Page 13 of Embers in Our Past

“Do you know when you are headed back?” my dad asks now that the dust has settled a bit between his girls.

“It won’t be for a little while longer. I need to get things in order and find a place back in Boston. Maybe something near the water. I always loved those apartments with a harbor view.” Clay and I dreamed of starting a family and moving to a place in the city with a view of the harbor.

“Well, consider this,” my dad begins. “Your mother and I are thinking of buying some property, and we could buy in Boston. You can live in the property we purchase, free of rent.”

“Dad, I can’t do that. Really, it’s too much.” I honestly thought I’d just rent something or find a roommate for a short period of time until I found the perfect place to settle.

“I think your father’s right. Let us do this. I think your heart was meant for Boston. As much as I want you here, I think you are meant to be there. We were looking into doing something like this anyhow.” She smiles and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. I wish I could bottle this feeling up when I feel her love this way. She’s not always in this comforting mood.

The rest of the evening is uneventful. We come up with a plan that feels like a solid one. I text Marissa, and she seems relieved that I’m moving back. California was supposed to be permanent, but I think I always knew it wasn’t where I was meant to be. Boston is where I left my heart, and I guess it’s time for me to go retrieve it. Too bad the person who owns the key to my heart is one I’ll never confront and ask for it back.

CHAPTER 5

Abby

“I thoughtyou said you were going to help me pack?” I say as I tape up yet another box on my own.

“I said nothing of the sort,” Marissa calls from the other room.

“If I recall correctly, you called and said, ‘I will come over and help you pack, then we can hit up the town like two kick-ass women in LA.’” I use air quotes to emphasize my irritation.

“First off, I do not need to say kick-ass women because it’s implied by my personality. Don’t be ridiculous. Second, I told you I would come over and pick you up after you were done packing. If you needed me to, I could have had my assistant from the office here helping. He loves organizing things,” she says as she sits on my sectional and drinks her martini.

“Where did you find a martini glass in this mess?” I look at her in shock. Did I even have a martini glass in this place?

“I didn’t. I brought it with me. It’s plastic.” She taps on it.

“You brought a martini glass from home? You have issues,” I scoff.

“Can you not be so judgmental? It’s your last night in LA. You had, like, one box to pack. Stop being so difficult.” She rolls her eyes.

She’s not wrong. I’ve been slowly packing for weeks now.

“Okay, so where are we going? You’re being super secretive about it,” I say.

“Not telling you. But at least I’m not driving. I didn’t drive here, and you won’t need to either. It’s down the street from your place. I can’t wait. You’ll love it. So, it’s perfect for us,” she squeals.

Forty minutes later, I’m sitting in front of an easel with a blank canvas in shock that Marissa is about to endure a paint and wine night. She hates things like this, but she loves me enough to do it for me.

I’ve never done this before with friends. I’ve, of course, painted on canvas but I've never gotten to go out with friends to do it. Marissa is not good with a brush; I already know this will turn out absolutely horrendous for her. The memories I’ll leave here with tonight will be absolutely wonderful to take with me to Boston.

It took me some time to find a place I liked in Boston, so moving wasn’t as quick for me to pull the trigger. Once I found a spot I envisioned for me to move into, my parents made sure the investment property made sense for them as well.

Things moved from there, and I started the process of getting things ready in California for my move. Now that it’s really happening, I’ve got butterflies multiplying by the second. The movers are coming early tomorrow morning. I’ll be flying out on a red-eye tomorrow night and waiting for my things to arrive in Boston. I decided to stay in a hotel while my belongings are being driven across the country.

I’ll be buying some new furniture for the apartment, but the majority of boxes with my clothes and dishes will be making their way over. I don’t have too many large items, so there shouldn’t be too many things to unpack once everything gets there.

Either way, knowing I’ll be going back to a place that holds all my adult memories is exciting and nerve-wracking all in one. It’s hard to imagine what it will be like to run into people I will know. Especially one particular person.

Clay has crossed my mind constantly as I think about Boston. I don’t even know if he’s seeing anyone. My brother hasn’t said if he’s dating, although I’m not sure he’d tell me. I asked that he not mention my return to Boston, and he hasn’t fought me on this issue.

Marissa speaks to him occasionally, but she’s tight-lipped about Clay’s personal life. I wonder if she’d say something about Clay’s dating life just to get a reaction out of me. She might tell me just to see if I’d get mad.

The moment my brush moves through the paint and I swipe it across the canvas, I feel at home. Each element of painting brings relief to my heart, and I’m swept into a new level of comfort. It doesn’t matter the medium of art I practice—it relaxes my body and mind.

Marissa and I laugh too much the entire time we are sipping our wine and painting. I succeed in making my starry night painting. I wish I could say the same for Marissa. Hers looks more like a hideous, blotchy mess. It’s more abstract than anything, but that’s Marissa in a nutshell.

We leave the studio giggling, and my heart is full. The moment we step out into the night, the warmth of the California summer coating our skin, Marissa grabs my painting.

---