Page 47 of Surviving the Merge
“I wouldn’t let you. It’s otherworldly.” She shimmied closer until our knees touched. Her lips thinned suddenly. She wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if she should.
“Just say it,” I told her.
She hesitated. “He didn’t look any better than you do. In case you had been wondering.”
“No, I hadn’t.” Yes, I had.
She gave nothing away as to whether she believed me or not. “What about your dad?
Were you two close?”
“Not as close, but yeah, close enough. That’s where I get my love of basketball from. He set up a hoop at the end of the driveway. We would play for hours. When he wasn’t working, that was. He worked a lot. We spent less time with each other after Mom got sick. And after she died, I couldn’t reach him. It’s like he died right along with her.”
Noticing the time, I got up and pulled her with me. “Let’s go to bed. I actually feel like I could sleep?”
“I call dibs on being the big spoon!” She launched onto the bed, bouncing and laughing.
I smiled down at her, feeling a shift take place somewhere inside me. A repair of sorts. Miniscule, but a work in progress all the same.
I’d lost something I loved. But looking at Sam, it became abundantly clear that something had also been gained.
* * *
After we woke up,I got ready for the drive to Chadwick. Sam wanted to accompany me, but I needed to take the first step alone. I’d been a rescue puppy all of my adult life. Someone had always fought my battles and slayed my dragons. I wouldn’t allow her to fill that void now.
Sweat built on my brow as I approached the exit for Chadwick. I hadn’t ventured back since we moved to the city. So many memories here, good and bad, and I hoped I was ready to face them.
This side of Chadwick was considered middle-class when we moved in. Mom’s life insurance payout was the only reason Dad could afford to move us here.
I’d gone to a few different schools while living there but switched to Chadwick High School my junior year. Chadwick High took a more alternative approach to their way of thinking. Dad thought it would be a better fit for me, having come from places where my sexual orientation and preferred extracurricular left me a target for bullying. It stood on the county line, where the middle and working-class met. I discovered Damon there—or rather, he found me.
Riding through the neighborhood now, I realized not much had changed. The streets were tree-lined and quiet, except for the occasional dog barking in the distance. Other than that, the sprinkler systems were the only thing showing any signs of life. Chadwick wasn’t a white-picket-fence type of community. At least not mostly.
Homes there reserved their square footage for the front yard. Pushed back from the road, showing off rolling manicured lawns and driveways so long and curving you needed GPS to maneuver through them. Dainty sidewalks, just wide enough for the aerobic fanatics to take their morning power walks with their equally dainty dogs trailing alongside them.
The homes were an eclectic mix of Colonials, Victorians, white Antebellums, and such. They all complimented each other, though. As if each design and placement was thought out long before the first street sign was hung or the first brick laid.
If you drove fifteen blocks north, made a right at the fork in front of Mr. Mallory’s Dry Cleaning, and headed east for another five or so blocks, the scenery shifted immensely.
That’s where Damon and Ash lived. That’s where I felt more myself. Everything less grand but still beautiful. The people were hardworking and real. More of what I was used to.
Sitting in the driveway of our modest home, I took a few moments to appreciate how much Blake had taken great care of it. Improved it in many ways too. He watched over it in the same way he watched over me. Knowing I would one day need to come back to it.
I gave him the okay to make some renovations last summer. “Maintenance,” he’d called it. But I had my suspicions he wanted to change it just enough so it’d be less of a reminder of my pain but kept the parts that reminded me of home.
The gable roofing and dormer windows were now gray, and so were the shed windows along the first and second floors of the white Victorian. I’m sure that had everything to do with gray being Blake’s favorite color on me. The small reminders of how much he cared were the hardest to contend with. Made it harder to hate him.
The front door remained red, and the basketball hoop my dad got me still hung over the garage door.
I got out of the car. Going up the four steps leading to the porch, I ran my hand along the balustrade that extended the whole length of the house. Stopping to run a light finger over the carved wordsJustin and Mom, forever.
I eyed the porch, smiling at the memory of my dad declaring, “All that’s needed is a couple rocking chairs.” And a garden. Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the front door. My heart galloped. Telling myself to get over myself, I entered.
I couldn’t say I was shocked to see that the floor plan had changed to open space. Blake hated walls.
I walked through the dining room and into the living room. The kitchen overlooked them both. The all glass rear wall showed off the spacious backyard.
The washed gray wood floors and the furniture, all a matching hue, gave the place a rustic vibe. But the family photos and heirlooms that littered the place kept me from feeling like a stranger.
