dad asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Yeah, that's it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think I like her,” I blurt out. I should not be having a conversation at two
in the morning. I'm clearly not in the right state of mind, because I wouldn't have
told my dad that,
ever
. I feel my cheeks turn red, but thankfully it's somewhat dark
where I'm sitting.

“That was kind of obvious,” my dad says.

It feels like how things used to be with my dad years ago. Like suddenly, because
we're talking while the sun hasn't even risen yet, everything is okay between us.
Or maybe we're both just exhausted.

“It was?” I didn't think it was obvious at all.

“Yeah. Did your getting mad have anything to do with Delia?”

I nod slowly.

He takes a deep breath. “Levi, Delia was a part of your past. Sadly, she is no longer
with us, and however sad that is, it is time to live in the present. It's okay, though.
You're not leaving Delia, you're just moving on. She will always be a part of your
life—nothing can change that.” He takes a deep breath. “But I think Delilah makes
you very happy, and I like that you've been happy and smiling. I think you need to
do things and be with people who can help you get through a very tragic and sad part
of your life, but they—we—can help you move on. You don't need to forget your wonderful
memories with Delia, but it is okay to start making new memories with Delilah. Levi,
it is okay to be happy.”

“Just because I'm smiling doesn't mean I'm happy,” I cut in.

“I think that's how it used to be for you. But I know you. I know what you're like
when you're happy. And that's what you've been. It's okay to admit it. It's okay
to feel it. I think you forgot how to actually be happy for a while, and now that
you are, you're not sure how to handle it. And that's all right.”

“I'm scared, though,” I mumble.

“Don't be scared of being happy. I promise that it's not bad. It's okay to laugh
and smile.”