Page 146 of Your Last First Kiss
“I can’t believehe got movers and a small army of people to come here to pack and move our entire lives in just seven days,” I say as they organize the remaining boxes.
“You can do anything if you’re motivated enough. He was very, very motivated.” Miller gives me a grin.
I let out a heavy breath and look around. It almost looks like we never lived here, so maybe it’s okay to leave all the bad memories behind and only take the good. That’s the thing about starting over. You choose how you want it to go.
A mover sets a box of Miller’s belongings down on the floor. We decided this was the perfect place for him and Izzy, and since Ashton’s house is still furnished, we left all the big stuff for them.
Miller bumps my hip with his. “To new beginnings.”
I rest my head on his shoulder. “To new beginnings.”
“I still got you, you know?”
“I got you too, Miller. Always. You’re my family.”
He clears his throat like he’s uncomfortable before tugging on the collar of his shirt, then pulls away just as a car door slams outside. A second later, Gage comes barreling through the front door.
“Mom. Mom. Mom.”
“I’m right here, Gage.”
He spins and charges me. I’ve learned to brace myself for impact with him, but maybe someday he’ll learn to take it easy when he’s excited.
“Mom, there’s a gigantic bathtub at our new house. Well, Uncle Ashton’s old house, but ours now. It’s huge. And it has jets that make bubbles. Jets, Mom!”
Miller and I both laugh, and it’s so damn good to laugh for a change. When I catch his eye, I wink. “We’re going to be okay, Mill.”
“Yeah,” he says, mussing Gage’s hair. “I think you’re right.”
Just then, I catch Kai coming down the stairs holding a box. Huh. “Did the movers miss one?” I ask.
He shakes his head, and the tears he’s trying desperately to hold in slip free. Miller nods in my direction and escorts Gage into the kitchen.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“I’ve been sitting up there for hours,” he confesses. “Just sitting there looking at this box. I don’t want it, but I can’t make myself throw it away, either. It makes me so angry but also super sad, but also it, I don’t know, it’s like a piece of me or something. Like my history.”
I flip open the top of the box and see what he’s so torn up about. Pictures of him with Eddy before things got bad. Trophies he won with Eddy there encouraging him. It’s all in there.
Jesus. It’s like someone turned the power off to my heart and I don’t know how to jumpstart it. “That’s tough,” I say gently. “I understand why you’d want to get rid of it and why you might want to keep it. You’re the only one who remembers life wasn’t always bad.”
“It wasn’t bad, Mom, not always, it was just hard. You were always there for us.”
Now it’s my turn to cry.
“Yeah, it was hard. But now the decision to have a relationship with your father is yours to make. I’ll support you either way, but it’s okay to hang on to the few good memories you have of him too. All those memories make up the fabric of your life. They’re part of your story and what makes you you. And I think you’re pretty terrific.”
“Mom,” he groans, then rolls his eyes. “You were doing so good until you got all corny on me.”
“It’s my job to be corny sometimes.”
“I still don’t know what to do with this stuff.” The sadness in his voice cuts me deeply. Seeing your baby hurting and not being able to fix it is a special kind of hell.
“Why don’t I hang on to it? I’ll put it in the back of my closet, and if you ever decide you want it, you come and get it. Okay?”
“Yeah, that’s good.” He shoves the box into my arms like it might explode.
“Oh, okay. Are you good now? With everything?” I move around the room and set the box down next to the front door so we don’t forget it.
