Chapter Ten #2
Other than a brief slowdown when I paused to show Alex my father’s poetry collection, the decluttering continued uneventfully.
At some point the girls came by to eat lasagna.
Greyson complained about Alex’s dancing and singing, which only made him dance and sing more, and soon after they’d arrived, the girls left to watch something at Alex’s condo.
It wasn’t until eleven o’clock that we’d gotten through everything but my two cardboard boxes.
The only out-of-place items in my entire unit.
I knelt before the boxes and wiped the dust from the top of one with the hem of my shirt.
This was the part of decluttering I’d been dreading.
Clothes, books, papers, all the rest—it wasn’t hard to decide what to keep and what to trash.
But I knew that looking into these boxes would be like looking into my own heart, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that, let alone with a guy I’d only met at the start of the summer.
Alex returned from taking the trash out to the dumpster. “Sorry that took so long. I ran into Sharon. You know, the retired hedge fund manager on the third floor? I’m pretty sure she just asked me out.”
I snorted. Sharon was the fiercest cougar in the complex. I was surprised she hadn’t cornered Alex before. “What did you tell her?”
Alex closed the door behind him. “Same thing I told you, I don’t date.”
“How’d she take it?”
“The same way most women do. She was devastated.”
“Trust me, Sharon gets her fair share of younger men. I doubt you put a damper on her night.” I eyed the boxes. “It’s late,” I sighed. “You don’t have to stay. I can handle the rest.”
Alex settled himself on the floor across from me. “And exile myself to the teen girl lair? No thanks. Besides, you still haven’t eaten dinner, and I’m not leaving until you do. The only thing standing between you and the best lasagna you’ve ever had are those two boxes.”
I took the top off the box I’d just wiped the dust from and peered inside.
It was cluttered with souvenirs from the places I’d traveled while on charter: blank postcards, and museum ticket stubs, and business cards from restaurants and bars.
I pulled one of the postcards from the box.
It read I’d rather go to Hell than to school.
Hell, Grand Cayman Island B.W.I. against a background of flames.
“I meant to send this to my sister,” I said, passing it to Alex. “She wanted me to go to college, but I never did.”
“Plenty of people have told me to go to Hell, but I’ve never actually been there,” he said, then passed the postcard back to me. “Joy, or no joy?”
I closed my eyes. I had a hard time imagining letting the postcard go, letting any of these things go.
To a stranger, maybe even to Alex, these things were junk.
But for me, each postcard, brochure, and business card was a reminder I’d been out there in the world, living an adventurous life.
It was proof I was making something of myself, even if I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.
“Joy,” I said, handing it back to Alex, who set it in the designated area.
After we spent far too long picking through my travel mementos, all that remained in the box were the remnants of my many on-again, off-again hobbies.
“Okay, I’m going to need you to explain this,” Alex said, pulling a gallon-sized Ziploc bag filled with random metal odds and ends from the box.
I took the bag from him. Coins, rings, and pieces of metal I couldn’t identify rattled against one another, glinting in the light. “I had a metal-detecting hobby a few years ago,” I said.
“Buried treasure. There’s that pirate side of you.”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” I opened the bag and found a tarnished silver ring with three small sapphires set into it. “This is probably the best thing we found.”
“We?”
“Oh, well, I only got the metal detector because my nephew . . . When he came down with Mia and Kitty a few summers ago, he said he was sure someone could make a lot of money selling lost things they found on the beach. Nina found a metal detector on Craigslist, and I bought it the next day. We spent their entire trip metal detecting and geocaching.”
Alex gave me a confused look. “What’s geocaching?”
I looked down at my hands, realizing how dorky all this would sound. “There’s this community of people who . . . hide things. And they give you coordinates. And you use those coordinates to find the hidden cache.”
“More treasure hunting.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Sam had had us out and about for hours, with both the metal detecting and the geocaching.
Sometimes we did both at the same time. It was one of the best summers we’d had, and I’d been just as caught up in the excitement as the kids.
I handed the ring and bag to Alex. “Keep the ring, toss the rest.”
“You’re sure you don’t want the rest of this?”
“I’m sure,” I said. I looked back into the box. “I’ve had non-treasure-related hobbies too.”
“Such as?”
“These are all for the donate or trash pile, by the way.” I stuck my hand in the box and pulled out a ball of yarn. “Knitting.”
“In Florida?”
“In Florida. But I only ever finished half of a hat.”
“Impressive.”
“Oh, here’s a fun one.” I handed him a ceramic coaster covered in blue sea glass. “A failed attempt at mosaic making. I found all the sea glass myself.”
“We’re not throwing this out. I’m keeping it,” Alex said, setting it on the floor behind him. “You’re a real Renaissance woman, huh?”
I shrugged. An assortment of paintbrushes, a baggie of buttons, and several origami cranes were the only things left inside. “I’m not like you. I don’t have one thing I’m skilled at or passionate about. Beth says I don’t have enough ambition.”
“Ambition isn’t as important as everyone makes it out to be,” Alex said, setting the paintbrushes in the trash pile.
“Says the Michelin star–earning superchef.”
“It wasn’t as great as it sounds. Why would I want to be killing myself day and night at a restaurant, when I could be here with you decluttering your condo?”
I rolled my eyes and passed Alex the paper cranes one by one, not saying anything until the box was empty. “I don’t know. I feel like I should’ve done more with my life by now.”
Alex inspected one of the paper cranes, then set it beside the sea glass coaster.
“I know your sister means well, but if you ask me, I think you’ve made a pretty good life for yourself.
You’ve got a job you love. A best friend who would definitely murder someone for you, and who maybe already has.
Great family. This stunningly organized condo.
And you get to spend your days nursing a crush on a hot yacht chef. ”
I laughed. “I think you mean I spend my days being annoyed by a hot . . .” I paused, and Alex grinned. “A perfectly average-looking yacht chef.”
Alex shook his head. “Damn. I was this close to getting you to admit I can be Hot Yacht Chef.”
“That’s what you wanted? I thought you were desperate to get me to admit I have a crush on you.”
Alex shrugged. “Why state the obvious?”
I scanned the floor around me, my cheeks burning. “I’ve decluttered all the things I had to throw at you.”
“One box left,” Alex said. “Then food.”
I pulled the box closer and took a deep breath before lifting the lid, knowing what I’d find inside.
After the mug incident with Kitty that first week, I’d put away everything that might remind the girls of Samson.
Right on top was a photograph that used to live on my fridge.
In it, Samson and I stood on either side of a tiny bonsai tree, wide grins on our faces.
That was the first time I’d taken him to the Morikami Museum and Japanese Gardens.
He’d made me take him back every summer since.
“What’s wrong?” Alex said. “Please tell me that’s an embarrassing photo from high school.”
Unable to speak, I handed Alex the photograph. When he looked at it, the humor disappeared from his face. “Samson, right? You have the same eyes.”
I cleared my throat. “I think . . . maybe put that in the trash pile.”
“What? Why?”
I sat back, wrapping my arms around my knees. “I don’t feel particularly . . . joyful . . . looking at that. Whenever I run into something of his . . .” I shook my head. “I’d just rather not be reminded.”
When I glanced at Alex again, he was staring at the photograph in his hands, his brows knit together. He caught me looking at him, and his expression softened. “How about I hold on to it, and when you’re ready, I’ll give it back,” he said. “It’ll probably be sooner than you think.”
I sighed, feeling an ache in my chest. “Okay. Yeah. I guess that could work. You won’t lose it, though, will you?”
Alex smiled. “See? You don’t really want to get rid of it.” He passed the photo back to me. “I told you it would be sooner than you thought.”
The next moment Alex was on his feet.
“Where are you going?” I said.
“Two minutes,” he said, and disappeared through the door.
I ran a finger around the edge of the photograph, trying to slip inside the memory of that day at the museum. It was hard to look back on it with joy, but maybe if I pretended to be the person in the photograph again, things would be different. I closed my eyes and thought I caught a spark.
When Alex returned, he had one of the framed photos of Zac Efron Nina had left at his place.
“I thought I was supposed to be getting rid of stuff,” I said.
Alex undid the frame and took out the Zac Efron photo. “For your picture,” he said, holding the frame out to me. “For whenever you’re ready to put it back up.”
I reached out, and my fingers brushed against Alex’s as I took the frame and set it in my lap. “Is there a word for feeling joy and sorrow at the same time?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
I nodded to the Zac Efron photo Alex had set in the trash pile. “You sure you don’t want to keep that photo in your living room?” I said.
“I have plenty. The guy who came to repair my AC the other day seemed a little disturbed by it. He couldn’t get out of there quick enough.”
I set the photo of me and Samson in the frame. “Thank you. I think I’ll put it in my nightstand drawer,” I said. “Just in case.”
When I’d put away the last of my sentimental items, and Alex returned from one more dumpster run, he stood in the middle of my living room with his hands on his hips. “So did it change your life?” he asked.
“I’m an entirely new person,” I said. “I think I can read minds now.”
“Really?” He turned to face me, his eyes meeting mine. “Then what am I thinking right now?”
I tapped a finger against my chin, narrowing my eyes as I stared into his. “That you can’t wait to get out of here and go to bed.”
“Nope. I don’t think I’m within range of your powers.” A smile played on his lips as he came closer and stood directly in front of me. “Try again.”
I racked my mind, again for something that wasn’t about kissing or being alone together, but fortunately I was saved by Mia, who flung open the condo door. She looked at us, then called over her shoulder, “It’s safe! They aren’t making out!”
Alex laughed and took a step back. I busied myself straightening the already straight couch pillows.
“Dads aren’t allowed to make out,” Greyson said, following Mia inside. She eyed Alex and threw up her hands. “It’s just the rules. I don’t make ’em.”
“It’s ignorant to think adults don’t engage in that sort of activity,” Kitty said.
“Doesn’t mean I want to know about it,” Greyson replied.
“If you know the enemy and know yourself, your victory will not stand in doubt,” Kitty said. She gave Greyson a curt nod.
Greyson stared at her. “I don’t get it.”
Mia grabbed Greyson by the elbow and tugged her in the direction of the kitchen. “Don’t bother. There’s nothing to get.”
After pouring themselves bowls of cereal, the girls sat side by side on the couch, discussing a video they’d watched about Disney Channel child stars who’d become drug addicts.
“I thought you three were watching a movie,” Alex said.
“I said we were going to watch something,” Greyson said. “It’s not my fault you assumed it was a movie. And anyway, it was basically a documentary and overall very educational. Right?” she added, glancing from Mia to Kitty.
“Right,” the girls responded.
Alex and I looked at each other and shook our heads.
“Lasagna?” I asked him.
“Lasagna,” he replied with a nod.
“Thank God we missed the decluttering,” Mia said when I returned from the kitchen and sat beside Alex on the couch. “Wait. Where’s all our stuff?”
“Trash pile,” Alex said.
“It didn’t spark joy,” I added with a shrug.
Mia glared, and Kitty groaned, and Alex caught my eye right after I’d shoveled a forkful of lasagna into my mouth.
“You’ve got . . .” He leaned over and swiped his thumb along the corner of my mouth. “Sauce,” he said, pulling away from me.
There was a moment of silence, and then a collective oooooh sounded from the other couch.
Alex shook his head, I blushed, and we both ignored the girls.
I stared down at the plate in my lap. That had meant nothing, of course.
Just like all his flirting meant nothing.
I was almost sure he would’ve done the same thing to Nina.
We were good friends who spent a lot of time enclosed in small spaces together, nothing more.
Mia and Kitty giggled gleefully from across the living room. Greyson had her hands over her face and cried, “The rules, Dad! The rules!”
Alex leaned back into the couch. “I don’t see how helping a friend is equivalent to making out. And I don’t remember agreeing to these rules. I’m not sure I can abide by them.”
Greyson pretended to gag, and I flicked my gaze over to Alex. Friends. That was all we were. He’d said it himself.
Then why had I thought, Joy, the moment he’d touched me, as if his thumb on my mouth were something I could keep?