Chapter 36
Chapter
There are small markings inside one of the upstairs closets that catch my eye. Not marked with a pen or pencil, but scratched in. Each a few inches apart.
“I’ve never noticed this before,” I call out over my shoulder, and Adam crouches down beside me to get a better view.
“They look like growth markings,” he says.
“Interesting.” I run my fingers gently over the indents as if they are braille.
“Do you think they’re from the little girl ghost who lived here before us?” he asks.
“ Adam. ” I hit his leg, and he laughs. “It’s weird to think of anyone else living here.”
He stands and pulls me up with him. “You okay?”
My eyes scan the empty bedroom—the coat of paint on the wall from four years ago, the discolored patch on the floor from a wine spill fourteen years ago.
Without all of the furniture, everything feels a lot smaller.
The last time I saw the place like this, I was a girl in my early twenties just trying to find a roof over my head.
I nod yes. “Are you?”
“Yeah.” He puts his arm around me and kisses the top of my head. “Are you hungry?”
“Always.”
“Dinner’s almost ready.” He gives my waist a gentle squeeze and heads down the stairs.
I’m left by myself and walk over to the window, the same window I’m used to looking at every morning when I wake up. The leaves are a deep red and orange right now, and I see our neighbors across the street bundled up in their jackets, putting out their pumpkins and Halloween decorations.
Stepping out to the hallway, I peek inside the second bedroom, which is also empty aside from a few boxes full of books and a single desk. Although it’s been our office for years, it will always be Adam’s room to me.
I graze the banister as I head down the stairs. The dark oak under my fingertips. It’s crazy to think this wood will be here a lifetime after us. I’m starting to appreciate little details I’ve never noticed before.
All that’s left in the living room are our couch and TV, still mounted because Adam and I agreed those aren’t being moved until the last possible moment.
There’s an open box on top of the bay window seat and I check it to see if it’s packed up enough to be sealed.
Inside sits a framed Polaroid photo that Ford took on our wedding day.
We woke up on a Tuesday morning, I turned to Adam, still half asleep, and he said I want to marry you.
He had a ring ready and once I said me too neither of us could wait for a wedding.
That Friday, we called Ford, Sarah, Chloe, Lucia, and Robby and told them to come to City Hall, and they dropped everything to attend.
Afterward, we sent a group text to our other friends, sharing that we’d just gotten married and inviting whoever was free to come celebrate with us at our favorite bar on Bleecker.
Adam and I are shoving two white cupcakes in each other’s faces and laughing.
To this day, it’s my favorite photo. Behind it are a few other framed snapshots, Adam’s ticket to the opening night of Les Misérables, the selfie we took at Central Park, and a group photo of everyone at Audrey’s, the restaurant Adam opened last year in East LA.
It’s no Alden by any means; at capacity it holds only fifty people.
It’s the hole-in-the-wall spot only locals know of, but it turns out that was the dream all along.
Carefully, I place the contents back in the box next to my Bubble Wrapped Tony Award for best actress in a musical. Something I will never get over.
Adam emerges, holding a black file box under his arm. “Babe, let’s add this to the stuff in the office. It was with the donation pile.”
“What is that?” I take it from him and sit on the couch.
“For the house,” he says. “We have all the digital copies, but just in case.”
Adam is still a true twentieth-century man.
“Oh jeez.” A puff of air bursts out of me as I see the very folder Mara handed to me the day ownership was transferred. “This feels like a lifetime ago…Remember when you forfeited ownership and didn’t tell me?”
“Mmm.” Adam nods. “Remember when you moved to another state and didn’t tell me?”
I tuck away a smile and swat his leg.
“Wait, what’s this?” I pull out a small white envelope with Adam and June handwritten on the front.
Adam frowns. “I’ve never seen that.”
Flipping the envelope over, I open it and give Adam a tentative look when I pull out what’s inside.
Adam and June,
Last month I received my official diagnosis that I have Alzheimer’s. Please don’t feel sorry for me. By the time you read this, it will be long past the point of condolences.
The reason I’m writing you this is because I forgot how I celebrated my 30th birthday. I’ve been searching my brain and I can’t remember. I don’t remember the name of my high school English teacher, and I don’t remember what my grandmother looks like. The memories are lost.
What’s not lost is my memory of the two of you.
I remember the lasagna Adam would make me.
I also remember watching June singing onstage.
I remember how you treated me. These memories are few and far between, but they’re what are important to me right now.
It’s been some years since I’ve seen you both, and while I don’t know what you’re doing now, I don’t doubt you’re doing all the things you wanted.
I’m told I need to make a plan for 74 Perry Street.
I have no more family, no children, no next of kin, no friends younger than retirement…
I promise it’s not as depressing as it sounds…
I’m leaving it to the two of you. You two loved that house as much as I and the generations before me did.
It’s safe to say you’re the rightful owners.
I don’t expect you to pass it down, but I trust you’ll care for it and one day find the right people to live within those walls.
Thank you for your kindness and showing me that there’s love out there in this world. I hope you cherish it and continue to make memories that I no longer can.
Stanley
My throat tightens and I wipe the tears on my cheeks with the back of my hand. Adam pulls me in close as I bury my face into his chest.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod and sniff. “I can’t believe we never saw this.”
“It’s a beautiful letter.” Adam rubs his thumb over my shoulder as we sit in silence. The sound of the oven timer goes off and the two of us adjust. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, and Adam nods and heads back into the kitchen. “I’ll keep this in a special place.” I pick up the file box and place it with our belongings under the fireplace and tuck Stanley’s letter in with our wedding photo.
Adam returns, holding two plates of lasagna. The smell of garlic and beef fills up the room.
“Want to watch a movie?” he asks.
“Yes, please.” I fall onto the couch and grab the plates from him. I gesture to a giant throw blanket in a box. “Can you pass me the blanket over there? It’s freezing.”
“Want me to turn on the heat?” He tosses it over tome.
“No, I’m good.” I shiver and lay out the blanket on the couch. “I should take advantage of being cold before we move. I can’t believe it’s three days away.”
“Are you nervous?”
It’s been six years since I’ve been in a television show, and I’m at the point in my life when I know I can go back to the theater if I want. But now I want to try the things that scare me. I’m ready to go back toTV.
“I think I’m more excited than anything.” I cut into my lasagna and let the steam air out. I turn on the TV and the first thing that’s served to us is My Best Friend’s Wedding. “Oh my God, when was the last time you watched this?”
His eyes go wide like he’s thinking and he pushes his glasses up. “Man, I don’t know. I think when we watched it? I just remember Julia Roberts is the villain.”
“She’s not the villain,” I say through a mouthful of pasta. “She’s just in love with her best friend and she doesn’t tell him until it’s too late.” He turns to me, and I see the corner of his mouth curve up. “Shut up.” I nudge him and press play.
If you were to see a snapshot of this moment, you might be able to guess what’s happening.
Us eating lasagna while watching a rom-com.
Me reciting my lines in my head while Adam thinks of a new dish for his restaurant.
A brownstone sitting in the middle of the West Village on a crisp autumn evening.
It’s a moment in time that looks just like one from years before, but it’s not. It’s different this time.