Page 47 of Worship
“I can’t wait to hear all the stories. Now open your gift.”
I do a little wiggle before sticking my finger where I’d sliced earlier and pull the top open, revealing a bottle of very expensive wine, which I pull out.
“Ooh la la, fancy wine for me.”
“There’s something else.” His voice is cautious.
I push the paper inside the box around and pull out a silver box cutter. Understanding floods my body, and I let out a long breath as I relax back into the couch.
This is unexpected, and yet, he always seems to know. He’s right. It’s time. Enough’s enough—if I don’t finish what I’ve emotionally started by making dinner the other night and beginning to live again, I’ll revert right back to panic over these goddamn boxes.
I don’t say anything, and after a minute, Luca starts to speak.
“Here’s the plan. You need to unpack, get it all out and done before we can move forward. We’re both getting our shit together so we can be in this thing for real. The way we should be, Angel. So, I canceled my day because you don’t want to be alone for this. I know. But I also know that you don’t want me there in person because it’s too tricky. So, I’m here, all night, on the phone with you for as long as needed, baby. But you have to stop pretending to live there—you need to actually move in, Angel.”
“I need a drink first.” I say nervously.
I grab the bottle of wine he provided and go to the kitchen, grabbing the wine opener and popping the cork. I reach for a wineglass, but instead snatch Dad’s favorite mug down and fill that. Seems fitting. I take a long gulp and set the mug down.
“Okay, let’s do this thing.”
My voice is filled with a confidence I don’t actually possess.
“Perfect. Now tell me all the stories about how you had sleepovers and practiced kissing on your girlfriends.”
He isn’t joking; it’s wishful thinking.
I walk to my room and put him on speaker.
“That only happened twice. Maybe three times.” I tease, changing out of my work clothes into my favorite black leggings and a T-shirt.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks enthusiastically.
I have to stifle a laugh at his excitement.
“Yes,” I answer, then pause as he laughs. “Well…maybe.”
His groan on the other end of the phone is exactly the kind of humorous distraction I need to get me going.
Standing in front of the first box, I take the box cutter and slice through the tape.
“Luca, keep talking. Tell me something, anything. Keep me moving.”
His voice immediately fills the room as I pull the top open on the first box and see it’s a bunch of books. My dad loved books, and he taught me to love them too. I pull each one out, ignoring the background noise while I remember the times he read them to me and the times I read them myself. I kept ten of my favorites; the rest I donated to the library.
“Tell me what you’re looking at, Angel.” My silence has gone on for too long. He’s worried.
I bring one of the hardcovers to my nose and inhale the smell of my memories.
“Books. My favorite books from his library.”
I hear Ella in the background, and it makes me smile.
“Which one is your favorite?” he asks, and I picture him holding Ella while he talks to me.
“The Secret Garden. Am I on speaker?” I ask a I reach into the box, pulling that particular book out.
“Yes. Why?” he questions.
