Then her expression softens.
She slides off the suitcase and turns to survey the room.
Most of the shelves are empty now. The books I’m keeping are boxed. The ones I’m not have already been donated. The closet door stands open, revealing a fraction of the clothes that used to fill it—just the essentials, the things I’ll need when I visit, the things worth shipping cross-country to a city I’ve never lived in.
“It’s weird seeing it all empty like this,” Mabie says quietly.
“Not empty yet.” I gesture at the remaining boxes, the stripped bed, the desk I still need to disassemble. “Still got plenty to pack.”
“You know what I mean.”
I do know what she means. We’ve spent our entire lives here, in this house and this town.
Now we’re leaving.
And maybe it’s not forever.
But maybe…it is.
“I noticed Dom didn’t come back to help,” Mabie comments, and there’s a hint of teasing in her voice that tells me she already knows the answer. “How’s he doing?”
I let out a grunt of patient annoyance and gesture at the chaos surrounding us. “Well enough that he refused to come back from Los Angeles to help me pack up the house. Said the only thing that might get him back in town is a funeral.”
She almost chokes on a laugh. “Sounds like him.”
“Absolutely useless? I agree.”
Mabie bites her lip, nudging a box with her toe. “You don’t actually have to do any of this right now either, you know. I’ll empty the fridge and turn off the water main. Everything else will be right where you left it when you want to come back.”
I pause in the middle of taping another box shut.
The logical thing would be to leave everything in place. Not throw everything I have into a pack that only just formed and move across the country. I can just lock the door, hand over the keys to our caretaker, and walk away knowing this place will stay frozen in time.
Which is exactly why I can’t do it.
Because if I’m not all in, then I’m not really in at all.
I abruptly pull her into a tight hug, resting my chin on top of her head. My sister is so small, I have to remind myself that she’s a grown woman. When I finally lean back enough to look ather, Mabie’s eyes have gone bright and shiny though I know she would never actually let me see her cry, not if she can help it.
“I’m proud of you,” she whispers.
“For packing boxes?”
“For finally going after what you want.” She pulls back, swiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “All of this sentimentality is gross, by the way. I’m going to go finish packing before I have to redo my mascara.”
With a laugh, I give her one last quick hug before she scampers away.
Then I pick up another box and get back to work.
I have other places to be.
DOMINIC
The bar at Atticus’s house is better stocked than any I’ve ever seen before.
I’ve been stationed here for about ninety minutes now, which started as a coping mechanism to avoid the growing crowd and has evolved into genuinely pleasurable activity.
Someone passes by and asks for a gin and tonic. I make it without thinking, hands moving through the familiar motions while my eyes scan the crowd.
