Chapter 13 #2
“Thank you,” Justin said but didn’t look up.
“I’m going to go with you—it’s my job.”
He rolled his eyes. “Did you want Arne to come with us?”
Arne would talk to Justin the whole time, and I wasn’t sure that was going to help him work out. And working out might bring up the idea of hockey again, and I would really like to avoid that. But Arne pleaded with his eyes.
“Finish your book first, and then you can come down.” Justin didn’t know how chatty Arne could get, so I’d spare him. Tomorrow he should be back in class, and it would just be Justin and me.
Huh. Just the two of us might be awkward. Arne was a buffer today.
Justin led the way down the stairs. The place hadn’t been updated in at least twenty years.
Maybe more. Certainly not since I’d been here last. There was fake wooden paneling on the walls and a ratty carpet on the floor.
The couch was lumpy but comfortable, at least it had been eleven years ago.
I forced back memories of making out there.
There was the old TV, a big built-in with a stereo.
Justin’s grandparents had inherited it from their parents, and for all I knew it still worked.
Past the family room was the laundry room, an unfinished space covering half the footprint of the house. There was a new treadmill there and a familiar set of weights. Back in high school, I’d hung out while Justin worked out. And after…
Nope. That was the past. No point in dwelling on it, especially not with Justin right here.
He stepped on the treadmill and punched in a program with his left hand.
The machine started up slowly, so he wasn’t rushing into something.
It was almost like he knew what he was doing.
I rolled my eyes internally. I didn’t need to hover.
At this walking pace there was no risk, so I wandered around, looking at things familiar and new.
There was a large pile of boxes in the corner.
Justin’s and Jess’s names were written on them.
“Your grandmother packed up your stuff?”
He glanced over. “Yeah. Jess said Grandma got everything organized when she knew she’d have to go to a care facility. She didn’t want to throw anything out in case we might want it. We were supposed to go through this stuff when we had time.”
And Justin hadn’t been back. Jess hadn’t gone through the boxes either.
My fingers were itching to check them out.
Were there things in there from when Justin and I dated?
We went out for most of three years. We’d had a lot of mementos.
Or had he gotten rid of everything when we broke up?
I’d thrown away a lot of stuff. But some I hadn’t been able to.
I’d shoved everything into a box, hidden in the back of the closet, unwilling to torment myself with what-ifs but unable to deny that those things had meaning.
“I should go through those boxes while I’m here. Jess can do her own, but I don’t want to give her more things to deal with.”
Justin had always been protective of his twin.
I’d thought it showed admirable character, until when it came down to a choice between family or girlfriend, family won.
I quashed the ungenerous thought. I’d made the same choice between Justin and my family.
It would be hypocritical to blame him for doing what I’d done.
Eleven years ago, I’d expressed my thoughts at full volume in that last argument that broke us up.
I shook my head. Time to move on. “Are you safe to open these with your left hand?” After seeing what he’d done to himself with a bread knife, I was skeptical about how he’d handle a box knife or scissors.
Justin peered at them, still walking at a reasonable pace. “Probably not.”
“I can do that for you, whenever you want.”
“Now?”
“Sure.” There was a workbench at the end of the room.
Probably the best place to find something to slit open the tape.
It had belonged to his grandfather, someone I’d never known.
He’d passed about a year before I met Justin.
I checked out the bench. Everything here was just as packed up, except for a few everyday tools.
I found the knife and slit the boxes open that had Justin’s name.
With nothing else to do, I leaned back against the bench, watching my patient now at a fast walk on the treadmill.
His balance was good, nothing jarring the hand with the cast. Justin was focused on the gauge in front of him, mind gone to wherever he went when he worked out.
Back then he’d said it was Zen-like, brain mostly turned off, body going through familiar movements.
The shirt he was wearing had the sleeves cut out, and it showed a faded Blaze logo in red on the well-worn fabric. The gray looked like it had been black at one time. His sweat shorts were also gray, unbranded.
His legs, with thick thighs and tightly muscled calves, flexed as he moved, the shorts showing off the big hockey ass that puck bunnies admired. His biceps bulged as his arms pumped back and forth in time with his strides. Sweat started to dampen the shirt.
I tore my gaze away. I wasn’t here to ogle the hockey player. Or to compare the young man I’d known all those years ago to this somber man in front of me, focused on his workout.
I shoved my hands in the pockets of my scrub bottoms. Maybe I needed this time together.
To acknowledge the differences between then and now.
Back then, he’d been a hockey prospect, kid of a wealthy family, but ordinary and kind.
My family had never been perfect but we’d mostly had our shit together back then, except for Mom’s health.
My dream had been to become a doctor, with letters after my name and a profitable career.
Now, he was a successful professional athlete. I, or anyone else, could look up how many millions he made a year. I’d seen the photos of his ex-wife—she was beautiful. Justin had fans, money, and a sister who would do anything for him.
I was a single mom, barely holding it together, hanging on tightly to our family budget with both hands. Other than Arne and my mother, I wasn’t sure anyone in the family would miss me if I wasn’t there, except for my paycheck. I’d lost touch with my friends and rarely heard from Arne’s father.
We were in drastically different circles now.
I needed to see Justin as he was now. Solidify the knowledge that we had nothing in common. Because watching him on the treadmill was bringing up some long-buried memories.
My plate was full. I had no room for more shit.