Wes and I belong to each other. There’s freedom in publicly accepting it and refusing to hide.
“We’re nearly there,” Wes says. His gaze slips to me. By there, I know he means Dad’s house.
I used to think that being ready to return meant waiting for the pain to pass. But grief doesn’t just dissolve into nothingness, it’s not a disease to get over. It’s a symptom of love. And I’ve had so much to grieve. Dad. The life we built here. The first place I ever called home. The future I was so certain we’d all have together.
But for me, being ready means accepting that I can hold two emotions at once. That I’m not erasing old memories by creating new ones, in truth I’m honoring the past by building a future.
I hold my breath as the house comes into view.
Almost there.
I swear Wes slows down, but it must be a trick my mind is pulling on me.
We reach the driveway and Wes cranks the wheel. The car dips as we roll up the pavement.
“Wes. We can’t be here.” My fingers dig into the side of my seat, joints screaming with the pressure.
“The owner doesn’t mind.” His voice is easy. Like it’s normal for him to be here. Has he? Does he know the people who live here?
“They might not, but I do.” I remain in place even as Wes unfastens his seatbelt. “I can’t be here. I can’t go in there and look at how they redid the place.” My throat constricts, strangling the words as I force them out. “It won’t smell like home anymore.” It’s the smallest thing in the world, but the ache of missing Dad inflates it to an unbearable size, a balloon that presses painfully against the inside of my ribs. That’s what it’s like. A balloon sometimes that’s limp and barely takes up any space and other times so large it makes it hard to breathe.
“Shit. Avery.” Wes leans over the console as the first hot tear rolls down my cheek. “I should have realized it would be this way. It’s the same inside, I promise. There are even those old candles he used to light when he wrote, the ones that kinda smell like car air freshener. Remember?”
“They bought the furniture?” I ask through a sob.
“Ibought everything. I’m the owner.”
“But Ivy and Nolan said it sold immediately. You couldn’t have.”
“I got my check from the label around then. I didn’t even bother trying to negotiate. It didn’t matter that they were overcharging for it. No one belongs in this house except us. It’s been waiting here for you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demand as love and frustration battle in my voice. He kept thisfromme, even as he kept the houseforme.
“Because I didn’t want you to feel like you needed to come back before you were ready. And maybe I had no right to determine that for you, but you seemed like you wanted nothing to do with Caper.” His shoulders rise on a sharp breath. “You even avoided Mom. I told myself I’d wait. After what happened between us, I didn’t want you to feel indebted to me when you couldn’t even look me in the face. At the end of the tour, if you had wanted me to sign the papers I would have handed over the deed then too.” He flushes and runs a hand through his hair causing it to stick up. “I want to put it in your name. It’s never really been mine.”
He doesn’t look away as he waits for my response, brows pulling in with worry. There’s a part of me that feels cheated from not having a home. But I couldn’t have come back immediately. At first because my grandparents had custody over me, but also because I wasn’t ready. I was running from everything I needed to process before I crossed the county line, let alone be here.
“It’s our home, Wes. Let’s put both of our names on it.”
A grin cracks across his face. “Really?”
I nod.
We unload our baggage and climb the steps to the entrance. Wes selects the right key and moves to slot it in the hole but then pauses and hands it over to me. It takes me two tries as my hands shake.
The door swings wide, and somehow, despite Wes’s reassurance, I expect a funhouse version of what it used to be. But it’s exactly the same. My toes bump up against the threshold, unable to take the final step as I take it in.
Pictures of Dad and me when I was younger hang over a table cluttered with a dish, still filled with spare change and a small umbrella. The runner that we had to vacuum nearly every day with how much dirt it collected. The nicks and dents in the floorboards.
I don’t know how much time passes before I walk inside. Wes doesn’t hurry me, just silently follows when I take that first step.
I check every room. Lying on my old mattress, sitting in Dad’s old desk chair. The only notable sign that time has passed at all is that the pages of the books have yellowed. By the time I’m done, it’s dark outside.
Something sizzles from downstairs, and the mouthwatering scent of garlic and onion wafts up to me through the house. I follow it to find Wes in the kitchen.
“I thought we were going to have dinner with George,” I say.
“She brought groceries over yesterday for us and we thought you might want a night here. It’s been a long day. Though during our discussion she did say, and I quote, ‘you’re not allowed to hog my daughter-in-law.’ And that’s all she’s been referring to you as.”
