Chapter Thirty-Two
Alex
Sparrow Gray was the right choice.
Each stroke of gray paint that covers the weird shade of mossy green—Jules says it’s more sage than moss—makes me feel more relaxed.
We started with the main bedroom so we could bring in the brand-new, king-size bed, then worked our way through the living room and dining room.
After that, we just kind of placed all our boxes and the rest of the furniture in the center of the rooms we haven’t yet painted.
Our parents helped a lot, too. Having Richard and Mr. Marrow carry most of the heavy stuff really helped us save some cash.
Of course, the moms insisted on grocery shopping, which we also did not fight them on.
All in all, we were out of our apartments and into the house in a day.
And with the important rooms already painted, everything seems to be falling into place.
Jules walks in from the kitchen, Ripley hot on her heels, and places two plates on the coffee table. It’s only six, but she falls on the sofa with a grunt, clearly as tired as I am.
“Pretty sure I could fall asleep right now.” I groan.
“Same.” Jules stretches her arms over her head, clearly just as sore. There’s a spot of gray paint in her hair and along her cheek, and despite her exhaustion, she looks so cute, I can’t help but scoot a little closer.
Ripley collapses at our feet, and Jules turns down our Fleetwood Mac playlist and leans into me. Something warm expands in my chest.
“There’s this spot in the backyard where I think the peonies would look nice,” Jules says and glances at the decent-sized peony bush her mother brought us from her backyard in a pot by the back door. “Maybe we could get a couple more bushes and make a whole row of them?”
It’s phrased like a question, as if she’s asking for permission. I’m pretty sure she still doesn’t quite grasp that I meant it when I said I wanted this to be her house, too. She doesn’t need to ask about every single thing, but I love that we’re making these kinds of decisions together.
“I think it’s a great idea.” I snag my bagel sandwich and take a large, grateful bite. “Fanks for da fanwich,” I say with a full mouth.
She kisses my cheek and leans back to survey the room. “It’s really starting to look nice. Chloe wants to see pictures when we’re done. As much as she teased us about U-Hauling, I think she really wanted to be here to help with all this.”
I snort because even though we’ve only been in a relationship for, like, three months, we’ve also been best friends for pretty much ever. So is it really U-Hauling?
“She also wishes she was here for you.” She says the last part softly, hesitantly, as if her words may break something inside me.
We’re fast approaching a year since I got the call about my brother. I’m okay, though. Mostly. I’ve been working through a lot in therapy, and it’s actually helped. Slowly but surely, I feel like I’m starting to figure shit out and deal with the things I’ve spent so long avoiding.
She puts her hand on my leg. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make the moment sad.”
“You didn’t,” I’m quick to assure her. She gives me a disbelieving look. That’s something else I’ve been working on in therapy. Being honest and open with my emotions and concerns. “Okay, you did, but it’s fine. It’s okay to talk about him.”
Jules nods and stares at the bookshelf I got her for her birthday. The floating corner one that looks like trees and branches for her Secret Garden collection. It lies on the floor, ready to be installed if we ever finish painting.
My gaze shifts to the signed Johnny Bench baseball still in its case, right smack-dab in the middle of our fireplace mantel. Beside it is a framed Christmas photo where Mason saw the ball for the first time, his expression one of complete shock. The memory makes my chest tighten.
Jules sighs quietly. “I think he’d really like this house.”
“I hope so. He paid for it,” I joke.
There’s a breath of silence before we both burst into giggles.
“Speaking of Mason, when’s your next D&D session?”
“Ugh, Friday, if we ever get the internet hooked up. Adulting’s hard.” I pout, and she leans in to kiss me.
It’s brief, but I chase her lips anyway, not yet tired of being able to do such things.
Jules lets me catch her like she’s just as giddy about it. The kiss isn’t deep or overly passionate, but it still simmers, awakening an urge I can’t seem to quench and making me wonder if I’m actually all that tired.
It’s hard to believe it’s been a year since my brother died.
The throbbing pain in the center of my chest is no longer suffocating, replaced instead by a dull ache. But sometimes, the dull ache roars. Especially in moments like this, when things are still, and the reminders are heavy.
Ripley sighs deeply beside me, and I scratch his head. We drove up most of the mountain, pulling into the small parking lot about halfway up. The hike to get to the top didn’t take that long, but the hill was steep, and we are clearly out of shape.
The view, however, is worth it because even though it’s too early for spring flowers, the barren landscape brings its own kind of quiet beauty. Dormancy instead of death. It’s the perfect metaphor for how I’m feeling today.
It’s too cold for anyone else to be out, plus it’s the middle of the week, and people are probably at work, and I’m grateful to have the space.
Today was supposed to be about getting out of the house, out of my head, and doing something adventurous.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the quiet privacy.
Ripley lazily wags his tail, and I grip his leash a little tighter, even though I know he’s too pooped to move. I smile when I hear the footsteps behind me. If I had a tail, I’d wag it, too.
Jules, now in a sweatshirt, sits and places the thermos of hot cocoa beside her. She loops her arm through mine, and shivers. “It’s chilly now that we’re not moving.”
As if speaking the chill into existence, a cold breeze blows past and rustles my hair. “It feels good, though.”
She pulls her hood over her head, clearly disagreeing. “This reminds me of when we took your bike out after your mom’s wedding.”
That feels like a lifetime ago. “I was so stupid then.” I shake my head and recall how much I held inside and how hard I pushed her away because of how I felt about her. “I should’ve just told you how I felt.”
She finds my hand and locks our fingers together. “Me too.”
“I think about it a lot,” I quietly confess. “All the time I wasted. All the time we could’ve had.”
The wind whips some hair into my face, and Jules gently attempts to tuck it behind my ear. “We were kids. We shouldn’t beat ourselves up too much. We were figuring it all out. Besides, I think we ended up okay.”
Nineteen didn’t seem that young at the time, but even now, at twenty-five, I can recognize just how naive I truly was. How selfish and short-sighted. Still, kid or not, I wish I had done so many things differently.
“It’s not just about us.” I swallow the lump that begins to form in my throat. “I miss him.”
She shifts a little closer and puts her chin on my shoulder. “I know. I do, too.”
I close my eyes and tilt my face toward the sun, embracing its warmth.
“Sometimes, I feel like he’s still here.
I’ll think I see him out of the corner of my eye, or it’ll feel like he’s just in the next room.
Sometimes, I can swear I smell his cheap cologne.
” I smile, remembering the way he’d spritz himself and wander around, trying to air himself out by pacing the house.
“And sometimes,” I whisper, “I’ll think he’s talking to me through the wind.”
“Maybe he is,” she says easily, as if it’s the most sensible thing she’s ever heard and not some crackpot delusion. “What if these are the ways he’s showing you that he likes seeing what you’re up to? His way of still watching out for you.”
Tears prickle the corner of my eyes. “It’s a nice thought.”
Jules leans in even farther and brushes her cold nose across my cheek. “What do you think he’d say about us?”
We’re both quiet for a beat before we both say, “It’s about damn time,” in unison.
It makes us laugh.
A lopsided V of geese flies below the cliff line, honking and pressing forward as if they’re late to an important gathering.
“Where do you think they’re going?” she asks.
“I don’t know. Someplace nice, I hope.”
There’s another breeze, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight, and rest my chin on top of her head. If the breeze is Mason talking, I hope the constant stream of air is his way of showing his approval.
“What about you?” Jules says. “If you could fly, where would you go?”
I continue to watch them head into the horizon until they become tiny specks and then completely disappear. There are so many places I’d still love to visit. The rainforest in Brazil. Lake Hillier in Australia. The markets in Marrakech.
The Northern Lights in Norway.
Except, as much as I’d like to see them all, there’s no longer an undeniable pull to do so. The need to roam and to wander has faded, replaced with the desire to have a new kind of adventure.
I kiss her temple, happy and at peace. “You know, I think I like it right here.”