I was so effing tired of casseroles.

A month before, I had buried my mom, something I didn’t think I would be doing at the age of eighteen. Something I didn’t think anyone should be doing at such a young age.

I’d been living alone in my home since then, only surfacing when absolutely necessary. But parents of some of my high school friends, along with my grandmother’s friends, had made sure I had an endless supply of food. I was grateful, truly I was, but I wasn’t sure if I could actually stomach another pan of lasagna.

A knock on the front door had me getting off the couch, or what was basically my bed these days. I knew it was my grandma. Otherwise, I might have played possum and ignored it.

I opened the door to see my grandmother standing on the other side, with what was obviously another lasagna.

I sighed, looking down at the food she was carrying. “Hey, grandma.”

She looked down at the food in her hands and back up at me with a smile on her face. “I know, honey, I’m sick of them too. But Loretta insisted I bring it.”

I grabbed the container from my grandma and invited her in, before going straight for the kitchen to find room in the refrigerator for this new addition. I shuffled leftovers around to make space.

“You look like hell,” she said from behind me.

“Language!” I gasped, scandalized. This was the woman who had scolded me for saying words like dumb or idiot for as long as I could remember.

“Well, desperate times, my dear.” She replied, unfazed.

I looked at her, trying to formulate a reply.

My grandma was beautiful. Her hair was long and the perfect shade of white, like snow. There weren’t any stubborn pieces struggling to hold on to their original color, just a nice, uniform shade. She always wore it over one shoulder in a ponytail or braid. Her skin showed the bare minimum of aging due to a woman in her seventies.

She was beautiful, but she was tired. The loss of her daughter had taken a toll on her the past few weeks. That much was obvious. So, while she still looked amazing for her age, the bags under her eyes were more prominent and her skin lacked the normal luster I was used to seeing.

“Well, that’s still not very nice, grandmother.” I finally said, putting emphasis on the title I rarely used.

“When was the last time you showered, granddaughter?” she countered, crossing her arms across her chest and raising one brow at me.

I took a whiff of my underarms, and crinkled my nose at the smell.

“It’s not just the smell either. I never see you wearing anything besides pajamas or leggings. When was the last time you left the house?”

“I’m not ready.”

“Do you have any idea what this does to me? To lose my daughter and then watch my granddaughter wasting away?”

“Grandma, I’m–”

“I know you’re grieving, honey.” She interrupted before I could say I was sorry. “And I’ve tried to give you your space. But I think a change of scenery might help.”

“What do you mean?”

“I called your dad and he’s offered to have you come stay with him for a while.”

“My dad?” I asked, confused. “I haven’t talked to him in years. Why did you call him?”

“I just thought you might want to see him, since he’s the only parent you have. I know he really wants to see you.”

I snorted. I couldn’t help it. This was the man who had basically ignored me for the last five years. And, now he wanted to see me? “That’s funny. But regardless, why would I fly all the way across the country? I have a life here.”

Now, it was my grandma’s time to snort in disbelief.

I shot her a look. “Fine. But I can’t just leave you, or the house. Who would take care of things?”

“Hmm. Let me think.” Her voice carried a touch of sass. “Probably the same people who do now. Don’t act like you haven’t noticed it’s Papa out there mowing the lawn every week. Or, that the kitchen doesn’t magically clean itself.”

Another deep sigh escaped my lips. I couldn’t look at her. She was right. I hadn’t done a damned thing around the house. And, yeah, I had heard the mower outside the window. And I had listened to the running water in the kitchen whenever my grandma came over to drop off more food.

I couldn’t answer, I couldn’t look at her.

“Oh, Katie.” My grandmother said, her voice softer, more compassionate than before. “I know you’re hurting. And, it does me and Papa good to have someone to take care of. But, your mother, she wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

“I know, grandma. But to just get up and leave?”

“Why not? Honey, your Papa and I will be just fine. We have our friends, and the church has been taking really good care of us.”

“But–”

“And,” she continued, not giving me a chance to argue, “obviously, you’re taking this year off. Why not spend some time out West? Enjoy the fresh air and wide, open spaces.”

“But my dad’s?”

“Katie, your mom’s house is yours now. It’s not going anywhere. If it’s awful out there, you come back home and we’ll figure something else out. But I think you should try it.”

That, along with another long talk with both of my grandparents, was how I ended up on a plane flying thousands of miles across the country to a small town in Idaho. I spent the flight trying not to relive the events of the last few months.

About halfway through my senior year of high school, my mom was diagnosed with a very aggressive, very untreatable form of cancer. And, while she expected me to continue on as if nothing had changed, the truth of the matter was, everything had changed. I stopped playing soccer just to spend extra time with her. I did the bare minimum required to pass my classes the last semester of high school in order to help more around the house.

I had been used to my mom doing everything for me. It had only been me and her for years and she spoiled me to no end. In those final months together, I learned just how much she did and just how little I was capable of taking care of myself.

She had packed as much real life education into my life as possible with the remaining time we had together. The proper way to wash whites, how to fold a fitted sheet. (That skill still eluded me.) General maintenance around the house, how to cook. I had no idea there was so much to learn.

When she died, I was left living in the house she willed to me. I was essentially set, but my life felt like a hot mess.

My friends were getting ready to leave for college and I was taking an unwanted gap year.

The thing was, I had wanted to go to college. Had really wanted to go. I’d even been accepted into my dream school. I had the grades, extracurriculars and community service that made me a well-rounded asset to almost any school. I even knew what I wanted to get my degree in while so many of my friends were undecided.

But, instead of following my dream, I made plans to go visit my dad. He’d called or texted me every day since the decision had been made. The most contact we had had in years.

Dad: I’m going to get some paint today. What color do you want your walls?

Me: Any.

Dad: Would you like a TV in your room?

Me: No.

Dad: I thought I’d buy one of those online mattresses that come in a box. King-size okay?

Me: Sure.

It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate his effort and enthusiasm. It just seemed so unnatural, considering I hadn’t really spoken to him since he and my mom got divorced and we moved down to Florida. I decided I would go with it with it for now.

My stomach lurched as the plane hit the runway after making its final descent. For better or worse, I was here. I hadn’t packed any carry-on luggage, knowing I wouldn’t be able to stay focused on anything. Stealing a glance down at my nails, it turned out I had given biting them my utmost attention. Something I hadn’t done in years.

Maybe I should have brought my phone after all. I just hadn’t seen the point when I was packing. I was currently on a major social media sabbatical. Facebook, deactivated. Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat? All deleted from my phone. In fact, the remaining icons didn’t even take up the entire screen on my phone right anymore. It was so bare boned, I hardly saw the point of having it in my pocket at all times.

When my mom died, I was hurt to see just how few of my friends were actually there for me. Oh, they scrunched up their faces in a show of pity and told me how sorry they were. Some let me cry my eyes out. But only so many times. No one wanted to deal with depressed Katie Lynch and her dead mom.

They were all getting ready to go their separate ways on their separate adventures. My peers were excited about being on their own and tasting freedom. I found I had way too much of it. Because of these different directions and places in life, I found my social media interaction lacking. And now that it was gone, I really didn’t miss it.

Instead of laughing and posing for pictures on the beach, I was now walking through the most rinky-dink airport I had ever seen. I was used to the large expanse of Tampa International. There, you had to ride a monorail just to get to the different terminals. Here? Well, this airport had a sign that boasted Boise as The City of Trees.

Obviously, it wasn’t the city of major airline travel.

As I walked with my fellow travelers toward the other side of the security checkpoint where everyone was waiting, I watched the faces of the people near me light up with excitement. The lady next to me ran, actually ran, to a guy waiting for her. He immediately picked her up and swung her around. There were words of greeting, laughs, hugs and handshakes all around me.

As I looked around, I realized I was relieved not to see my dad just yet. I wasn’t sure how I would react to seeing him. Obviously, it wouldn’t be with all the fuss I saw around me. There would be no running, most likely no hugging. What did you do when you saw the man who helped create you, but you hadn’t seen in five years?

For now, my stomach was growling and my bags were waiting. I decided to head down to baggage claim after finding a place to get a quick bite. Then, I’d face my dad.

I spotted my dad almost immediately after grabbing my bags off the conveyor belt. He looked the same as he did in my memory, just slightly older. He wore a button down shirt and jeans. His hair was light brown with a few more strands of gray from the last time I saw him. A mustache practically took over the bottom half of his face covering his top lip. Even with that monstrosity, I could see the tentative smile touching his lips.

I forced a smile in return, positive it came out more like a grimace.

His smile began to falter and the oh-so familiar look of pity began to take over. Lips pulled back in a tight line. Well, the lip I could see anyway. His eyebrows turned up in the center as his eyes found mine. It was the same expression anyone I talked to these days had. Oh, how I hated that look, was so ridiculously tired of that look.

Pity.

“How are you, kiddo?”

“I'm fine. It's fine. Can we just go?” I spat out just as he finished getting the question out. It was rude, but I couldn't listen to that voice too. Not now. There was a special voice that went with the look he had just given me. It was as if people forgot how to speak normally once it crossed their face.

That voice was worse than the look.

He must have seen something in my eyes, because he didn’t try to speak to me again as we walked out the exit doors and toward the parking garage. He produced a set of keys with his free hand to unlock his truck. The pickup was red and dusty. A far cry from the sedan I remembered from my youth, but certainly appropriate for the West. It was exactly what one would expect to see in the middle of nowhere. Apparently, the man next to me could play the part he was given when he wanted too. Frustration flared in my chest, threatening to come out in a growl. He started to drive us home before I could second-guess why I was here.

No, not home.

My new house, which was technically my old house. Even though I had a house of my own.

I wasn’t quite sure what to call it yet.

We drove out through the city, slowly making our way to two lane roads that seemingly went to the middle of nowhere. The roads were empty, save for the occasional truck driving the opposite direction. Those were few and far between. I rested my forehead against the glass of the window; my gaze stayed solidly fixed out it.

I watched the mountains on the horizon. They were visible even in the city and I hadn't taken my eyes off them the entire drive. They were majestic and powerful. Soon, I thought, they would be white-peaked with snow. A sight I hadn’t seen in so long.

There was such beauty here, beauty I hadn't realized I missed this much. I had become accustomed to flat horizons and greenery everywhere. What I was seeing now was foreign to me. And yet, I found it strangely comforting at the same time. The drive took less than an hour. I was sad when it was over because it meant I’d be expected to face reality once more.

My dad pulled up the driveway to a one-story ranch style home. The giant maple trees on either side were still there. I could hear the sound of horses neighing from the neighbor's property. But I didn't stay outside long enough to take it all in. Instead I went straight to the house. I walked to my old room.

Setting my bag on the floor next to the bed, I laid down, not bothering to pull the bedspread down. I stared at the ceiling, thinking how much my life had changed in the last few months. Not sure of how long I lay there, I finally fell asleep. I hadn’t even eaten dinner.

This room, this bed, is where I stayed the remainder of the summer.

My pillow constantly soaked with tears.

I mourned the death of my mother, the loss of my home, and the old life I couldn't go back to.

I wasn't sure how I would make it back to normal.