You. Me. 8th annual BCH fundraiser gala. You in?
The night before I leave.Absolutely zero part of me plans to say no to her invitation. Hannah in a formal gown, orchestrating an event I know means so much to her for an organization she’s excited to start the next phase of her career at—I’ll be there with bells on. And a tuxedo. And a fist around my heart knowing I’ll have to say goodbye in the morning.
Me
Depends. You gonna be in a fancydress?
Hannah
So fancy. It has pockets.
Me
That’s wild, so will my tux.
Hannah
Atta boy, soldier.
I drop my phone to the kitchen counter as the furniture delivery guys hand over the paperwork for me to sign. There’s never been much I wanted to change about this place, but I couldn’t keep the bed or mattress where Pops died. Just couldn’t.
Three grand and a hefty service fee later, it’s out with the old and in with the new. And thanks to my inheritance, I barely feel it. I’ll barely feel much of anything for the foreseeable future when it comes to expenses. The money from Nana’s life insurance payout five years ago still sits pretty in the bank. Add Pops’ to that, along with the sale of the house in town, and I’m all set. For a while at least.
The box truck peels down the gravel drive, kicking up a cloud of dust behind it. Tucked off to the right is Pops’ garage filled to the brim with boxes, trunks, and whatever else he’d been tinkering with for the past forty years. I’ve yet to touch anything inside save for the stack of bins I added from my clean out of the Boulder house.
I have eleven days to go scour through everything before I leave the property vacant for god knows how long. It’s more than enough time, honestly. But it’s not enough time with Hannah.
Eleven nights is all we have left.
Eleven nights to cook dinner for her, to let her slaughter me in chess. Eleven nights to sip hot chocolate under the stars. Eleven nights to share a bed, to kiss her until she falls asleep in my arms. Eleven mornings to wake up next to her and make her subpar over-medium eggs.
A smarter man would tread lightly. He’d set boundaries to protect her heart and his. Yet, her suitcase is in the bedroom. When she leaves the office this afternoon, she’ll drive here instead of to her own house.
The time for being smart has long since passed.
Nana’s castiron skillet sits on the stovetop, and I collect the butter from the fridge. The aroma of rosemary and olive oil fills the cabin from the tray of potatoes roasting in the oven. Fresh ribeyes I picked up on my grocery haul in town this morning are seasoned and ready to go in the pan as soon as Hannah gets here.
She’s still about fifteen minutes out, so I crack open a beer while I wait.
My phone dings with an incoming FaceTime from Mom. Taking a swig, I lean the camera against the fruit bowl and sit down at the table to accept the call.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Ro, honey,” she says, smile wide as she sits propped against her headboard. “I miss my boy’s beautiful face.”
“Miss you too.”
“How goes it out there?” Before I can answer, her eyes narrow through the screen. “Is that the lake house?”
I pick up the phone and give her a quick sweep of the space.
“My gosh, it hasn’t changed a bit.” There’s a wistfulness to her tone. Maybe a little sorrow too.
Those first few years after Dad died, Mom and I would visit together. Her on the twin bed in the loft, me on an air mattress beside it. Naturally, things began to shift when she met Doug. New marriage, another kid added to the blended mix, it didn’t make sense for us all to come out here. So I started making the trip alone every summer. Nana and Pops never begrudged her for it and neither did I. Her life was moving forward and that’s all they ever wanted for her. But I’m sure the memories this place carries may make it a bittersweet sight.
“Is that awful shower curtain still there?” she asks.
“Mauve as the day is long,” I answer, positioning the phone back on the table. The absence of Dubs’ cocky energy and Bri’s snarky comebacks have my curiosity piqued. “Where is everybody?”