As the sun dips behind my parent's house, I realise there's no going back. I'd already guilt tripped Blake into lending me his car for the drive. Now that I'm parked in front of their house, I couldn't leave. They've probably seen me, and they're probably waiting too.

I wish London was here, she'd be a great buffer for my parents. Babies are always great at distracting people. However, she's back with Tori for the next couple of weeks. I know it's a good thing, but I'll miss the distraction. I'll actually have time to work out this mess without running around after a baby.

Taking a deep breath, I slide out of the car and walk towards the door. My shoes shuffle against the ground as I force myself forwards. I'd never imagined I'd be scared of a door, a piece of wood really. It's like being scared of a tree . . . an innocent tree that koalas live in.

At the same time, being afraid of a tree feels as odd as being afraid of my mother. Sure, I've been afraid when she's mad over something stupid I've done. However, this? I'm afraid of what she'll say. I want her to approve of my life decisions, and I want her to love Blake as much as I do.

We're family and I can't imagine a life without my family in it. Losing Logan was hard enough, but my parents as well? That would shatter me.

With my confidence half intact, I knock on the front door. There's a bit of shuffling, then the door swings open to reveal my father.

"Hey, is mum home?" I ask.

"Yes, she's upstairs in Logan's room," he replies. Dad tries to smile, but the grim look consuming his tired face leaves my stomach in knots.

"She's –" Dad pauses.

"I'll talk to her." Dad gives me an awkward side hug before gesturing for me to come inside. I tug on my strongest smile and head for the stairs.

It's hard, but I force myself up the stairs. Sometimes when I look at Logan's pictures, a sadness swells up inside of me. Other times, I feel like he's away somewhere and he'll be coming home soon. That idea is shattered when I get to Logan's room.

I stand in the doorway and scan the room. There's a few brown packing boxes spread around an almost empty room. My mother sits beside an open box as she searches through the things packed inside.

At some point, we're prompted to pack away ourselves and assume this cutout role presented to us. I thought that role was going to University, getting a job, falling in love, and then starting a family.

Instead, I'm pregnant and lost. Am I really supposed to be here? Did I fall off the wagon on the way? It's hard to know if anything we do is right. If we don't meet the normal standards of our age, the world almost feels like it's giving up on us.

Aside from packing away our toys, there's the gift of discovering those old memories once more. I'd love to relive them, to be back in the thrill of the moment. Perhaps I'd also wanted to change things as well.

But if we start messing around with the past, where would we be now?

I waddle into the room and awkwardly take a seat next to an unopened box. My mother glances at me but doesn't utter a word. I can see a ghost of a smile on her face which is enough for me.

"You've gotten so big," says Mum.

"It's so weird," I say.

"When I was pregnant with you, I didn't pop until the end. Hardly anyone noticed I was pregnant," she explains.

The conversation stops and an awkward silence fills the air. She turns her attention back to the box. I grab one of the boxes and pull it in front of me.

"Was that a good thing?" I ask. From the corner of my vision, I look up to see what she does.

"Yeah." She nods her head. "It meant I could wear my favourite clothing for longer."

"That's true," I agree.

My box is filled with Logan's old art supplies. He wasn't the best artist, but he was decent.

"Do you know the gender yet?"

"Blake is dying to know, but I want to keep it a secret. I don't trust he'll keep it a secret from me," I explain.

"Oh okay." Mum grins.

Amongst the books and pencils, I find a leather-bound journal. I flick through the pages and find sketches of a girl. From the rough lines, it's hard to make out who it could possibly be. There's a few close-ups of her face, others of her walking. I bet this was his secret lover.

"Have you decided on names?"

I snap the book shut and place it on the ground.    

"Hm." I frown. "I've been tossing between Paris and Dallas for names, but I don't know. I just, I feel like they're not right," I explain.

"What about Logan for a name?" she suggests.

"What if I have a girl?" I ask.

"Logan is a pretty girl's name." She shrugs her shoulders. The casual slip of Logan's name makes me annoyed.

"So is Paris or even Taylor," I say.

"But don't you think Logan would be more special?"

I grind my teeth together with annoyance. How does she think it is okay to school me on the name choice while she wasn't supportive of my life choices? I'm not going to name my baby after Logan because she suggests it, or because it might be special. I want to choose a name that's perfect for the baby. Logan doesn't feel like a perfect name.

"This is my baby," I point out. "You weren't there for me when I needed you." 

"Ava." She frowns. "You -"

"No, I can't do this." I grab the diary and get off the ground.

It's hard to get off the ground, but I manage it. I walk downstairs and wipe away the tear from my cheek.

"Ava, are you okay?" Dad calls from the couch.

"I'll see you later." I half-wave.

Climbing into the car, I place the diary on the seat and strap myself in. I reverse out of the driveway and head off. I can't be here, I need to go home.

When I arrive home, I find Angela's car in the driveway. Blake borrowed Angela's car so that we could go our own way. It sucks not having a car, but we couldn't afford to purchase one. With the baby coming, I doubt I'd be able to drive. I'd be too worried about going anywhere.

I grab my things out of the car and walk towards our house. As I slip through the front door, I find Blake walking down the steps – freshly showered and clean.

"How did your parents' house go?" he asks.

Instead of answering, I burst into tears. It's weird crying, I thought I'd just huff and puff, maybe scream a little.

"We didn't work it out, Blakie." He immediately wraps his arms around my body and places a kiss on top of my forehead.

"Shh, it's okay." He rubs my shoulders. "What happened?"

"She kept suggesting Logan for a name, but I don't want to name our baby after Logan," I explain. "I love Logan, but his name brings me sadness."

"That's fine." He hugs me, but I don't feel comforted. I just feel like I'm about to be drowned by an ocean of emotions.

"And I don't like the other names either," I add.

I want the name to be perfect for the baby. I do enjoy those names, but there's something about the names I can't put my finger on.

"We've got time," explains Blake. "We can think of more."

The idea of thinking about more names for the baby is exhausting. Why is picking a name so difficult? It's hard to pick a name someone is going to have for their whole life.

"Okay." I nod my head.

"What did you bring home?" Blake tries to distract me and it works.

"I found Logan's old sketch journal," I explain.

Blake grabs the journal and opens it. He flicks through the pages before landing on the opening page.

"Why are you smiling?" I ask.

Blake holds up the book and shows me the front page. Logan Ivan Greyson is sketched across the page in a weird graphite scroll that looks cool.

"What about Ivan?" He smiles. "If it's a boy, of course."

"I think I love it." I smile.

"It doesn't make you sad?" questions Blake.

"No, it makes me happy," I admit. I never thought about Logan's middle name as a possibility.

"Maybe we should find out the gender?" suggests Blake.

"Is that because you already know or because you can't wait?" I ask.

Blake rolls his eyes and pouts. He already knows he's going to lose this argument, but he continues with it.

"What if we have a boy? We only have pink jumpsuits from London."

"How about we buy a gender-neutral jumpsuit?" I suggest. "Then the baby won't come home in pink."

"And then what?" questions Blake. "He wears girl clothing until I can buy boy stuff?"

"Please, Blakie." I pout. "Wouldn't it be exciting if we found out at the birth?" I need something to look forward to beside the baby coming out my downstairs.

"If you really want this." Frowns Blake. "I'll wait."

"Thank you." I lean up and press a kiss against Blake's lip.

"I love you," whispers Blake.

"I love you too." I smile.

Blake places Logan's journal on the table and walks into the kitchen. He opens the fridge and then looks in the cupboard.

"Now, are you cooking or am I?" Blake laughs.

"You're already in the kitchen." I stand by the kitchen bench and grin.

"You know, I'm always cooking," he points out.

He wanders back to the fridge and grabs out chicken and vegetables. Without missing a beat, he chops up the vegetables for the meal.

"But I love your cooking." I grin.

"You're lucky," Blake comments.

"The baby thanks you for it." I giggle.

Instead of hanging around, I take a seat on the couch and snuggle under the blanket. I watch as Blake fusses around the kitchen cooking.

At some point, we're told to pack away ourselves to assume a role. Through the process of packing, we decide what we put into those boxes. Do we pack away our childhood, do we pack away a beloved hobby, or do we pack away ourselves?

At some point, we decide what we do, where we go, and how things play out. I could be anywhere right now, but I'm the happiest here.