“God, I’m so happy to be home,” I tell David when he opens my car door for me. He holds out a hand to help me up, and I let out a little happy sigh at the sight of my house. I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with the old thing, but after two weeks in a hotel room, I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed, shower in my own bathroom, and relax on my old worn-out couch.
“I’m sure you are. I’m sorry you had to wait longer than I expected.”
I give him a pointed look. “Trust me, I would have stayed out much longer to ensure every last one of those little buggers was gone.” My lip curls on a shiver. “Termites. I can’t believe I’ve been living all this time with termites.”
David chuckles, closing my car door and holding out his arm for me to loop mine through. He’s already got my suitcase out of the trunk, and he wheels it along behind us. “I’m just glad they were able to do a fumigation on such short notice. I wanted you to be back home before the holiday.”
I try to smile, but the attempt falls short. It just doesn’t feel like the holiday season to me. Between being kicked out of my house for a termite tenting unexpectedly, living in a hotel, pulling all-nighters to finish up finals at school, and spending every bit of spare energy trying not to torture myself with thoughts of Greg?
There hasn’t been time for holiday cheer.
Even thinking about him now makes my chest hurt, a long sigh leaving my chest. I miss his smile, and his hugs, and his crude sense of humor. I miss his laugh and the way it feels to ride in the passenger seat of his car, and how he always knew the right things to say.
I miss him.
I especially miss how he would drag me out of the house to do something fun instead of just letting me waste my life away. Before him, and likely without him ever showing up, I would spend every weekend on the couch with movies I’d already seen and wine I didn’t even particularly like. Now, I was at least trying to do more, thanks to his inspiration. And not just Al-Anon, but I also interviewed for an internship next semester, one for a therapist who works specifically with the clients I’d like to one day.
And then, there’s the divorce.
After two years, the paperwork is finally signed and filed, the divorce legal, and I’m already in the process of changing my last name back to Young. The court hearing was excruciating, Josh not making it easy on any of us, but fortunately for me, the judge saw right through his manipulation tactics and refused to grant his little stipulation on getting to revoke alimony if I seriously date someone who makes more money than him.
Not that I have to worry about that anytime soon.
The look on his face when the judge put him his place was enough to soothe all the heartache he’d put me through over the last two years. I saw the moment he cowered, the moment he realized he’d lost, and the moment he looked at me and saw that I was truly free of him.
Now, other than getting a check in the mail from him each month and seeing him at family events where Tucker is involved, I don’t have to worry about Josh Parks at all anymore.
My shackles have been broken.
Still, even with so much on my plate, Greg is always on my mind. Sometimes he’s all I can think about, and other times he’s just there in the cracks of my broken heart, quietly reminding me to keep pushing — even if it has to be without him.
He would have made the past two weeks an adventure somehow. That I know without question.
“Will they be back?” I ask David.
“Termites always find a way back,” he says on a sigh, and my stomach sours, because I know just as well as he does that this old house won’t last much longer without some serious work being done.
“Speaking of the holiday,” I say as we walk up the porch steps. “You do all this?”
I point to the lights hanging over the porch, the tree decorated in the corner, the tasteful candy canes and wire sleigh complete with fairy lights sprawling across the yard. Every single thing is brand new, a far cry from the ugly decor from the 90s I’ve held onto all this time.
Then, I frown, taking in the fresh paint on the door trim, the sanded, beautiful wood of the porch. Two brand new white rocking chairs sit next to the little Christmas tree, and a doormat that I’ve never seen in my life sits at our feet. Even the garden looks like it’s been spruced up, and I know my son doesn’t like garden work.
“David,” I say on a laugh, discovering more and more new things as I look around. “Did Julia go on a shopping spree or something?”
But my son doesn’t answer. He just smiles, presses his spare key into the front door lock, turns the knob, and opens it, standing aside for me to enter first.
“Welcome home, Mom.”
Confusion washes over me, and I’m tempted to pop off some smartass remark about how weird he’s being, but the second I swing inside my living room, all that confusion is zapped away and replaced with pure shock and disbelief.
A giant, gorgeously decorated Christmas tree is the first thing I notice — at least six-feet tall and decked out in a stunning array of red and white and gold. Bing Crosby’s voice serenades us from a speaker somewhere as I take in the rest of the room — one I don’t even recognize anymore.
The old, lumpy couch and archaic La-Z-Boy that was falling apart have been replaced by a beautiful suede sectional, a warm walnut brown and littered with plush cream throw pillows and a chunky crocheted blanket. The tile floor that was in the house when we moved in is now polished laminate, the light fixtures no longer ancient ceiling fans and exposed lightbulbs, but instead striking bronze finishes that bring a modern feel I never knew was possible in a house this age.
There’s a new pedestal coffee table, a reading nook with a sprawling wall of shelves stacked with books, and a cozy reading chair complete with a pouf ottoman footrest. Every wall is covered not only with the family photos I’ve loved and cherished for years, but new ones in stylish arrangements, and art that somehow perfectly encompasses me — flowers by a lake, sunbeams through forest trees, a cartoon bumble bee, a funny word art graphic that says, I’m sorry, did I roll my eyes out loud?
It just feels like me.
“David,” I whisper, my eyes blurring with tears. “What is this?”
Still, he doesn’t answer, just follows behind me as I round into the kitchen and yet another gasp rips from my throat. I cover my mouth, standing by the new granite island, and trying not to panic at how much he must have spent on every new appliance I can see.
A new refrigerator, new stove, new microwave, new dishwasher.
I touch that one first, shivering at the thought of not having to scrub dishes clean before putting them in the machine that’s supposed to wash them for me.
It’s all completely renovated — everything from the floors and cabinets to the light fixtures. And not just the living room and kitchen, but the guest bath, too.
“How did you afford all this?” I ask, fingers trembling where they still hover over my lips.
David smiles. “Come on,” he says. “You’ve got to see upstairs.”
“There’s more?! David, this is ridiculous.”
He doesn’t address my question about the cost, but it’s all I can think about as he shows me my new bedroom — the bed so big and plush looking that I dive into it without a second thought, laughing with glee as the comforter and pillows puff up around me. And in the bathroom, a brand-new soaking tub like I’ve always wanted sits with a candle and book on a little shelf over the edges of it.