Chapter Twenty-Six
Alex
There are large piles spread out across the basement. One for donating, one for trash, and one for keeping. It doesn’t look like we’ve done much. In fact, it looks ten times messier than when we started. No wonder people pay professionals to do this.
I’ve packed up apartments, barely, considering I really don’t have all that much, but never an entire house.
I hardly remember moving out of our tiny Cincinnati apartment, other than the mountain of boxes that took up most of the living space.
But this is crazy. It makes me wonder how we accumulated so much crap and why we never thought to purge it all before now.
When Mom told me she and Richard were planning on selling the house, my immediate reaction was a spiral of sadness and panic.
For the past seventeen years, this has been my home.
I know every floorboard that squeaks, which windows stick, and the way you have to jiggle the handle on the back door just right in order to get it to lock.
The thought of never coming back here again felt like another deep loss I wasn’t ready for.
I didn’t want my house going to someone else, not when it was still ours.
Then Mom and Richard offered it to me. It was mine if I wanted, a rent-to-own sort of situation. They would keep it and sell it to me through the proper channels once I was settled and had the money to purchase it.
It was tempting.
So tempting that I actually thought about it.
Like, really weighed the pros and cons. That’s when I realized, it’s not the building that makes it our home but the people who live within in it.
Without Mason or Mom, it wouldn’t be the same.
As badly as I want to cling to what was, I know it’s time to close that chapter of my life and start a new one.
Two months later and with most of my stuff in storage, I’m officially moved back. Sort of. I don’t have a job or place of my own, but until I can figure that out, I’m glad I’m able to help Mom and Richard box up so they can start their own new chapter.
Mom stands with her hands on her hips and looks around. “I’d say we made pretty good progress.”
“That’s an optimistic outlook,” I tell her, flopping on the worn sofa that definitely needs to go to the dumpster.
Mom sits beside me and pulls out her phone. “How would you feel about Richard bringing home some pizza?”
“From Pizzano’s?” I ask excitedly. I’ve been back in the States for a few days and have yet to have pizza from my favorite pie joint. “With bacon and pepperoni and extra cheese?”
Mom wrinkles her nose and pokes at my side. “How do you stay so skinny?”
“Lots of sex and cocaine.”
She glares. “One of those better not be true.”
I lean in and arch an eyebrow. “Yes, but which one?”
“Still so funny, I see,” she says fondly. Her fingers fly over her phone screen, and once she gives the order to Richard, she pats my leg. “You doing okay, kiddo? I know this has been tough.”
“Only going to get tougher.” So far, I’ve packed up most of my bedroom and helped with the dining room that Mom used as an office.
We’ll finish the basement tomorrow, but we’ve yet to even step foot in Mason’s room.
The basement is bad enough, since this is where we had our Mario Kart battles and he and Richard would have their jam sessions.
But the moving truck is scheduled to come late next week, so we don’t have the luxury of procrastinating. I suppose that’s for the best.
“Deb offered to help. It’s okay if you want to focus on your own stuff.”
“This is my stuff. I want to be here.” As hard as it’s going to be, I don’t want anyone else to do it.
Mom seems to understand because she pats my leg again. “Okay, but take breaks. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
“It’s kind of a sprint,” I remind her.
She sighs. “Maybe I’ll have Deb help with the kitchen. It takes forever to wrap every single plate and glass.”
I wince because, yeah, that sounds horrible.
The old secondhand Nintendo sits on the ground in front of the couch, unplugged and ready to be packed in my own keepsake pile.
I pick up Mason’s Zelda wireless controller and drag my thumbs across the worn-out buttons.
I think about all the games of Mario Kart we played here on this couch and all the games we will never again get to play.
How he always wanted to be Princess Peach.
“I shouldn’t have left.”
My voice cracks, and a wave of guilt crashes over me.
“Come here.” Mom pulls me to her chest and wraps her arms around me.
Her comforting embrace triggers a fresh set of tears.
Something that continues to happen to us both at the oddest of times.
“I know it hurts, and I know you have regrets. I do, too. Hindsight can be cruel. But you did nothing wrong. Okay?”
I shake my head because it doesn’t feel that way.
In fact, it feels like every decision I’ve ever made has been wrong.
“You never left. You took care of him. You shouldn’t have had to do that all alone.
” That’s the worst part, I think. Of all my regrets, and there are many, leaving Mom to deal with all the hard stuff by herself is by far the worst.
“And you lived for him. He loved hearing about your adventures. It was his choice to stay put. You can’t blame yourself for wanting something different.”
Except I can and I do. I should’ve pressured him to explore new places with me. I should’ve booked our trip to Norway sooner. I should’ve put his bucket list before my own because I knew there was a chance his life would be cut short. I should’ve, I should’ve, I should’ve.
Mom takes a shuttering breath, and I know she’s crying, too. “Mason was proud of you. And he loved you so much. And he wouldn’t want you to feel guilty for one second about living your life.”
The very small, rational part of me knows she’s right. The rest of me just wishes he was here so he could keep living his. “I miss him, Mom.”
She hugs me just a little tighter. “Me too, baby.”
I cling to her like I used to do when I was a kid. She gently rocks me for a long time, never once letting go of her tight hold.
“We’ll get through this.” She sounds so sure and determined. I’m once again in awe of how strong she is despite the immeasurable amount of pain I know she’s going through.
Mason was her child, her firstborn, her world. I know she loves us both, but they were two peas in a pod. Always together. There’s no getting over that.
We finally pull apart and wipe our eyes. For the amount of tears we’ve cried today alone, it surprises me at how dry they feel.
She takes a deep breath. “I think I’m going to go tackle something easy. Like my clothes. Just going to shove them all in a box and call it a day.”
I nod but make no move to get up.
She kisses me again and scoops up one of the trash bags we managed to fill and slings it over her shoulder. She ruffles my hair and stops at the bottom of the steps. “Alex?” She waits until she knows she has my attention. “I was never alone. And neither are you.”
Once Mom leaves and I manage to find an empty box for the Nintendo, I put the box by the front door and head to my room to finish with the last little bit I have yet to pack up. Something easy sounds like the way to go.
Instead, I find myself standing in the middle of Mason’s room, staring at the postcards I sent him pinned above his desk.
The stillness throws me off. His laptop sits closed, and beside it, his phone.
The two things he wanted me to have that I’ve neglected, too grief ridden to touch.
There’s a Reds hoodie draped across the back of the pushed-in chair under his desk.
His guitar rests silently in its stand, and I try to envision him plucking away and filling the space with melody.
I grab his hoodie and bring it to my nose. It still smells like him. Clutching it like a lifeline, I sit on the foot of his bed and drag my palm along his comforter, grounding myself in its softness and desperately hoping to hear his voice one last time.
When I’m met with silence, I take a deep breath and wonder if he can somehow see me wherever he is. It’s a comforting thought, at least.
“Someone order a large bacon and pepperoni pizza with extra cheese?” The voice startles me but not as much as seeing the person who it belongs to.
“Jules.” Her name comes out in a breathy whisper.
I don’t move, and neither does she. I haven’t seen her for three months.
Since I walked away from her after Mason’s funeral.
No video calls, no photos of her, nothing.
She hesitantly stands in the doorway wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans, with her hair pulled back, and easily balances a large pizza in her hand.
“Hi,” I finally say and scramble to my feet. “What are you doing here?”
“I left work early. I thought maybe you’d like some company. Richard gave me this and sent me up.” She shifts nervously. “Is it okay? That I’m here? Or should I…”
“No,” I quickly say. “I mean, don’t go. I’m glad you’re here. I want you to stay.”
She carefully steps into Mason’s room and takes it in as if it’s her first time seeing it. “Do you think he’d be annoyed that we’re eating something greasy this close to his campaign notes?”
“I fully expect something to come whizzing at our heads any second now.” My joke has the intended effect, and Jules chuckles. Honestly, I’d kill for him to throw something. Or knock something over. Even smack me in the back of the head. Anything to give me a sign that he’s still somehow here.
She pulls out a stack of napkins from her back pocket, and we each grab a slice and sit on the floor, side by side but not close enough to touch. We eat in silence, and I wonder if she’s also struggling to come up with something to say.
I sneak glances at her, taking in her profile and noticing how tired she looks. She’s been through a lot, Mason’s death, putting up with me, calling off her engagement…