Deciding I want to see it one more time, I sneak across the patio and open the door, which is much easier to open than it had been on the day of the memorial service, as if someone greased the hinges. As soon as I walk inside, though, I realize I’m not alone.
Andrej is standing at the back wall, staring at the lemon tree. The bougainvillea have all been trimmed back, and I see bags full of lemons at Andrej’s feet. Beneath the tree is a box that I recognize as the one that held his childhood treasures. When he hears the door close behind me, he turns, and his eyes go wide in surprise. He’s wearing jeans and a tight, white t-shirt, and his beard is untrimmed. He looks a little wild, and I’m hesitant at first, but then he speaks.
“I didn’t know you’d be here so soon.” There are no harsh words or scowls. He seems…softer. He didn’t call me here to lash out at me. He maybe didn’t even have the intention of being here when I arrived.
Part of me wants to leave, but I can’t make myself move. This is our last chance—his last chance. “How have you been?” I ask tentatively.
“Working through some things,” he answers, turning back to the tree. “Thinking.”
“Oh?”
“About you, mostly.”
“Oh.”
He turns suddenly, as if deciding all at once to get something off his chest. “It was jealousy. That was what fueled my resentment for you. Even though I had all the physical possessions in the world, I didn’t have what you had.”
“What’s that?” I ask, stepping a little closer to him.
“A father’s love. What is it you say? Hurt people hurt people. My father was hurting, so instead of loving me and dealing with his feelings, he hurt me. And I turned it on you because I was jealous of you. And the more you loved me, the more I resented you because I thought I didn’t deserve it.”
I’m struck a little speechless as I stare across the room at him. Framed by the lemon tree, with his face open and honest, he looks so much like my Andy that I could cry.
“Wait.” He digs in his pocket and pulls out a folded-up piece of paper. “I wasn’t thinking that day I left the Oakwood Club, and I know you didn’t get in because of me.” He laughs a little. “I didn’t even know you wanted in, but I guess I never asked, did I? Anyway.” He hands the paper across the distance between us, and I reach out to take it.
Unfolding it, I see the oak tree logo across the top and below it, an acceptance letter. “You got me in?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “You got you in. I just fixed my mistake. I’ve been trying to do a lot of that lately.” He jerks his head back at the box beneath the lemon tree.
I peer around him at it. “What are you doing? You’re not digging it up, are you?”
“No. I never properly grieved for my mother, and I know she’s buried at the family plot, but it feels more like she lives on in here, with her plants, in our tree. I thought I would…I don’t fucking know, it’s stupid.”
“It’s not.” I step up beside him and look at the tree.
Almost reluctantly, he continues. “I thought I would bury some things here, some pieces of my childhood. Mourn her. Mourn what I lost. Start fresh.”
“What if the new owners dig it up?” I ask.
He cocks his head at me. “New owners?”
“Of the house?”
“I took it off the market.”
“You did? Why?”
He looks past me to the house through the window. “It feels different, doesn’t it? Or maybe I’m different, but I don’t feel like I’m suffocating anymore. I feel like I could be happy here again.”
I nod, having noticed the same thing when I walked through the front door. “Except for that statue in the foyer,” I say.
He smirks. “Man, you always did hate Milo.”
I give an exaggerated shiver. “He’s creepy.”
After a brief silence, Andrej asks quietly, “Do you think you could be happy here?”
“Andrej…”
He waves his hands around like he’s trying to clear the air. “Forget I said it. Do you want to help?” He thrusts a small spade at me, and I take it with a careful smile.
We spend the next couple of hours digging a hole beneath the lemon tree and sitting together as he sorts through the items. It’s like old times, and my heart hums with a tentative happiness.
He buries his broken trophy, and a picture of all of us before his mother died, and his high school football ring. There are more items, and we talk about each one, sharing memories, not about the bad times, but the happy moments we shared growing up, and even those we didn’t share. I told him about my college years and about starting my own business. He told me about buying his own place and joining the Oakwood Club.
It’s dark before we cover the hole with freshly turned dirt and sit back. The tart smell of lemon permeates the air, making my mouth water. He stands and dusts off his pants. I reach my hands up and he pulls me to my feet. I stumble forward a little and land against his chest. Neither of us moves; heck, neither of us hardly breathes. The air between us is charged and thick with tension.
“I’m so sorry, Val,” he whispers, his face close enough that I feel his warm breath on my cheek. He rights me, standing me up a few inches away from him, and digs in his pocket for something else. As I watch, he pulls out a golden chain. Hanging from the bottom of the chain is his mother’s old amethyst ring.
“Valya, I’m still learning, but one thing I know is that I want to marry you someday. I also know I don’t deserve it yet, but if you give me another chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you like you deserve. I put the ring on a necklace for you so that you have the power to decide when I’ve earned your love. That’s when I’ll put this ring on your finger.”
“Oh, Andy,” I whisper, feeling my heart swell in my chest and tears prick my eyes. I don’t know what to say. I’m so proud of him, but at the same time, so scared.
“You don’t have to say anything right now. But I’m going to keep working on myself, making myself better, so that maybe someday, you can love me again.”
I shake my head. “I never stopped, but love isn’t always enough, is it? Like plants, love has to be nurtured or it withers, turns into a shell of what it once was. But with time and attention, it comes back to life.”
Turning, I hold up my hair and he clasps the necklace around my neck. I clutch the ring and gaze up at him.
He leans in closer, his voice barely audible when he whispers, “You’re too good for me.”
I tilt my face up to him, like a flower turning toward the sun. “I’m not. You’ve always been worthy. You just had to believe it so that I could show you.”
When his lips come down on mine, it isn’t rushed or urgent, but tender and sweet, gentle, almost tentative. He won’t ever change completely—he’ll always be a little cocky and a little crude, but he’s also softer, kinder, and finally open to love. It’s like when we were children on the beach, and we’d build sandcastles only to watch the ocean relentlessly knock down the carefully constructed walls. No matter how many moats we built, no matter how high we built the walls, the castle was always gone in the morning.