Epilogue
Alex
Five years later
Once the meal is finished and everyone piles around the Marrows’ TV to watch the football game, I grab my coat and hook Ripley to his leash. My mom glances over her shoulder and gives me a questioning look. One that says, “Are you okay?”
I reassure her with a nod and smile. It’s a silent exchange we’ve perfected over the years. Even though things have gotten better, holidays still hurt.
It’s the Marrows’ turn to host Thanksgiving, and though we all spend it together each year, it’s always hardest when we have it here. Probably because this place holds the most memories.
Jules appears and silently puts on her jacket and knit hat, then hands me mine.
“You just want to get out of doing the dishes,” I say, tugging it on and opening the door. I motion for her to go first.
“Absolutely.” She pats my chest as she passes.
Ripley and I step outside, and I take a deep breath. The air is cold, and the trees are bare. The pavement is wet from a bit of rain earlier, and it’s overcast, but it doesn’t feel dreary. The leaves blow in gentle circles at our feet in a quiet kind of beauty.
Jules turns left when we reach the end of the driveway. We always turn left. Turning right leads to sorrow-filled memories and point to a time I can’t go back to no matter how hard I yearn for it.
But the past five years have given me perspective. They’ve brought new beginnings, happiness, and an abundance of love. They’ve given me the strength to heal and to move on.
Today, I think I want to turn right.
When Jules realizes I’m not following her, she spins around, confused. I nod in the direction of our past. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” I hold out my hand, and she takes it, threading her fingers through mine.
We walk in silence, our shoulders bumping with every other step. Ripley explores the new path, sniffing everything he can, slowing our walk and amping up the slight bit of anxiousness that sits deep within my chest.
Not much has changed from the neighborhood, at least not that I can tell.
The large oak on the corner fell during a summer storm a couple of years ago, the Manfreds painted their shutters blue, and the Kearses added a fence.
Other than that, everything looks exactly the same. Like a postcard frozen in time.
When my old house comes into view across the street, Jules squeezes my hand so tightly, I can feel her rings rub against my skin. The knots in my belly twist tighter, and I stop walking.
My breath gets caught in my chest, and a gust of wind makes my eyes water.
A flood of emotions washes over me all at once.
Images of snowball fights and bike rides and trick-or-treating.
I can almost hear the door opening and Mom shouting that she’s home or Mason blasting Metallica from his front bedroom window.
In some ways, it still feels like my home. Except it’s not. It’s more like I’m staring at a house from a movie I’ve seen a thousand times, familiar but not mine, despite the infinite amount of memories.
It isn’t Betty in the driveway. It’s a large SUV. And sitting outside on the front steps are two girls around eleven or twelve who are giggling over something on one of their phones. Best friends, from the looks of it.
Jules squeezes my hand again. “Do you think they’ll grow up and fall in love?”
I look at her, a million new images flashing through my mind: Jules hiding in the bushes at seven years old.
Watching the fireworks from her swing set on the Fourth of July.
Singing into hairbrushes and jumping on her bed.
Watching old movies under layers of blankets.
Her arms around me on the back of my motorcycle.
Passing her a take-out container with a diamond ring hidden inside. The sight of her walking down the aisle in a white dress and holding a bouquet filled with peonies. A series of sonogram pictures that we plan to give to our parents on Christmas morning.
“I hope so.”
The girls rush inside, and I pull Jules closer.
“You know…” She slips her arms around my neck. “There’s a Belinda Carlisle song playing in my head right now.”
I wrap one arm around her waist. “Oh? Care to share which one?”
She presses her lips to mine. “Whichever one you want.” The wind blows a little harder, and Jules leans back to glance at the sky. “Do you hear that? I think the wind is telling us to get a room.”
A laugh erupts from deep within my throat. The dread and anxiousness and constant wondering how I’d feel seeing my old house fades, and a warm kind of nostalgia takes its place. The past may be behind us, but it’s never truly gone. Not as long as we choose to keep it alive.
I rest my forehead against hers. “I love you, Julia Pestano.”
“Good, because I love you, too.” She pulls me back in for another kiss. It’s soft and sweet and filled with promises of a million more memories to come.
Another gust of wind blows through my hair, and it makes me smile.