The wood-framed home with its stone foundation blends into the encroaching forest.Multiple eaves, nearly as tall as the surrounding trees, cast a long shadow across the front lawn—daring me to enter.Warm amber light seeps through the windows beneath the main peak, and the soft Wedgewood blue trim invites me closer despite the home’s vast, intimidating presence.
I close my eyes, take another deep breath, holding it and…hiccup.I groan.I try again.My chest immediately spasms.
The passenger door opens and closes.I can sense Jonathan sliding onto the seat beside me.I open my eyes as soon as another hiccup overtakes me.I give him a pitiful look.He hands me a bottle of water.
“I had a feeling,” he says.“If it makes you feel any better, I’m nervous too.”
The thing is, I wasn’t nervous.Not until my dad insisted I drive myselfaftertelling me all of that horrible stuff about Hal—like he was afraid to let me come here.The nightmare didn’t help either.And knowing Jonathan can barely talk about his father, I can’t imagine how the two of them will be in a room together.
“Why areyounervous?”I ask after another hiccup.
“I’ve never had anyone over before.”
“No one?Not even Collin?”
Jonathan shakes his head.“He works for my dad, but doesn’t hang out here.We always go to his house.”He looks down at his hands.A hiccup fills the silence.“I’ve never wanted anyone here… especially when he’s home.”
I hiccup.“That’s not helping,” I tell him, opening the bottle of water.
“Sorry.”He sighs.“Want me to walk you through it?”I nod.He has this method that always works, no matter how bad my spasms are.“Breathe all the way in.All the way out.In again, big and deep.All the way out.Now drink… one, two, three, four, five.”
I pull the bottle of water away from my lips and breathe slowly.Waiting.
“Gone?”he asks.
I nod, relieved.“Thank you.”
“Ready to go in?”
I was about to ask him the same thing.He offers a weak smile.
“I think so.”I try to appear braver than I feel.“It’ll be okay.No matter what.Because—”
“I love you,” he says, setting a gentle kiss on my lips.
My heart hiccups in my chest.“That too,” I say in a soft murmur.
A knock on the passenger window causes us to jump apart.Ryan, Jonathan’s ten-year-old brother, is standing on the other side of his door.His face is upturned, like he’s looking at the dark sky, purposely avoiding us.He probably saw us kiss, too embarrassed to look in the car now.“What are you doing?Dad’s asking where you are.”
Jonathan shoots me a grimace.I take a breath, pleading with my body not to start hiccupping again.We exit the car.
“Ryan, this is Sadie.”
“Yeah, I know,” he replies like it’s the most obvious thing ever.Then quickly corrects his response after Jonathan gives him a raise of a brow.“Nice to meet you.”
I smile.“Nice to meet you too, Ryan.”I don’t know what else to say.I’m just as uncomfortable as a ten-year-old, apparently.Jonathan takes my hand, and we follow Ryan inside.
I tend to think a home reflects the people living in it—this may be because I have an interior designer for a mother.Our home has a… presence.Everything in its place.Curated and pristine.Until you get to my room anyway.
Collin’s house is a bit chaotic but comfortable.Mail and keys on the entry table.Bags of chips and bowls of fruit on the counter.Blankets tossed on the back of the couch.Shoes kicked off wherever they land.There’s an easiness to his home that always makes me feel welcome.Like it’s our home too.
Jonathan’s is… crafted.Like it’s ready for a photo shoot in some architectural magazine.White rocking chairs sit on the wide porch with pumpkins and corn stalks on either side of the entrance.The entry opens into a lofted family room with a stone fireplace, the chimney the central focus—built with the same rounded grey stones as the foundation.An iron chandelier floats in the middle of the room.The rooms on the second floor jut out over the porch, and an open reading nook sits above the entrance.It has the feel of a high-end lodge with its honey-colored walls and exposed beams.The furniture is worn leather and heavy wood.It has the same bigger-than-life, intimidating effect that the outside does.Like Hal.
Jonathan’s mother walks out of an arched entry that must lead to the kitchen.She sets a tray of drinks on a coffee table constructed from different shades of wood, reminiscent of the interlocked pieces of a Jenga tower.
“Hi, Sadie.I’m so happy you’re here.Would you like some cider?The mugs are warm, and the glasses are cold.”
“Um, thanks,” I say, shedding my coat.Jonathan takes it and hangs it on a rack by the door.“Your home is incredible.”I strain my neck to take it all in.The wraparound walkway on the second level leads to closed doors.Family pictures hang with precision along the perimeter.I want to inspect them, to see Jonathan at different ages, but this probably isn’t the time to do that.Instead, I pick up a warm mug of cider, garnished with a cinnamon stick.
