30. Chapter 30
thirty
Noel
T he next few weeks are a blur of soaking up the dying light at the cottage and spending late nights in Jamie’s bed when he gets off work.
He hired someone to take a few of his bar shifts, but his schedule at the brewery has ramped up while he gets a new ale ready for a winter release.
Most of our time together now comes after dark.
Some nights I sit on a stool at Fortune and watch Jamie work.
Some nights I stay in and sketch or watch a movie with Pixie.
Jamie lets himself in after I’ve fallen asleep, stripping off his work clothes and curling his body around mine until we inevitably forget that sleep is necessary and stay up touching and talking in a way that feels more intimate than sex.
Though, there’s a lot of that too. I think I’ve had more sex in the fall of this year than in all my years combined.
For whatever reason, I opened something in Jamie with my confession at the hotel, and I’ve come to realize this is part of how he sews it back up.
Whenever my mind tries to linger on his weird reaction, I force myself to remember that I spent two years telling myself that Jamie Bishop didn’t exist just so I didn’t have to confront the implications of fate on a potential relationship.
Even after the universe dropped him on my porch again, I poked a hundred holes in the idea of us, before finally holding this up to the light of what I know to be true—that whoever is in charge of these things got the two of us very right.
The rest of my life is like a garden in the spring, a new bud appearing with each sunrise.
It’s safe to say my sabbatical has officially ended.
I’ve been working on the designs for Cara’s mural, more inspired than I’ve felt in months, maybe years.
I see Kate and Colin for dinner once a week.
And I’ve been hanging out with Cara outside of work too.
Last weekend, we met for drinks downtown when Jamie and Em were both working at Fortune.
Cara ordered a Corona, begging me not to snitch, and I’d dutifully ordered Jamie’s fall ale because I truly love it and because I swore beverage loyalty.
I know he was mostly kidding, but I like the way his face lights up when I drink his beer.
I like any time that sweet, handsome grin is aimed at me.
And I like the idea that a friendship with Cara is part of this package delivered straight from the universe.
She’s full of stories I don’t think I’d otherwise get to hear, things she heard from Em.
When she told me the details of the skylight story Jamie mentioned at the beach, we’d laughed so hard we’d nearly sprayed beer out of our noses, and then she’d grabbed my wrist on the table, a sudden sappy look on her face.
“I just love you two together. Becca, she was… ” She’d paused, seeming to choose those words carefully. “Well, she was hard on him.”
“You knew her?” I’d asked, equally careful.
“Mmhmm. Weirdly, I knew her before I knew Jamie. From rec camp when we were, like, twelve. And then, you know, from around.”
“Small city.”
“Very. It’s not a judgment on her. Or him. Just… them together.”
I nodded along, pretending not to be wildly jealous at the reminder that there even was a them together.
Part of my problem is that I’ve been living in the past in a sense.
Like Jamie said, settling for old dynamics with my mother.
Avoiding Nana’s house because being there alone wouldn’t be the same as it used to be, and it might hurt.
But Jamie and I have been about the future since we met, and I don’t like thinking about him and Becca.
So I’d smiled, and sipped my beer, and said, “That’s because he’s supposed to be mine.”
On Fridays, Jamie has at least a twelve hour shift on the brewery floor.
Today, he’s been gone since before dawn, and I plan to use the forced separation to work on my watercolors again.
The other night while I sat at the bar waiting for him to finish his shift, I’d doodled a few designs for holiday cards that, if I really buckle down, I could have ready by Thanksgiving. I want to have them ready.
I pop my headphones in my ears and grab the jar candle Jamie and I used weeks ago to try to read his future.
They’ve been part of my regular painting routine now that I’m not blocked often enough to need brain breaks.
But when I light the wick, it sparks, then fizzles, and a plume of black smoke signals that it’s just about empty.
“Shoot.” I chew on the end of my pencil. I don’t want to mess with my system now when I’ve been on such a roll, but the drug stores aren’t even open yet to buy a crappy Halloween candle to replace it.
A lightbulb pops on in my brain, and I remember the box of votives Nana kept on hand for snowstorms—shoved at the top of her closet—and I hop off of the stool and head toward her room.
It’s probably because I’m engrossed in the upbeat playlist I’ve made myself, eager to work while Jamie’s gone so we can play when he gets back, or maybe my mind is too filled with these new ideas that I’m not paying attention, but it isn’t until my fingers wrap around the knob on her bedroom door that it hits me what I’ve done.
It’s silly the way I freeze, debating whether to push it all the way open or slam it shut.
It’s silly, too, the way my throat swells.
And yet, I can’t bring myself to move.
It’s Kate’s voice I hear in my head first, because it always is: Are you really going to take a job here, move your life to this house, and continue to just never set foot in this room ?
But it’s Jamie who I hear next. I think of what he said about me holding space for Mom instead of filling it. I’m holding this literal space open too, afraid that if I embrace what this room is now instead of what it was, I’ll lose something forever.
I’ve been living here without her for weeks now, though, and I haven’t lost anything.
I still feel her here. I think of her, and I don’t cry, I smile.
And it hasn’t once felt like losing what it was.
It feels like gaining the color I was missing when I arrived here.
It feels like storing something precious in a box for safe keeping, and getting to live inside the box with it.
I thought the memories would hurt too much, but instead they’ve been like light switches flicking on in the darkness that I was wallowing in, leading the way out.
I feel things every day now. I feel optimistic about my work.
I feel like I have friends here, more than just Kate and Colin.
I feel joy when I wake up early with Jamie’s arms tightly around my stomach.
I feel the tingling of the winter on the horizon, knowing I’ll be cozy and taken care of.
And I feel like I’m ready to have all of this place.
I’ve made some big decisions over the last month, but when I turn the knob, this tiny step feels like the biggest.
The tiny step turned out to be not so tiny.
I’m starfished on the living room floor, exhausted and catching a cat nap, when I hear Jamie’s car pull into the gravel drive, then his footsteps on the front porch.
I bolt upright to meet him at the door. I’m so excited to see him, to show him how I spent my day.
I got the candles from the top of Nana’s closet, but I didn’t work on my watercolors.
I open the door before he can, and grab him by the front of his jacket, kissing him hello. When I pull away, my smile feels too big for my face.
“Hello to you too,” he says, laughing.
“I want to show you something.” I pull him through the door, left up the stairs to the loft. Of course he plays along, letting himself be manhandled, smiling amusedly. When I get to the top, I pause. “I did a thing.”
“What sort of thing?”
“A big thing.” I step around the railing, and he crests the landing behind me.
And his jaw drops. “Wow.”
“I know.”
He steps past me, catching my hand on the way, and heads to the new desk sitting in the middle of the space.
I spent two hours putting it together, setting up a permanent place for my laptop and sketch pads, which he briefly thumbs before turning his attention to the wall behind it.
The upper shelf is lined with Mason jars filled with brushes and some with flowers I bought at Trader Joes.
“These are yours?” He turns toward the floral watercolors I framed and hung in the corner. I have a pile of floor pillows in front of the window so I can sketch there.
I nod. “All the paintings I’ve made designs from.”
“They’re beautiful.”
The easel that’s been in my trunk since I got here is set up in the opposite corner, a stool from the kitchen in front of it, a paper lantern hung above it. Pixie is curled beneath it.
I think back to the day I toured my condo in Connecticut. I’d envisioned the second bedroom to look something like this eventually. But then Mom lost her job, and a month later, her apartment, and she moved in. I went back to working at the kitchen table.
This is even better, and it was mine the whole time.
“Where’s your bed?” Jamie asks.
“Oh, uh, it’s in the garage.” That was probably not my best decision, to do that by myself. I’d basically propped the mattress on its side and tobogganed it from the top of the stairs, hoping for the best. “The one downstairs is bigger.”
His eyes snap to mine. “You…”
“I did. Come see.” Jamie follows me back down the stairs, to the door that’s been closed since I arrived. It’s closed now too, and I lean my back against it, biting my lip, stalling for effect.
Jamie pokes my stomach, and I kick it open with a little, “Tada.”
After I finished moving my clothes to Nana’s dresser, I went to Target and bought a new pot for the kalanchoe Jamie bought me.
It’s on the window ledge, getting the correct amount of sun.
I got rid of the guest basket and Maine guide books on the bookcase, and gave it a coat of paint.
Finally, I dragged my biggest purchase in from the car, a gorgeous floral print rug, and fit it in the middle of the room.
Then I sat on it criss-cross and cried hard and ugly.
But I wasn’t sad the way I thought I would be when I finally opened this room up and saw for myself how empty it was.
I was relieved that I suddenly knew exactly how to fill it up.
I was emotional in a good way. And I was really proud of myself for the way I let myself feel every ounce of it.
It doesn’t feel wrong anymore, to be here without her. It feels like stepping into the future. I have the visions to thank for that.
And Jamie. I turn to him, watching as he drags a finger over the bookcase, then sits on the bed. “You kept hitting your head,” I remind him. “Upstairs.”
“Noel…” As usual, he doesn’t want to take credit but I’m giving it.
I sit down beside him. “Jamie, you and I don’t fit in the loft, and you and I are so much of this place. What it is now instead of what it was.”
He closes his eyes, pressing a long kiss to my forehead, and I can feel the way this settles something in him. “I would have helped you do all of this,” he whispers.
“I know. But I needed to do it alone.” It was a long overdue conversation between Nana and me. Not a goodbye so much as… showing her that I’m okay. “Besides, I’m not done. I still need a chair for that corner. You know, to throw clothes on.”
He nods firmly. “Right.”
I gesture to the window. “I want to put more plants here. Oh, maybe an indoor tree!”
He laughs, and those dimples are carved in so deep, I want to press my finger there, let them swallow me.
“What do you think?” My teeth dig into my lip. I know what he’s going to say but I need to feel it—the full force Jamie Bishop effect.
And he must know that because he pounces, pulling me into a bear hug and burying his face in my hair. “I think it’s about damn time.”
I think he’s right, as usual, and so Monday morning, I wait until Jamie leaves for his weekly sales meeting with Wes, then I roll to the still-warm spot he’s left in my bed to make a call I’ve been practicing all weekend.
After a brief hold, the receptionist transfers me to Vi.
I don’t expect her to be shocked. Afterall, it was her who told me to decide if Ned’s job was something I wanted. I guess in a way, she saw the future too.
“I won’t lose you completely, then?” she asks after I’ve broken the news.
“No.” Even with Cara’s job, I’m not nearly ready to support myself full time, and Brickstone has helped me make a name for myself even if it’s in an adjacent field.
Staying freelance will allow me to pick my projects, work toward my own goals alongside Vi’s.
Of course, I’ll also still pay for my health insurance, but I’m figuring that out.
“I’m going to move here, though,” I tell her.
“Well, it’s a good thing you work remotely.”
“You were right, Vi. This was a gift, and you have no idea how much I appreciate it.”
We hang up, and I feel settled and filled to the brim with what comes next, and I feel the same contentment in my bones when I call a real estate agent in Connecticut next, and we discuss the logistics of listing my condo.
Take a leap, Noel. All signs point to the universe catching you .
I haven’t had any more visions since that night at the beach, but enough of them have come true that I’m not just leaping into this new life, I’m swan diving.