Chapter 3
Julian
I should have done this a long time ago. Part of me knows that. But another part of me knows that I would never have set foot in here again if I hadn’t been bullied.
“Okay!” Captain Lucy Padilla cries, clapping my shoulder and looking around my late father’s apartment with chirpy determination.
“Goodwill boxes get pink stickers. Stuff for selling goes into boxes with blue stickers. Green is for Julian to keep. And trash goes into bags and out into the yard as soon as they’re full.
Nothing moves without Julian’s approval first.”
Rico and his boyfriend, Jesse, both nod.
They look around the living room where we’re currently congregated.
Anton and Sawyer appear a little more intimidated.
Why wouldn’t they be anxious? It’s only the last earthy possessions of a great man who lived for almost seventy-five years that we’re about to sort through.
I think I’m going to be sick.
Usually, I’m the one people can rely on.
The cool head in a crisis. The one in charge.
Right now, I feel like the scared little kid from the photo on the wall beside me.
It was taken on my first day of school. My parents borrowed a camera just so they could capture the moment forever.
I was terrified of leaving them and that when I got to class, no one would like me.
Now they’re the ones who have left me.
But I remind myself that my first day of school went off without a hitch. And I’m pretty sure I’ve got people here today who like me. Enough that I let my walls crack just a fraction as I rub my chest, my throat thickening.
“What if I can’t decide which box something should go in?” I ask in barely more than a whisper.
Lucy squeezes my shoulder and holds up her sticker sheets.
“That’s what orange is for, buddy. Storage.
And if half the stuff ends up in there today, that’s totally fine.
The only way we’re going to eat this elephant is one bite at a time.
You have to start somewhere, and doing anything at all is going to make you feel better. Trust me.”
I do. “Thank you,” I say weakly, grateful now more than ever that Lucy’s own folks decided to retire down this way, bringing her to us. She might not have been here long, but she’s already become one of the best friends I’ve had in my life.
“I never got why anyone would eat an elephant,” Sawyer says, frowning and shaking his head.
“Come on,” Anton says with a grin. “I’ll explain metaphors to you while we tackle the kitchen. I brought a metric ton of packing paper.”
“Everything in there is for Goodwill, right?” Lucy checks with me.
I inhale deeply, then nod, feeling like I’m coming back to myself marginally. “Yeah, I already went through all those cupboards. If you leave the drawers alone for the time being, you’re safe to pack away all the glasses and plates and such.”
My vague plan is to rent the apartment out once it’s been cleared, either for a long-term let or as a vacation home.
People do come here to see our redwood forest, something of an anomaly in SoCal, and we have pretty nice beaches as well.
I’d thought about keeping some of my dad’s stuff to kit out the place, but the idea didn’t sit right with me.
I’d rather pass those things on to charity and get brand new crockery and the like for anyone who might stay here.
If the guys can pack up all those bits and pieces for me, I know that will take a big weight off my shoulders.
The thought of looking at every single item in this place, deciding whether to keep it or not, packing it away, then sending it where it needs to go over and over again makes me want to curl up into a ball and rock.
Any big jobs like that they can take off my hands, I’ll greatly appreciate it.
“See, Cap,” Rico says warmly, hugging his boyfriend to his side protectively.
Jesse’s doing awesome these days and doesn’t need as much reassurance, but that’s Rico.
Always trying to take care of everyone. “If you’ve already made a start in the kitchen, you’re further ahead than you think.
By the end of today, I bet we’ll have so much done. ”
“Thank you, everyone, for spending your day off here,” I say roughly. Honestly, it’ll be a miracle if I make it through today without losing my shit.
Sawyer leans out of the kitchen doorway where he and Anton have already moved to and gives me a salute. “Happy to help, Cap. My mom always says that many hands make light work.”
“That’s because she got sick of always cleaning up after your sorry ass,” Anton quips with a smirk. Sawyer rolls his eyes and throws a balled up bit of packing paper at him.
“Where do you want us, Cap?” Rico asks, drawing my attention back to him as the other guys start wrapping up glasses.
“Is there another area you don’t have to think much about,” Jesse asks thoughtfully, looking around. “Like the kitchen? The more we can get done quickly, the better you’ll feel, I reckon.”
I appreciate that Jesse’s worked really hard on recovering from his addictions, and that has included a lot of therapy. He probably has insights that wouldn’t occur to me about my grieving process, and I’ll take all the help I can get right now.
“Uh, yeah,” I say as I think through the various rooms of my dad’s place. “The linen closet is in the hall. That should just be sheets and towels, but let me know if you find anything else.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Rico says with a smile. But I can tell from his eyes that he also understands the gravitas of the situation. I can cope with Sawyer messing around. I’d be disturbed if he wasn’t. However, I appreciate the rest of them treading gently around me.
The funeral was tough. But this feels like I’m truly shutting the door on my parents for good, and I have no idea where to start or how I should be feeling.
For a moment, Lucy just watches me looking around the room, my hand resting over my mouth. Dad and I watched a hell of a lot of football in here. We drank beer and yelled at the players and generally enjoyed each other’s company, which came as naturally as breathing to both of us.
Then there were no beers once the treatment started. We became quieter. That just gave us more time to talk, though. I think some of the most important conversations of my life happened here.
We downsized a lot when he moved here from my childhood home after Mom passed.
Converting above my garage into a place he could live nearby but still have some independence worked out really well for us both, especially when his health also started deteriorating.
But it also means that this job isn’t a fraction as daunting as it would have been.
It’s still pretty overwhelming.
“We could take a look at his bedroom?” Lucy suggests kindly. “Whatever you do with his clothes, you’ll probably want to launder them first. But I can’t imagine there will be a lot you’ll want to keep, right?”
I shake my head. “I already washed everything when he…they’re clean.” I clear my throat and nod. It’s still so hard to say the words. When he passed away. “And yeah…I might want to keep some of his football jerseys, but the rest will probably be good to pack up and send off.”
Lucy loops her arm through mine and begins walking me through to the other room. “You’re doing great,” she whispers conspiratorially.
I snort and shake my head. “I’m one loud noise away from shattering apart. But I appreciate your confidence in me.”
She pats my arm then releases me as we reach the foot of the bed. “You’ll get there, man.”
Puffing out my cheeks, I look around at my dad’s personal items still on display.
The framed photos of my mom and me. The cufflinks displayed on the dresser.
The last book he was reading. I’m grateful it was an old favorite.
It would have killed me if he’d left something unfinished, not knowing how it ended.
Well, more than everything is already breaking my heart, anyway.
But Lucy produces a box with a green sticker, and I put the most precious things in there to take with me back to my place.
We collect all the medical equipment together in a corner, and she begins arranging collection for whatever items can be reused.
The rest will either go to Goodwill or be safely disposed of.
That leaves me going through my dad’s closet. As I suspected, most things like his pants and shirts can simply be folded up in anticipation of being sent to charity. No offense to my pops, but none of that is my style.
When I get to the jerseys, though, my job gets a lot harder.
Damn, that man loved football almost as much as he loved my mom and me.
Under the bed, I know there are boxes stuffed with memorabilia and even more shirts.
But the ones hanging here were his favorites.
Each one I gently touch has a dozen—even a hundred—memories attached to it.
The majority of them are Rams merch, so I start with the easier task of boxing up the other university teams’ stuff to pass along.
But then I’m left staring at which players’ jerseys I want to keep from which seasons, and my head starts to hurt.
I don’t want to get frustrated and give away something I’ll regret later.
But right now, I know it’s going to be heart wrenching to make a decision about each and every one of these shirts and I’m not sure I’m up to the challenge just yet.
As if the universe hears my despair and decides to cut me a break, my phone pings with a notification. Gratefully, I step away from the closet and pull it from my jeans pocket, expecting a boring work-related email but appreciative of the interruption regardless.