“And youlivedfor him. He loved hearing about your adventures. It was his choice to stay put. You can’t blame yourself for wanting something different.”
Except I can and I do. I should’ve pressured him to explore new places with me. I should’ve booked our trip to Norway sooner. I should’ve put his bucket list before my own because I knew there was a chance his life would be cut short. I should’ve, I should’ve, Ishould’ve.
Mom takes a shuttering breath, and I know she’s crying, too. “Mason was proud of you. And he loved you so much. And he wouldn’t want you to feel guilty for one second about living your life.”
The very small, rational part of me knows she’s right. The rest of me just wishes he was here so he could keep livinghis. “I miss him, Mom.”
She hugs me just a little tighter. “Me too, baby.”
I cling to her like I used to do when I was a kid. She gently rocks me for a long time, never once letting go of her tight hold.
“We’ll get through this.” She sounds so sure and determined. I’m once again in awe of how strong she is despite the immeasurable amount of pain I know she’s going through.
Mason was her child, her firstborn, her world. I know she loves us both, but they were two peas in a pod. Always together. There’s no getting over that.
We finally pull apart and wipe our eyes. For the amount of tears we’ve cried today alone, it surprises me at how dry they feel.
She takes a deep breath. “I think I’m going to go tackle something easy. Like my clothes. Just going to shove them all in a box and call it a day.”
I nod but make no move to get up.
She kisses me again and scoops up one of the trash bags we managed to fill and slings it over her shoulder. She ruffles my hair and stops at the bottom of the steps. “Alex?” She waits until she knows she has my attention. “I was never alone. And neither are you.”
Once Mom leaves and I manage to find an empty box for the Nintendo, I put the box by the front door and head to my room to finish with the last little bit I have yet to pack up. Something easy sounds like the way to go.
Instead, I find myself standing in the middle of Mason’s room, staring at the postcards I sent him pinned above his desk.
The stillness throws me off. His laptop sits closed, and beside it, his phone. The two things he wanted me to have that I’ve neglected, too grief ridden to touch. There’s a Reds hoodie draped across the back of the pushed-in chair under his desk. His guitar rests silently in its stand, and I try to envision him plucking away and filling the space with melody.
I grab his hoodie and bring it to my nose. It still smells like him. Clutching it like a lifeline, I sit on the foot of his bed and drag my palm along his comforter, grounding myself in its softness and desperately hoping to hear his voice one last time.
When I’m met with silence, I take a deep breath and wonder if he can somehow see me wherever he is. It’s a comforting thought, at least.
“Someone order a large bacon and pepperoni pizza with extra cheese?” The voice startles me but not as much as seeing the person who it belongs to.
“Jules.” Her name comes out in a breathy whisper. I don’t move, and neither does she. I haven’t seen her for three months. Since I walked away from her after Mason’s funeral. No video calls, no photos of her, nothing. She hesitantly stands in the doorway wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans, with her hair pulled back, and easily balances a large pizza in her hand.
“Hi,” I finally say and scramble to my feet. “What are you doing here?”
“I left work early. I thought maybe you’d like some company. Richard gave me this and sent me up.” She shifts nervously. “Is it okay? That I’m here? Or should I…”
“No,” I quickly say. “I mean, don’t go. I’m glad you’re here. I want you to stay.”
She carefully steps into Mason’s room and takes it in as if it’s her first time seeing it. “Do you think he’d be annoyed that we’re eating something greasy this close to his campaign notes?”
“I fully expect something to come whizzing at our heads any second now.” My joke has the intended effect, and Jules chuckles. Honestly, I’d kill for him to throw something. Or knock something over. Even smack me in the back of the head. Anything to give me a sign that he’s still somehow here.
She pulls out a stack of napkins from her back pocket, and we each grab a slice and sit on the floor, side by side but not close enough to touch. We eat in silence, and I wonder if she’s also struggling to come up with something to say.
I sneak glances at her, taking in her profile and noticing how tired she looks. She’s been through a lot, Mason’s death, putting up with me, calling off her engagement…
My gaze drops to her hand, now free of the diamond that used to sit there, and I wonder if my almost confession of love is to blame.
“It’s weird that your mom is moving,” she says thoughtfully between bites. “I’m happy for her and Richard, but I’m going to miss coming over here.”
We haven’t lived close to each other in six years, but I know whatshe means. Jules’s presence here is just as strong as it was when we were kids. Sitting here with her feels like we never left.
“How are you? How’s everything been since…” Your lack of a wedding, I want to say, but I imagine since it’s only been a couple of months, the hurt of her breakup must still feel raw.
