Losing my parents the way I did—drugs, neglect, all the shit no kid should have to live through—I buried it so deep I forgot it was even there, or at least, convinced myself I had. But sitting across from Dr. Kessler, talking through things I swore I’d never say out loud, it’s like I’m finally peeling back layers I didn’t even know were weighing me down. It doesn’t fix everything. I don’t think anything ever will. But for the first time, I feel like I’m not drowning.
Emma has started going, too. She says she’s finally dealing with her own grief and own ghosts, but knowing she’s in thereworking through things just like I am, it helps. We’re both trying, and that’s all that matters.
My house is empty and up for sale and I’m moving the last of my things from the loft above the bar, officially making the transition from a guy who lives alone to a guy that wakes up next to the love of his life every morning.
Frankie grunts as he drops a heavy box into the bed of my truck. “Jesus, man. You hoarding bricks in here?”
I laugh, tossing another box in. “Nah, just a lifetime of bad decisions.”
Frankie wipes both hands on his jeans, shaking his head. “Can’t believe you’re actually moving in with my sister.”
“Yeah? Why is that?”
He shrugs. “I mean, you’re voluntarily signing up to live with someone who will absolutely fight you over the TV remote and is fueled by rage and a sugar addiction.”
“Yeah, well, I’m in it for the long haul.” I chuckle again before my expression quickly shifts to something more serious. “You good with this? Me and her?”
Frankie looks at me for a long moment. “Yeah. You make her happy. That’s all that matters.” He finally declares.
It means more than I can put into words, but before I can respond, Emma’s voice rings out from inside the bar. “Frankie, stop distracting my boyfriend and help!”
Frankie groans. “See? She’s already bossing everyone around.”
We head inside, where Emma’s behind the bar, stacking glasses. She’s been volunteering at the bar lately to pass the time between getting inspiration for her next painting and working shifts at the bakery with the girls. Who am I to complain? Free help and I get to see her even more throughout the day? Fuck yeah.
Liv waltzes in not long after, carrying a paper bag with a devious smile on her face.
“I come bearing gifts,” she sing-songs, placing the bag on the counter and sliding it toward Emma.
Emma peeks inside, eyes lighting up. “Oh my God, thank you!” She takes out a croissant oozing chocolate out of one end and bites it before the chocolate spills on the bartop.
Liv nods. “Straight from Sophia’s oven.”
I cross my arms, smirking. “You can’t be sneaking contraband in here.”
Liv gasps, feigning innocence. “What? No one said anything about contraband.”
Frankie snorts. “You’re literally smuggling pastries.”
Liv elbows him. “You’re just mad I didn’t bring you one.”
“Damn right, I am.” Frankie glares at the bag like he can will another croissant into existence.
Emma laughs, breaking one in half and tossing it to Frankie, who catches it midair like some kind of feral street dog. He chews dramatically, making a show of how good it is just to piss Liv off.
Standing there, watching Emma laugh, hearing my friends bicker like kids, it hits me all at once: This is my life now. Not just surviving anymore, I’mliving.
And I wouldn’t change a damn thing.
EMMA
One year later
It’s been a whole year since my world stopped and restarted in the span of a single heartbeat that didn’t even belong to me. A year since I woke up to a second chance I never thought I’d get.
Tonight, my art is hanging for the first time in a gallery in Windhaven, and I still can’t quite believe it’s real. I have had plenty of art shows in New York throughout the decade I was there, but there is something more special about having one now in the town I grew up in, where I picked up my first brush and paints.
I stand in front of the mirror, using both hands to smooth down the fabric of my dress, willing myself to breathe through the nerves. My fingers brush against the delicate chain of my locket, the weight of my mom's presence wrapping around me like a soft embrace.
