Home.
* * *
Four hours, a couple Big Macs, and a stop for fuel and Dunkin’s later, Justin pulled up to the fence surrounding my mom’s house. From the passenger’s side window, I took in the small, two-story Colonial, less imposing than I remembered, even though I’d only been there last year. Despite dead grass and patches of dirt, a row of flowers wrapped along the little porch, and the front door had a fresh coat of brown paint. Libby and Aaron must’ve been keeping an eye on the place.
I got out of the car and Opal followed, running over to sniff along the line of a rickety wood picket fence. As she lifted a leg, I checked the mailbox. Libby was getting the remnants of Mom’s mail, but there were a couple pieces of junk addressed to Adina Quintanilla. This was what remained. I took a deep breath, creasing a glossy card for window washing in my grip.
“So this is it,” Justin said, coming around the car. He handed me my coat.
I put it on, having forgotten the cold for a moment. “It’s not much,” I said, shoving the flyers in my pocket. “Two-bedroom, three if you count the curtain divider Libby installed when we were twelve.”
Justin turned around. “Neighborhood looks like it’s changing.”
Mom’s house was in better shape than I’d thought it’d be, but it was still one of the more rundown places on the block. A few had been renovated, others were dated but maintained, and some were up for sale. “It’s a good time to sell,” I said.
“Libby left a key in a lockbox around back.” Justin opened the gate. “I’ll grab it.”
Opal entered through the fence, looked back at me, and sat in the middle of the walkway. My gaze moved from her to the white, chipped-paint façade. The house needed work, no question. Libby and I could hire that out, but I knew the place inside out. Nobody else would give it the care and attention to detail I would.
Was I up to the task?
I finally had an updated résumé, and if I was honest, I was eager to use it. Things hadn’t been the same since Georgina had left, and although that was the point of her time at Modern Man, my discontent ran deeper. I no longer trusted Vance, but I’d also been questioning whether I was getting what I needed from the job. The answer? I wasn’t. Not since Mom’s death. And since I’d begun to realize that the New York City playboy role no longer fit me. But was it too late? Was I already that person?
And if not, who did I want to be?
As I looked up at the house, I forced the other questions to the front of my mind that I’d been mulling over lately.
Where did I want to be?
Who did I want to spend my days with?
Opal barked as Justin came back around to the front yard. He’d gotten me here. That was the hard part. The nearly impossible part, I worried, was going inside. But if I wanted any shot at starting over—with Georgina—I had no choice but to confront what lay ahead.
“Coming?” Justin asked, dangling the keys. He jiggled the lock before swinging the front door open.
Opal waited as I walked up the path, then trotted ahead and right into the house. She wasn’t scared. Maybe, I thought as I entered, she even felt a welcoming presence there as she sniffed her way through the living room. The house was still, musty, and bone cold. I crossed my arms against the chill, my eyes roaming over hardwood floors that needed refinishing, pots without plants, and a staircase railing that looked dodgy at best.
I’d been hit with so many memories over the last year, and I’d been here recently enough, that walking in didn’t feel strange or unnatural. Covered furniture remained. Libby wouldn’t sort through anything without me. It was the emptiness that struck me most of all. The only life in the room was Opal bounding between the kitchen, living room, and hallway.
“It’s okay if you need to cry,” Justin said. “Stays between us.”
A low laugh rumbled in my chest. “I’m good.”
If I’d tried to do this last month, I wasn’t sure I could’ve handled it. But ever since Georgina had reopened the Boston wound—and not only poured salt in it but also questioned why it hurt so much—I’d been giving it a lot of thought. I’d been back on Google Earth and had even pushed myself to dust off a photo album of childhood pictures Mom had made of Libby and me a couple Christmases ago, before she’d told us about the cancer. It all stung, but in a way, the photos, memories, and four hours in the car to come to terms with where I was headed had all helped prepare my mental state for this.
“It’s not in terrible shape,” Justin said, opening a closet of empty hangers. “I’ve watched a lot of HGTV, and you could probably knock out this renovation in no time at all. Maybe even do an addition.”
I gave him a look. “First of all, if HGTV is your only reference point then you know basically nothing. Second, you’re such a girl.”
“Are you kidding?” he asked, shutting the door. He checked the wiring of the TV I’d installed a few years ago. “Women fucking love HGTV. I don’t watch it for the programming—it’s my best pick-up line. ‘Hey, did you see that last episode of Property Brothers when the couple asked for an open floor plan?’”
“Isn’t that every episode?” I asked.
“Works like a charm.” He shrugged. “You’re welcome.”
I walked through the white-tiled kitchen, Mom’s domain, although Libby was a good cook—I’d never be without first-class salsa verde, that was for sure. I smiled a little as I opened a few oak cabinets. It would be nice to live closer to Libs and the kids. Not here, but in the city. Fix up the house on the weekends maybe.
I made my way around the backyard, upstairs to my old bedroom, and came to a stop outside the master.
Justin followed but waited in the hallway. “We can get a hotel and come back tomorrow if it’s too much.”
I was here. I wanted to get it over with. The sooner I endured the house, the closer I’d be to answers. Could I come back here, and if so, would Georgina have me? It’d only been a few weeks, but I’d let her down by retreating when she’d turned up the heat. Maybe she’d already met someone new. With Bruno, in the park, no doubt she got her fair share of attention.
I shoved the thought away and opened the door. Four white walls, a worn beige carpet, and a door leading to the bathroom. Everything else had likely either been sold or moved into storage. Had I known, I might’ve railed at Libby for cleaning out the space without me, but standing here now, I was grateful. She wouldn’t trash anything of value, and what remained was bearable in that moment. It looked like any other room instead of the one in which my mother had taken her last breath.
I inhaled deeply. I was here. I was facing it. Was this moving on?
My last conversation with Georgina hadn’t left me.
“It’s more than that, Sebastian. It’s deeper. I know it’s scary, but you can’t heal until you face it.”
Was I healed?
I returned to the hallway. Justin kept his distance, hanging onto Opal’s collar.
“Now what?” I asked.
He shrugged and made a face as if to say it was my call. “What do you need for closure? Want to sell the place as is? Fix it up? Go home and pretend we never came?”
I sniffed and looked back into the bedroom. In a sense, I’d been pretending this place didn’t exist long enough. I’d treated it as a problem I’d get to one day when I had the strength. “I want Georgina, and she comes with Boston. So I need to be done with this.”
“Then maybe it’s time to put it on the market.”
Sell, sell, sell. That was what everyone kept telling me to do. The house wasn’t a home without Mom, Libs said. It didn’t serve any purpose but a painful reminder. Aaron would add that there was a profit to be made. But who was I without it?
Without a mom?
Who would stop me from turning into the persona I’d crafted for myself? This stupid, sagging pile of bricks and memories was the only thing keeping me tied to my upbringing, my family, my childhood. It was the only thing rooting me to this earth anymore.
That was the deeper—the more that Georgina had spoken of. By letting go of the house, I wasn’t just admitting Mom was dead. I was scared it meant the good parts of myself were gone too. That I’d no longer be able to take off the mask—I would become it.