Page 23 of The Time It Takes
This is wrong.
I look down at my feet and debate whether I should move them. I’m not sure why I asked the driver to take me here. The original plan was to go straight to a hotel. This is stupid. I’m only torturing myself.
Maybe some part of me that made the decision decided I deserved to be tortured. The pain that this place brings is the realest thing I’ve felt in a long time. I close my eyes to the view in front of me. It looks too picture-perfect. I want to ruin it all just like it ruined me. The house looks as if it belonged to a perfect family.
I would laugh at the irony if I didn’t feel so damn miserable.
I open my eyes and take a step forward and then another until I’m staring at the sunshine-yellow door like I’m waiting for it to open itself.I don’t belong here anymore.Neither does the solid foundation that this house was built on. I slowly back away from the door and retreat down the steps. I pick up the flowerpot and hold it up so that I can look underneath it. I find the key taped to the bottom and pull it free.
The rust-colored pot painted in fading colors weighs heavily in my hand. Painted are the words WORLD’S BEST MOM. I grip the key tightly in my palm as I lose my hold on the hideous pot. It rolls out of my hand and the ceramic shatters onto the ground. I glare down at it, waiting for remorse to hit me.
I wait and wait and then realize the feeling isn’t going to arrive.
Instead, I think,that’s much better.
I walk back up the steps and freeze as a memory rushes over me. My eyes fall to the spot on the railing where Oliver and I have sat so many times with a joint pressed between our lips and the moonlight on our skin. I shake my head at the thought of him—of all of them. I don’t glance toward the sound of crashing waves in the distance. I don’t think I could bear it yet.
Being here now, I can’t help but dwell on all the time that has passed, and not a moment of it have I thought to come back and stay. Once upon a time, I dreamed of coming back and falling into his arms, but I never felt ready. It’s like I was still waiting for everything to fall into place and it never quite felt like it did. My life has never felt complete since that night. I’ve considered that the part of me that might be missing is still here, waiting for me to come pick her up, dust off her knees, and tell her everything was going to be okay.
I stick the key into the door and turn it slowly. It clicks and I twist the knob to enter the house. I freeze when the smell of familiarity hits me. I make no further movement to enter. I chew on my bottom lip and take at least twenty deep breaths. None of them are enough to give me courage. I close it, pulling my hand away like it burned me. Instead, I take a seat on the sectional patio furniture.
I dig out my phone and go to my music. I hit shuffle and fall onto my back, closing my eyes in an attempt to drown out the world and gather my courage. I’m not sure how much time passes. All I know is that it’s impossible to let myself relax with all the memories I feel surrounding me.
I’m humming and tapping my foot against the ottoman when a flashlight blares into my closed eyes. My pupils strain as I blink them open, lifting a hand to block out the obnoxious light. There’s a shadowy figure responsible. I think I might be dreaming until I hear a familiar voice say my name.
“Willow?” the voice asks, uncertainty lacing their tone. “Is that really you?”
I shoot up onto my feet and I’m met with brown eyes and buzzed hair dressed in a police uniform. My eyes widen. I don’t know what I expected to feel at this moment. I’m not sure if I want to laugh, scream, or cry.
I realize I’m staring at him with my mouth open and quickly close it. After a few heartbeats, I choke out his name, “Dean.”
A smile grows on his sharp-edged features—even his eyes smile. This isn’t exactly the reaction I expected. I thought he’d at least scowl at me for a few minutes and tell me how horrible of a person I am for leaving without saying goodbye. What I don’t expect is him to sweep me into his arms, but that’s exactly what he does. It takes me a moment to register his hug before I wrap my arms around him too.
I grin into his neck, and I think I’m laughing, but I’m too shocked to pay attention to anything but the man that has his arms wrapped around me. It’s Dean and he’s a cop. Just like his father.
He’s still holding me tightly as he whispers, “Is this real?”
I nod. I step out of his arms, keeping my hands on his shoulders so that I can get a better look at him. He’s still smiling at me like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen. I don’t deserve that smile. I take in his badge and his facial features. Gone is his baby face and in front of me now stands a man. I want to be happy, but my smile falters as sadness seeps into me at the thought of missing so much time.
I clear my throat. “You’re a cop,” I state.
He nods. Something must change in my face because he tilts his head. “What?”
I shake my head subtly, a little awestruck. “It’s just…” I trail off, a broken laugh cuts through my throat. “You’re so old now.”
Dean throws his head back and laughs. When his eyes fall back onto mine, they soften. This is a new Dean feature that I didn’t see much of when we were younger. He was always so hardcore and wild. This Dean feels gentle.
“You’re even more beautiful than I remember, Vensling.” He shakes his head while his eyes roll over my face. “I feel like I’m having a fever dream right now.”
I try to dismiss the shame I feel spreading through my cheeks, but I can’t. I’m glad it’s dark out.
“I’m real,” I assure him softly.
He takes a step back causing my hands to fall from his shoulders as he looks me over. I cross my arms and then uncross them, unsure what to say. After a very long minute, he glances around. I don’t take my eyes off him though because I’m still not certain if he’s real. I feel like I should say something—do something. I should explain myself or apologize. Probably both.
I take a step forward. “Dean—”
“I got a call from one of the neighbors,” he says, cutting my apology off like he knew it was coming. “They thought you were a homeless person.” Though his tone is tight, I can hear a bit of amusement there.
