It’s brief, but I chase her lips anyway, not yet tired of being able to do such things.
Jules lets me catch her like she’s just as giddy about it. The kiss isn’t deep or overly passionate, but it still simmers, awakening an urge I can’t seem to quench and making me wonder if I’m actually all that tired.
It’s hard to believe it’s been a year since my brother died.
The throbbing pain in the center of my chest is no longer suffocating, replaced instead by a dull ache. But sometimes, the dull ache roars. Especially in moments like this, when things are still, and the reminders are heavy.
Ripley sighs deeply beside me, and I scratch his head. We drove up most of the mountain, pulling into the small parking lot about halfway up. The hike to get to the top didn’t take that long, but the hill was steep, and we are clearly out of shape.
The view, however, is worth it because even though it’s too early for spring flowers, the barren landscape brings its own kind of quiet beauty. Dormancy instead of death. It’s the perfect metaphor for how I’m feeling today.
It’s too cold for anyone else to be out, plus it’s the middle of the week, and people are probably at work, and I’m grateful to have the space. Today was supposed to be about getting out of the house, out of my head, and doing something adventurous. But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the quiet privacy.
Ripley lazily wags his tail, and I grip his leash a little tighter, even though I know he’s too pooped to move. I smile when I hear the footsteps behind me. If I had a tail, I’d wag it, too.
Jules, now in a sweatshirt, sits and places the thermos of hot cocoabeside her. She loops her arm through mine, and shivers. “It’s chilly now that we’re not moving.”
As if speaking the chill into existence, a cold breeze blows past and rustles my hair. “It feels good, though.”
She pulls her hood over her head, clearly disagreeing. “This reminds me of when we took your bike out after your mom’s wedding.”
That feels like a lifetime ago. “I was so stupid then.” I shake my head and recall how much I held inside and how hard I pushed her away because of how I felt about her. “I should’ve just told you how I felt.”
She finds my hand and locks our fingers together. “Me too.”
“I think about it a lot,” I quietly confess. “All the time I wasted. All the time we could’ve had.”
The wind whips some hair into my face, and Jules gently attempts to tuck it behind my ear. “We were kids. We shouldn’t beat ourselves up too much. We were figuring it all out. Besides, I think we ended up okay.”
Nineteen didn’t seem that young at the time, but even now, at twenty-five, I can recognize just how naive I truly was. How selfish and short-sighted. Still, kid or not, I wish I had done so many things differently.
“It’s not just about us.” I swallow the lump that begins to form in my throat. “I miss him.”
She shifts a little closer and puts her chin on my shoulder. “I know. I do, too.”
I close my eyes and tilt my face toward the sun, embracing its warmth. “Sometimes, I feel like he’s still here. I’ll think I see him out of the corner of my eye, or it’ll feel like he’s just in the next room. Sometimes, I can swear I smell his cheap cologne.” I smile, remembering the way he’d spritz himself and wander around, trying to air himself out by pacing the house.
“And sometimes,” I whisper, “I’ll think he’s talking to me through the wind.”
“Maybe he is,” she says easily, as if it’s the most sensible thing she’s ever heard and not some crackpot delusion. “What if these are the ways he’s showing you that he likes seeing what you’re up to? His way of still watching out for you.”
Tears prickle the corner of my eyes. “It’s a nice thought.”
Jules leans in even farther and brushes her cold nose across my cheek. “What do you think he’d say about us?”
We’re both quiet for a beat before we both say, “It’s about damn time,” in unison.
It makes us laugh.
A lopsided V of geese flies below the cliff line, honking and pressing forward as if they’re late to an important gathering.
“Where do you think they’re going?” she asks.
“I don’t know. Someplace nice, I hope.”
There’s another breeze, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight, and rest my chin on top of her head. If the breeze is Mason talking, I hope the constant stream of air is his way of showing his approval.
“What about you?” Jules says. “If you could fly, where would you go?”
