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That I would only love one person for the rest of my life?

A person chosen by the universe for me to love until the end of time?

“Yeah Evie,” I whispered, sharing a smile with the stars. “I think I do.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

JACKSON

Present Day

December 20th, 1992

Ihuffed a quiet laugh under my breath, leaning back against the counter as Ollie jumped around the kitchen, chasing a horsefly. “Don’t let it beat you,” I said, watching him leap and miss spectacularly. He ignored me, per the usual. When the microwave beeped, I crossed the kitchen, opened the door, and took the bowl out, burning my hand on the bottom of it. I cursed under my breath as I turned on the tap and shoved my hand under cold water. The TV in the lounge room was on low volume, the sound faint between the drip of the tap and Ollie’s triumphant little chirp when he finally pinned the fly to the wall. I dried my hand off and took the bowl into the living room. That was when I saw it still sitting on the coffee table from where I left it last night

The box.

After practice yesterday, I came home and went into the basement, and opened things I hadn't when I first moved into the two-story house three years ago. That was when I found the photos.

I left the food to cool and crossed the room slowly, like I was not entirely sure I should. Like it might change shape if I got too close. When I lifted the box, the polaroids spilled out across the carpet in a soft, chaotic scatter—because of course they do.

“Fuck sake,” I cursed as I bent down to put them back in, but paused when I found a photo from my youth. It was the summer of ’76. Peter and I had just finished playing footy at the local park down the road. Our eyes were closed from the flash, and Peter’s arm was draped over my shoulders while both of our cheeks were red from over-exertion and playing in the sun. Life was so simple back then. Mum was using, but it hadn’t affected who she was yet, so she used to come to every game and help at the canteen. A bittersweet smile fell upon my lips as I placed the photo on the coffee table.

I sat down on the floor and picked another one up, chuckling as I saw what it was. This one was taken on my sixteenth birthday. I had a small party at home with a bunch of people I couldn’t even remember. My hair was long in the back and short at the front. My mullet was a staple in my teens, a way to rebel against my mother who hated the sight of it. I was giving the photographer the finger with a deadpan expression on my face. Probably Peter, then. I huffed out a laugh as I placed it face down on the table and picked one up facing upside down, only to freeze when I read the smudged writing on the back.

Peter + Evie + Me

The polaroid trembled in my hand as I hesitated. It had been a long time since I’d allowed myself to look at photographs of her; the memories were too fucking painful to see. I released a long breath and flipped the photo over, my eyes instantly burning as I saw my sad face reflected in the image of Evie right in the middle of us, like she always was. It was our last Halloween together. Peter was dressed up as Indiana Jones, Evie was a zombie bride, and I went as a vampire, because a cheap cape and some fake teeth were all I could afford at the time.

“Wow,” I breathed, the word leaving me before I could stop it. “You…look incredible.”

Evie stepped around the corner, immediately tugging at the sleeves of her dress, her expression pinched, like she already regretted the whole thing.

“You really think so?” she asked, voice small. “It’s not…too much?”

The white gown hung off her shoulders, the chiffon sleeves slipping no matter how many times she adjusted them. Fake blood stained the bodice and smeared across her hands where she’d clearly applied it herself. Dark shadow ringed her eyes, her lipstick a deep red and smudged with fake blood.

It should’ve been unsettling.

It wasn’t.

It was so hot I had forgotten how to breathe.

Not sure what that said about me.

“What on earth are you supposed to be?” Peter’s voice cut in as he strolled into the room, a brown leather fedora perched on his head.

Evie stopped fussing with her sleeves and turned on him, unimpressed. “I’m a zombie bride. What the hell are you supposed to be? Mr. Daylesford from across the road?” I let out a laugh as Peter scoffed, reaching behind his leather jacket and whipping out a coiled rope.

“Duh,” he said, like we were the idiots. “I’m Indiana Jones.”

Evie giggled, soft and bright, her curls bouncing as she shook her head. My smile softened as I watched the joy spread across her face. Evie didn't laugh much these days, but when she did, I swore the earth stood still just to catch a glimpse.

“And what are you laughing at, Mr. Grim Reaper?” Peter shot at me, planting his hands on his hips.

“I’m not the Grim Reaper, you dickhead,” I said, pulling my cape up to cover half my face. “I’m a vampire.” I lowered my voice, attempting something vaguely Transylvanian. “I vant to suck your blood.” Evie stumbled over her dress as she cackled, her sleeves falling down her shoulder and exposing the pale line of her collarbone.

“Ooh very original,” Peter mocked and shoved a Mars bar into his mouth.