Page 113 of Pieces of Us

‘I didn’t mean what I said to Mum. She just made me nervous. I wanted to tell Lincoln first what I was feeling in a much more…eloquent way. Mum doesn’t know him like we do. She was only really there when I made him the villain of my story.’

‘On some level, you must think some of those things, though.’

I shake my head adamantly.

‘I’m in the most serious relationship I’ve ever been in. I just wanted to make Mum feel less pathetic about her feelings for Dad.’ He doesn’t seem surprised when I reveal that.

‘It’s not your job to protect your mum. She’s a big girl, baby girl. What about the other stuff?’

‘We have been going slow, but slow and steady wins the race, right? I am ready to give him more, but I still want to be cautious. I do trust him. It’s me I don’t trust to fall off the bandwagon again, and while I adore his protectiveness, I feel suffocated. Everyone else has had a lot more time to understand my condition, whereas Lincoln hasn’t. He’s been more eagle-eyed as usual. It’s suffocating because I think he’s waiting for me to break. But it’s also my fault for not speaking up.’ The patch of grass in front of me is thoroughly destroyed.

Uncle Jacob doesn’t say anything for a while. ‘Now you’re making me nervous.’ I throw a bunch of grass at him.

‘You don't have to answer.’ He drags out the pause. ‘Do you want to be with my son?’

‘Yes.’ My answer is automatic.

‘I’m not talking boyfriend or girlfriend, I’m talking husband and wife, having him as the father of your children. The kind of person you see yourself on your deathbed with after living a long and happy life together?’

I don’t need to think about it. ‘Yes.’

‘Then everything else is inconsequential. You will work it out. If you say you trust him. That you forgive him. That you see a future with him, then nothing is stopping you. Not many people get a second chance, baby girl. Look at me. I’d give anything to have Linc and Jas’ mum back. She was the love of my life.’ My eyes water as a lone tear escapes at his confession. He never talks about his dead wife.

‘Hey, Amity, I have to go. I just wanted to thank both of you for today,’ Ella interrupts. Her voice is diminutive and fractured. There is zero Christmas cheer in her demeanour and she can’t even look at Uncle Jacob, who I take a peek at and is feeling all sorts of remorse, if his pinkening cheeks are anything to go by.

I jump up to give her a quick hug, while Uncle Jacob just nods from his spot on the grass. ‘Thanks, Uncle Jacob. I’m going to go talk to Linc. I might walk Ella out and head out myself. Love you.’

‘Love you too, baby girl. Here for you always.’ I blow him a kiss and trudge off with Ella.

Quick goodbyes on a sombre afternoon is all I can handle, so I resort to just waving to everyone. The only two people I can’t find are Dad and Lily.

As I head to his house, my phone starts blowing up. I pull over to see if there is any type of emergency but it’s just Uncle Jacob. I identify myself on the phone and start flicking through our text thread. Air catches in my throat when I see all the videos and pictures he’s forwarded me. Among them are screenshots between him and Linc.

There’s a video of Uncle Jacob flipping through a thick binder. It’s the house we designed together, but not just the architecture. There are sample building materials, paint samples and interior designs. A text comes through seconds later, saying that Linc has been working on this for years.

More pictures come through, this time of boxes and boxes of photos from when we were together to recent magazine clippings that he had been secretly stashing of me over the last seven years. Another text comes through, saying he never let me go or forgot about me.

The last video comes through and it takes a few minutes to download, givenhow large it is. When it finally loads it’s a collection of my interviews for Bras and Stars over the years, like some sort of tribute. A final text comes from Uncle Jacob, telling me I was always the reason he was never going to work with anyone else. He added that Linc was going to kill him for snooping and knowing about his tiny obsession over all these years.

When I arrive at his home, using the car I borrowed from Dad, I can’t tell if he’s home or not. Ringing the doorbell and knocking several hundred times tells me he’s not here, or he’s ignoring me. Choosing to believe he wouldn’t flat out refuse to open the door, I head to the only other place I think he could be. Work.

It takes no time to get there as traffic is light and the roads are deserted this balmy Christmas afternoon. Instead of parking underground like I usually would, I park in Dad’s reserved spot and run to the entrance as fast as I can in the thongs I’m wearing. I only hope that I don’t look like an intruder and cops aren’t on their way to arrest me for trespass and enter.

I know Linc is here when I enter easily and no alarms go off. The entire floor is empty, and if a pin were to drop, you’d definitely be able to hear it. A lone light has been switched on at the end of the corridor. I don’t need to knows whose it is, having memorised the layout of Linc’s office all those months ago.

As I pad towards the light, I pray he doesn’t tell me to leave him alone. Today things came to a head and it was the push I needed to stop dragging both of us through hell.

Quiet as a mouse, I observe his hunched over frame towards his desk. He must have a change of clothes here because he’s in black tracksuit pants and a plain white tee. Barefoot, I realise that he must have rushed out in a haste and didn’t bother stopping for his shoes. I guess I’m no better. I’m still in my bikini top and shorts from earlier today.

Seeing him pour over plans, I recognise them instantly from the earlier video that Uncle Jacob sent me. It’s our house, laid out on his desk. Sheets and sheets of architectural plans, fabric samples, paint pots, the binder with all the bespoke furniture he picked out and more. I can even see a bronze plaque. Squinting I can see it says ‘Hart is where my home is’. It’s cheesy as fuck but adorable and I know exactly where I’d place it. Picking up the frame that protects the original napkin drawing of our home, he tenderly touches it with the tips of his fingers, and drops his head in a hushed weep.

I see he has a bin nearby, as if he’s ready to discard our future together. It’s such a final statement, but I guess I haven’t given him much hope to believe in us.

Not wanting to wait a moment longer, I stride towards him and latch onto him from behind. He twists to face me and I can see he’s broken to pieces. I want to give him solace, so I lean up and give him a watery kiss on his lips as I feel the tears of our past, present and future dissolve in front of us.

‘Show me.’

Confusion covers his handsome features. I smooth my hand over his scruff on his chin, giving him another quick kiss. ‘Show me our future home,’ I whisper out, tasting the words on my tongue. They feel like a balm to my soul.

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