Page 143 of Call You Mine
The familiar record on fire has lips curving.
I pull out two more—these ones a little faded, like they’ve spent a lot of time in the back pocket of someone’s jeans. The iconic Las Vegas sign is printed on one, and the other has the name of one of the casinos that was by our hotel.
He must have gotten these ones at the thrift store—is that why he wouldn’t let me look in his bag?
I pull out the last few, finding one from the concert venue that we went to in Vegas and from the bar we went to for the after party. There’s one from Lenny’s and the ice cream shop we went to after Georgie’s soccer game—the day I told him I loved him—and my vision is so blurry I can barely make out the familiar logo.
It’s like all of the memories I forgot to hold on to are right here in this bag, in Anderson’s T-shirt drawer.
I pull out my phone, needing to know why he has these, even though I think I know the answer.
Since when do you collect matchboxes?
You weren’t supposed to see those
I’ve been meaning to give them to you for months now
You didn’t answer my question
Since I saw your collection
I don’t bother trying to continue this conversation over text, pressing Anderson’s contact and holding my phone to my ear.
He answers on the first ring. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
“I didn’t tell you I collected them,” I counter.
“I saw the bowl in your apartment. Took an educated guess.”
“And also took it upon yourself to grow my collection?” I ask, biting my bottom lip to stop from smiling.
I can picture the way he grins, shrugging his shoulders as if to feign nonchalance, as if finding matchboxes from some of the most monumental moments of the last ten months and holding on to them for safekeeping was no big deal, something he barely thought about.
And maybe he didn’t.
Because that’s the kind of man he is.
The kind that doesn’t have to think about the ways he wants to show you he loves you.
He just does it.
“I know what it’s like to collect something tangible in the form of memories,” he says, his voice hushed. “I also know what it’s like to stop feeling like there are memories worth collecting.”
“Your records?” I ask, and he reads between the lines.
“I hadn’t added to that collection in years. I couldn’t even remember the last time I turned that record player on… Until G.”
My heart clenches, and my hand goes to my chest to make sure it didn’t just cause a crack in my sternum.
“I wasn’t sure the last time you added to your collection, so I figured I would do it for you. Just like Georgie did for me without even realizing.”
A tear escapes the corner of my eye, trailing down mycheek and falling into my lap, right next to the pile of memories.
Ourmemories.
“How’s Auggie? What did the doctor say?”
“I’m getting into the elevator now to find out. I’ll text you updates, but please, love. Go back to sleep. I’ll be there when you wake up.”
