Page 80 of Something to Someone

Her shaking hands clasped my cheeks, and I brought my eyes back to hers. The anger had ebbed, but there was still so much more emotion behind the gray than I’d ever seen before.

“I’m not…I’m not walking away again. At least not until we can have another conversation,” she said like she knew I needed to hear that. “Just please be patient with me.”

I nodded and tried to tamp down the urge to do everything I could to fix it all immediately.

“Okay,” I agreed. “I’ll try my best to be patient.”

“Thank you.”

“I really want to kiss you right now,” I admitted quickly. I needed that connection with her. I needed to feel her lips on mine and remind her how good and right it felt. If she was thinking about giving it all up, I needed to remind her why she shouldn’t while she was still in front of me.

She licked her lips and glanced at my own. “I would really like that.” Her response surprised me, but I didn’t question it. I leaned forward and placed a soft, chaste kiss on her tear-dampened lips.

And I just hoped it wasn’t our last.

THIRTY-FIVE

A BOX OF MEMORIES

Caroline

My parents’house was quiet. It was Monday afternoon, so my dad was still at work, and my mom always volunteered at the animal shelter until after five. Which meant I had a few hours to myself.

With a shaking hand, I pushed open the door to my childhood home and slipped the key back into my bag.

I wasn’t sure why it felt so strange to walk inside. I’d been there somewhat recently for a family dinner and my aunt’s birthday. It shouldn’t have felt foreign, but it did. And I had to attribute it to the reason I was there.

The entryway was lined with family photos, mostly of my sister and her family, but there were a few of me sprinkled among them. Likely my dad’s doing.

I walked past the gallery walls and into the kitchen and living room at the back of the house. Nothing was askew, just as my mom liked it. Each item had its place, and it would never be found anywhere else. If anything, I got that one thing from my mother.

But I didn’t stop to look around. To the right, I took the stairs up tothe second floor and headed toward the door at the end of another hallway lined with photographs. It wasn’t until I braced my trembling hand on the brass doorknob that I stopped and considered what I was doing.

What waited for me behind the door, I wasn’t sure I wanted to face. I knew I needed to, that it was time, but I didn’t want to do it more than I’d ever not wanted to do anything else.

The breath I sucked in through my nose shook almost as much as my hand. My pulse was racing, and I felt the uncanny urge to sprint the opposite direction. But standing at the door was like standing at the precipice of my future, and I had to take that step.

I pushed open the door and braced myself for…nothing. Because it was just a room. And I reminded myself of that when I shuffled around the new guest bed that had replaced the one I’d grown up sleeping in and when I approached the closet door that once held my belongings.

Another door, another moment of hesitation.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath and dropped my bag on the floor next to me. My anxiety was frustrating yet unavoidable. When I tugged the door open, a large picture frame tumbled toward me along with at least six different types of holiday wrapping paper.

I lunged for everything and only managed to grab the edge of the frame and one roll of paper before everything else fell out unceremoniously around me. With a huff, I righted the frame and propped the rolls in one of the back corners. The disruption had allowed me to momentarily forget about my anxiety or my purpose.

Until I looked up at the top shelf and spotted the box I was looking for. My hands shook as I grabbed it, and it nearly fell, too. I managed to catch it awkwardly in my arms before I set it on the bed and stared at the worn cardboard.

The edges were scratched, and the corners were torn. There were words written in black marker across each side, most of them scratched out.

But two words were still intact: Caroline & Daniel.

I ran my fingers over my mom’s loopy script and sucked in a sharp breath as I pulled it open. The first thing to greet me made my knees buckle, and I slouched on the edge of the bed for support.

One hand covered my mouth to stifle the sob I could feel rising while the other lifted our prom photo out of the box.

My light purple dress was peak mid-2000s fashion, and Daniel’s bow tie matched perfectly. We’d spent an hour at the department store sifting through options with a swatch of my dress. And he’d never complained once.

I set the picture aside, squeezing my eyes shut against the onslaught of memories, and returned to the box. There was my dried corsage from that same night and ticket stubs from movies and concerts we’d seen together. Below even more photographs I couldn’t bring myself to look at for too long, I found the football jersey he’d given me at his final high school game.

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