Ty
Some of the tension leaves me when she agrees. I hadn’t been sure she would.
“Grab your things. Where’s your luggage, in your bedroom?”
“Wait. You mean right now? But I can’t walk out just like that.”
“Why not?”
She blinks, like she doesn’t understand my rush. All I know is she needs to get away from this dump and the bad memories it holds. I’m not thinking about her mom, either.
“Well…” She hesitates before taking a deep breath. “No, you’re right. We’ll go now. I just need to check a couple of things and then I’m done.”
She disappears into her bedroom, and I prowl the apartment. All that’s left is the heavy items of furniture that she’s arranged to be collected some time tomorrow.
It’s kind of eerie with the place stripped clean of every personal touch. An odd pang of regret grips my chest, like I’m saying a final goodbye to a part of my teens. I stop outside her mom’s room and stare at the closed door, and dread sinks through me.
Don’t fucking do it.But I can’t help it, and push open the door.
I exhale a ragged breath. The image of Jas on the floor, her tearstained face shredding my heart as I tried to help, flashes through my mind.Why did I come in here?Some shit about facing my worst nightmares? I stopped dreaming about that night years ago, but I never got over it.
I force the memory away and rake my gaze around the room. Like the rest of the apartment it’s empty except for the bed and an old dresser. In all the time Jas and I dated, we never once came in here to use the double bed, or for any other reason, if it came to that. It was like this room was completely off-limits, and not because Kelly laid down the law.
It was Jas. She just didn’t like going in her mom’s room.
For a few seconds, the old familiar unease hovers in my mind like an angry wasp about to attack.What am I missing?
I grip the doorframe, my gaze riveted on the floor as I recall every tortured moment of that night. And finally, the thing that’s always gnawed my subconscious hits me.
She was here, in Kelly’s room, that night when everything fell apart.
Why was she in her mom’s room?
It wasn’t important. Didn’t matter at the time. But the question’s always been there, hidden in the back of my mind.
“Ty? What’re you doing?”
Is it my imagination or is there a hint of panic in her voice? Christ, what am I thinking? She’s just had a memorial service for her mom. I swing around, pulling the door shut behind me.
“Saying goodbye to the old place.” I give her a faint smile. “You done now?”
…
When we arrive, I open the front door and she walks in ahead of me. “Crash on the couch. I’ll bring your things in.”
She turns around, still clutching the urn. “Nice place. Have you been here long?”
“Five years. I’m getting there.”
“You always did say you wanted an old property so you could do it up.”
Yeah, but I always thoughtshe’dbe a part of that life. Sure, I can knock down walls, fix the plumbing, and rip out carpet, but I’m no good when it comes to figuring out how to make a house feel lived-in, with cushions and rugs and whatever magic touch it takes.
I don’t answer her right away, but it’s like she knows what I’m thinking. Like she remembers those long, lazy summer afternoons when we’d lie on the grass in the park and spin endless dreams.
“Guess I got my wish, then.”
“I’m happy for you.” She smiles, but it’s more sad than happy, and if her mom’s ashes weren’t between us, I’d pull her into my arms and tell her I only got half my wish.
