Super.
Gigi was probably laughing, absolutely ecstatic at the mess I’d found myself in. And maybe later—much, much later—I’d think this was funny. As it was, exactly none of this was delightful.
I kicked the blinds off the vent they’d fallen onto, then stood over it to let the cool air shoot up at me. Although calling the air “cool” was a stretch. The house needed a new HVAC system as well, but replacing it was dead last on the to-do list, and that was only if the money Gigi left managed to last that long.
“You’re doing so good,” I said, hoping the praise to the HVAC was enough to keep it going.
I sighed, then turned to open the closet door. It flew open, and I’m not gonna lie: I flinched. Between falling blinds and a dog that seemed hell-bent on killing me, I was a little gun-shy.
But nothing fell out on me, so that was positive. The closet was stuffed to within an inch of its life with boxes and bags of who knows what. I shook my head. Like every other room, it was filled to the brim with things.
I reached for my sippy cup, as I called the giant Tervis tumbler that had a permanent place by my side, and took a long drink from the straw, considering.
Had she always been like this, collecting and keeping and storing away with no rhyme or reason? With the amount of stuff in the house, she must have been. But how had I never noticed? And why hadn’t she ever asked for help, if she even wanted it?
But I guess she had, in her own way. In every call and with every short visit I made, she’d made no secret of wanting me to move back to Talladega from the minute I left. What she never understood was how every street, every place in this town, was filled with memories of Jason.
Only now, I was making new memories. Like the hike I’d taken with Aaron. And yesterday’s searing-hot make-out session.
My belly swooped and my whole body warmed at the thought of it. I touched my lips, amazed they weren’t still swollen like they’d been for hours after he left. The way he’d looked at me, held me as though I was something precious…it’d felt right. Like I could lay my grief down and just be.
It was terrifying. Because if I fell for him, and then lost him? It would destroy me.
I regarded the closet. Nothing to do but get on with it, I supposed. I pulled the first bag out, threw it on the bed, and opened it. Clothes. That one was easy: it would go in the donation pile. Speaking of which, I needed to sort out a place that would come and pick up the donations that were steadily piling up in the front living room. I bet Miss Betty knew of an organization. I made a note to myself to ask her, because she was certain to come by. She’d made a point of it every day, not even trying to hide that she was trying to get me to stay, and today would be no exception.
After pulling out a few more bags of clothes and getting them downstairs, I hauled another box out of the closet. I opened it, then laughed at the contents. “Never took you for this level of sentimental, Gigi,” I murmured.
It seemed as if all the cards my brother and I had ever made or sent her, whether birthday or thank you or otherwise, were in the box. Along with some truly bad artwork by me and Rick, too. I laughed, then sat down to flip through the box’s contents. It was all destined for the trash, sure, but not before I looked through it.
The next two boxes were more of the same: sweet little keepsakes that surely meant a lot to Gigi, but that I could easily toss or give away. Then I found a photo album. I pulled it out, my chest tight, and ran my fingers over the embossed, cracking leather.
‘Our Wedding,’ the letters read. The album was old, and probably very expensive when she bought it. I’d never seen it before. Maybe it was hers? Come to think of it, I’d never seen her wedding album. But why would she have kept it in a box instead of with the other family albums that were on a downstairs bookshelf?
I should have started at the beginning, but I picked a spot at the end, the glue cracking against the leather and sending a whiff of old paper toward me as I did so. The second my eyes landed on the picture, I inhaled sharply and slammed the book shut.
I squeezed my eyes tight, as though that alone could block the memory. Why was that photo in this old album? It was of me and Jason as we left the church, lines of friends and family blowing bubbles on both sides. I’d jumped onto his back for an impromptu piggy-back ride, and my arms were wrapped around his chest while his were holding me up behind him. The smiles on both our faces were full of promise.
Shit. This was why I’d avoided coming back home to live. I couldn’t handle this. Didn’t want to handle it. And I didn’t have to. I’d sworn I would never grieve the way I did after my parents died, and I didn’t. For as much as I loved Jason, he never got all of me. I couldn’t let him.
We’d fought that morning. He’d yelled that he was tired of me keeping him at a distance, of never letting him all the way in, and like an asshole, I’d told him to deal with it or leave.
He left.
And I didn’t chase him, because I knew we could make up later.
Only there was no later.
So the last memory I had of him wasn’t of me telling him I loved him, or of hugging and kissing him goodbye. No, it was telling him to leave.
I wiped the lone tear away and stood, then took the album in one hand and a bag of trash in another. I walked outside to the dumpster and heaved the bag into the bin, and readied to throw the album in after.
No.
I stopped myself just as the sound of nails scratching on street pavement brought me back to reality. I turned, my hands shaking, as Samson smiled and woofed as he ran to me.
I swallowed the tears that threatened and leaned down to pet his dingy yellow head. Focus on the good. Focus on the now. I could do this.
Samson licked my hand as I kneeled in front of him, then went up on his legs to lick my face, snuffling as he did so.
“You really do know how to make an entrance, don’t you?”
After a moment, he backed up and woofed again.
I nodded, tightening my grip on the album. “I know. Keep it, right?”
He headed to the house, and it was as good of an answer as I could expect. I opened the door and he trotted in. Inside, I put the album on the coffee table in the living room, unable to do anything but get it out of my hands.
14
DEVON 5 MONTHS, 11 DAYS TO GO
AS I OPENED the door to the Daily Dose, the smell of delicious coffee wafted over me. I closed my eyes, wishing the aroma alone could fix all that ailed me. But it wouldn’t. I was here to meet up with Ceci, because as much as I loved my brother, I needed to gripe and gnash my teeth and shake my fist at the heavens. Ceci was perfect for that. Saint Rick, on the other hand, would silently listen to me rant and then offer something ridiculous like a logical solution.
I loved the guy. I really did. But sometimes, a girl wanted to vent.
“You’re blocking the door.”
My eyes opened, only to narrow as I saw who it was.
