Page 64 of I Promise You
I walk into the living room, and the air is warm, contrasting the freezing weather outside. A peppermint Christmas-scented candle fills the room, and my mom has decorated the Christmas tree…without me?
Every year since I was old enough to speak and walk, I would help put up her tree and decorate each branch with sparkling red and golden ornaments.
I stare at the tree, finished from top to bottom with nostalgia. I remove my jacket, admiring it like a little girl again. I always thought a Christmas tree held magic as a child.
I smile at the twinkling golden lights as I recount every time Paul would help us, although it was more of a mom-and-daughter thing. Most of the time, he would be in his room getting lost in virtual worlds on his computer, practicing his guitar or even skateboarding outside.
I let my jacket fall onto the couch cushion, folded in half. I pull the sleeves of my white sweater over my thumbs as I walk deeper into the house, looking for her.
I walk into her bedroom first, thinking I’d find her there since she’s not in the living room. This was about the same time she’d watch her routine novellas. It’s empty and I knit my brows together, perplexed.
Where could she be at this time of day?
Then it dawns on me, and my chest tightens with melancholy. I take a deep breath and prepare for what I will walk into.
I close the door to her bedroom, gripping the doorknob tightly but closing it softly.
I turn around and my breathing quickens with each careful step as I coat myself with strength before opening the door to Paul’s bedroom.
Light shines from the cracks underneath the door, and I softly bite the insides of my cheek.
I push it open. My feet feel heavy purposefully because I don’t want to see my mom upset. I can’t bear to hear her cry.
Paul’s sublime poster is the first thing I see. Sublime was one of his favorite bands and the first song he learned to play the guitar was “Santeria”.
Mom’s clutching his uniform while sitting at the edge of his bed.
She’s not crying, she’s…okay.
The rest of the bed is littered with photographs. Pictures of my brother as a baby until he reached his thirties are scattered everywhere, but my mom has herself intact.
“Ma, you put up the Christmas tree without me?” I act appalled, joking with her to lighten the mood even more. I put my hands on my hips, further dramatizing my comments.
She returns my gaze with a smile.
I walk over and drop next to her, grabbing a photo.
“Sorry,mija, you’re just always busy. I couldn’t wait any longer. I didn’t want to bother you because you work a lot, and I just wanted to give you space while you recover. I’m trying something new.” She sighs, putting Paul’s uniform top in a hanger. She stands, walking to his closet.
“I appreciate that, Mom, but Danny left a while ago. He left for work and I’m alone at my house, so you’ll see more of me around. I’ll be the one invading your space this time,” I jest, slapping my hands on my thighs and shrugging my shoulders.
“You’re always welcome.” She hangs his uniform up and turns around.
I place the picture of Paul playing his guitar on the bed and return her stare.
“Mihijo…” She sighs. Her face says she’s all right but her eyes are stressed. “I don’t want to believe it’s already been one year.”
“I know, Mom.”
“He had so much to live for.”
“I know, Mom,” I repeat, looking back at other photos on the bed, looking for any with Danny and sure enough, there’s one with his entire team and Danny’s. My eyes light up when I see the man that infuriates me. A smile spreads across my face like an instant reaction. They’re all on a deployment, covered in face paint and holding their rifles. I never recognized him before. The man was always there but not there, if that makes sense.Isearch for more pictures of Danny with my brother but don’t see anymore, then something catches my eye.
It’s a photo I’ve never seen before. I study the unknown woman in the picture.
She’s beautiful.
Of course, Paul doesn’t let us into his private world. Of course, I had to find out he had a ton of friends I didn’t know about that cared about himafter he passed.
