Page 57 of Where Happiness Begins
“It’s part of our contract.”
“And I’m saying it doesn’t have to be anymore.”
I twist my lips as I study him. “This leg is too big for them not to promote.”
Carter doesn’t say anything.
“No, I’m still going,” I decide. I made an engagement, and I’m not stepping back. Plus, I actually want to experience this. I bump him with my hip. “But thanks anyway for offering. Glad to know you thought the deal was worth it.”
He hums once more, but as we pack up and walk back to the car, I have a feeling I didn’t give him the answer he wanted.
Chapter 23
It’s been days since Carter told me about everything that went down with his brother and his parents, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.
Our childhoods couldn’t have been more different. It’s painful to think his family literally abandoned him after he made a decision for himself. I don’t know what particular event drove him to leave the band, and I couldn’t care less. He didn’t deserve to lose the people who were supposed to love him no matter what. And from what I gathered, his family didn’t seem that great even before the band’s downfall. What parent could value their child’s professional success over their happiness? I almost want to fly over there myself to shake them. My mother might’ve walked out on me, but with the father I had, I see Carter’s the one who got the short end of the stick. Dad never made me feel like I needed anything more, and that’s out of sheer luck.
I’ve been standing in front of his bedroom door for who knows how long, clenching and unclenching my hands. As much as I want to turn around, one thing keeps blaring through my mind: I can’t keep ignoring it, ignoringhim. Every day I continue walking in front of this door without going in is another day I don’t honormy dad. Hearing Carter’s story was the wake-up call I needed. With everything he gave me, he deserves to have his life recognized, not forgotten, no matter how uncomfortable it is for me to go in there.
“What are you doing?”
I don’t need to look to know Carter is walking in my direction. I could recognize his voice, even his presence, with my eyes closed. I’ve gotten so used to having him around, I’ve learned his tells, learned the pattern of his footsteps and the way he breathes. And even without all of this, I learned howIfeel when he’s around as if his aura reaches mine, calming and rooting.
I swallow. “I think it’s time.”
“Yeah?”
I look to my right, where he’s now standing, head tipped down to gaze at me. I never told him what the room truly means to me, but somehow, he knows.
“Yeah.” I’m not avoiding it any longer. Dad would want me to donate his clothes, have them be of use to someone in need. He’d want me to use this space for something else. He’d want me to deal with my grief.
“You don’t have to be there for this,” I add, not quite sure whether I say it for him or for myself. I don’t know how I’ll handle dealing with this stuff. I might not be able to keep a straight face, and Carter probably doesn’t want to have to deal with me being a mess.
As I should have expected, Carter doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a step forward and opens the door for me. No time allowed for me to back down or chicken out. Pushing right through.
Just like the last time I walked in, I’m first hit with the nostalgia of seeing his room as if he were still there, living in it, and then with the scent of him. I inhale deeply, closing my eyes. God, what I wouldn’t give to smell this on him, his pullover retaining the scent of the detergent as he whizzed past me on his way to get dinner out of the oven. To get one last hug from him.
“Guess being a glass hoarder is familial.”
I open my eyes, following Carter’s gaze to where it’s landed on the five almost empty glasses of water standing on the bedside table.
My smile grows slowly as if testing the waters of whether I actually want to go there. Eventually, though, I can’t control myself and burst out laughing. Carter’s lips tip up, small but so very there, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more grateful for him than I do now.
I haven’t quite caught my breath when I step inside, but the lightness in my chest makes it so much easier. Carter knew what he was doing.
I look around, this time not with a feeling of grief that threatens to drown me, but with purpose. We need to clean this space, just like we did the entire house before. And Carter’s right: Dad was as messy as I am.
I breathe deeply as I look at the clothes I recognize and the trinkets I missed, then say, “All right. Let’s do this.”
“Music on or off?” Carter asks, his phone already out but paused. He’ll leave me in silence if I want to, and yet he knew I wouldn’t. Knew music would help me get through this.
“On,” I say, then grab his phone and find a playlist of seventies rock that my dad would’ve known every single word to. And then, we get to work.
I can’t stop laughing.
“Please stop,” Carter says, voice ice cold.
“I can’t,” I wheeze out. Maybe I could if he removed that stupid hat, but for some reason, he’s kept it on, even though it looks like he’d rather die than wear something so ridiculous for a second longer.
