I’m coming home. I’m coming home. Don’t cry now, I’m coming home.
‘Home’—GRAY
It’s a Tuesday, and summer is long gone for autumn. I’m sitting at my desk, staring at my English essay, blinking as the words blur. I drain the last of my Diet Coke and sit up straighter. I have band rehearsal later, and my deal with Mum is that if I want to go to practice, homework needs to be done first.
And I want to go to practice.
I haven’t decided whether I’ll do musical theatre camp next summer—it would be fun to hang out with Cass, but the band is my priority now. At Mum’s cautious suggestion, I stopped by the office of the school counsellor a few days after Jolie’s funeral. To my surprise, Karen didn’t think I needed to spend hours talking about my feelings.
Instead, she introduced me to Jett, a guy in my year who I’ve never actually seen at school, who needed a lead singer for his band. I don’t know what brought Jett to Karen’s attention, besides truancy, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is writing songs. We’re preparing for our first real gig this weekend. And Jett’s long dark hair and tattoos don’t interest me in the slightest. I’m waiting for my own bad boy to remember he’s still alive.
As usual I get distracted thinking of Luc. That selfie I took with him at Gray’s concert is the only photo I have of us. For a while I had it as the wallpaper on my phone, but it hurt too much to see it all the time.
I can wait for as long as he needs, but I’m not going to mess with my own head any more than I have to. Although that willpower doesn’t extend to the shell he gave me. The pale pink shell has pride of place on my shelf, cracked but staying together despite the million times I’ve held it.
My thumb flies over the screen as I send him a text, reminding him of my upcoming gig. I tell him how I thought of him when I was driving home the other night and an old Gray song came on the radio. It made me think of the concert.
I try to ignore the pang I feel at the sight of the four texts above it, and the dozens more I can’t see on the screen.
All unanswered.
Texts about the nightmares I still sometimes have about Dan. Texts about my first band practice and how I vomited afterwards with the release of nerves, because it wasn’t as terrifying as I’d thought. Texts about a building I saw that I thought might interest him. Texts about the night I tried to recreate his pasta sauce for Mum, Dad and Shivani, and how we had to get pizza because I messed it up so terribly.
The messages are like tiny threads between us. I’m doing my best to maintain the connection we made. I won’t give up on Luc. I can’t. It’s thanks to him, in part, that I didn’t give up on myself.
‘Zoey.’ Mum calls my name from downstairs.
I wince. I think I promised something about hanging out the washing. Or maybe folding it.
‘Coming,’ I call. But I go back to my writing. I’ll just finish this paragraph first.
‘Zo-ey.’ Now she’s doing the singsong voice she used when I was little.
Back then, she and Dan would make up all kinds of rhymes with Zoey in silly songs. It never failed to make me giggle—until I became a teenager and it became excruciatingly embarrassing. Now it sounds a lot like love.
Shaking my head at my own sentimentality, knowing Dan would tease me mercilessly if he knew, I take the stairs to the rhythm of the house track that’s playing in my room. I’m humming along too, while inventing a better excuse than ‘I forgot’ about the washing.
Right up until I turn the corner into the hallway, at which point all my washing excuses vanish.
Luc is here. Standing on the doorstep. Luc. I stop. Do a double take. He’s bigger and smaller than I remembered, all at once.
‘Not the washing,’ I mumble.
‘No.’ Mum’s smile is annoyingly smug as she walks past, squeezing my shoulder before leaving us in privacy.
I stand there, stunned, alone with Luc in the very place my whole world shattered all those months ago. There’s the faint click of Mum’s footsteps getting further away and a breeze coming in through the front door. I should say something, invite him in, move.
All I can do is stare.
He’s beautiful, despite clearly not having shaved since I last saw him. The dark beard on his jaw makes him look older, or maybe that’s the shadows in his sad eyes. But he’s so good to look at that it’s like the sight of him reaches into my lungs and snatches my breath.
I have to say something. ‘You’re wearing a jacket.’
The corner of his mouth kicks up in an echo of his gorgeous smile. My heart cramps at the effort it so clearly takes him. I know that feeling. Where smiling is hard and wrong. I didn’t want to smile for so long. My hands tighten with the urge to reach for him, but I don’t.
Because it’s not my place. Not yet. I told him I’d be here when he was ready. Now it’s up to him. But it’s so hard. I squeeze my eyes closed against the tears that threaten to spill over.
Then he’s standing in front of me.
I know this without opening my eyes. I know it with the movement of air and the hint of the beach that I draw in on a shaky breath. I know it with my racing heart and the giddiness of hope mixed with fear.
The twist of my belly into a tight knot accompanies the million questions in my mind. Like, what if I open my eyes and he’s not looking at me in the way that I hope?
I’m so much better now. But he’s here, and I want this so deeply I’m not sure I can take him pushing me away again.
‘Zoey,’ he says.
I open my eyes and look right into his. I think it’s love I see shining in his eyes. But I can’t be sure. ‘Why are you here?’
His eyes close for a second.
He remembers. It’s the same question he asked me. I hope he realises I’m not trying to throw it back in his face, or play games. I just need to know.
When they open again, his gaze is steady. ‘I’m here because even when I didn’t want anyone, I wanted you. Wait,’ he adds, before I can even think of saying anything. ‘Despite what I said that day when you came to my door, I believe maybe you can understand. So, you know, I’m not here because I’m fixed or healed or—’ His face scrunches. ‘Over anything.’
‘I know.’
‘I don’t think this is something I can get over. She was . . .’ His voice cracks and he wipes an angry hand across his eyes. ‘Sorry, I didn’t want to be like this. I wanted to come to you for us.’
‘You need a friend?’ I have to ask the question. I’ll be his friend if that’s what he needs. I can see how much coming here has cost him.
‘I would like to be with you. Your friend. Your boyfriend. Late-night basketball. Any way that you’ll let me spend time with you. If you can forgive the terrible things I said.’
I almost miss the forgiveness part, I’m so caught up on the boyfriend thing. I can’t help smiling, but first I need to clear the air. ‘You were in the worst of places. I get it. And all those things you suggested—the friend, the boyfriend . . . they sound pretty good to me.’
We’ve been standing so close, but at my words he moves even closer. One hand cups my cheek and he kisses me. The lightest of touches. My heart zings, and as he pulls away his mouth curves into a smile.
‘Zoey, you are the most incredible person. You drew me from the start, but part of the reason I liked being with you so much is that for a change I wasn’t that guy whose sister is dying. You didn’t give me sympathy or look at me like I could end up a burden when the worst happened.’
I’m blushing at the compliment. ‘Instead, I was the burden.’
‘You weren’t. I admired your strength so much. You’d been through this terrible thing and made it out the other side. I love all of you, Zoey.’
He loves me.
My heart slams into my ribs and I have to resist asking if he’s got the right person. Instead, I finally say the words I’ve been too scared to type in the dozens of texts I’ve sent him. ‘I love you, Luc.’
His lips find mine but then he breaks contact, looking past me over my shoulder. ‘I didn’t even introduce myself to your mum. I was that nervous.’
‘She’ll give us space. You’re lucky Dan’s not around. There’s no way we would have managed two kisses and a conversation without teasing.’
Luc looks surprised. I guess it’s the easy way Dan’s name rolls off my tongue. ‘It seems talking about him with my parents has made remembering hurt a little less.’
He nods. ‘Dad and I talk about Jolie all the time. It keeps her with us.’ He sneaks another kiss. ‘Have I mentioned how much I adore you?’
‘I don’t think I could hear that enough.’ I pause. ‘For a long time I wasn’t sure I deserved to have love or feel happy. Not when Dan couldn’t. Not after all the mistakes I made.’
His hands tighten on my waist. ‘Why do you think I’ve kept my distance these last few weeks? How could I be with you and allow myself the happiness it gives me, when Jolie . . . I wanted to hold you that day on my doorstep but the sight of you lifted my spirits in a way that made me feel guilty.’
‘But she’d want you to be happy.’
His grin is crooked and adorable. ‘I’m starting to know that. One of the last things she told me was to stop moping around her hospital room like a grouch and return your calls, but I couldn’t. I needed time.’
‘And now?’
‘I think I love you even more. Knowing you were there all this time . . . You’ll never know the hours I spent lying awake, reading and re-reading those texts you sent me. It was like every ding was another of those ring things they have on ships that keep you afloat. I would have drowned without you.’
‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Sure.’
‘That first night, when I asked why you were grumpy and you pretty much told me where to go. What was all that about?’
‘It was because of Jolie,’ he admits. ‘I didn’t know how to keep her secret. And I didn’t know how to pretend I wasn’t watching someone I love carry out a wish they’d been granted because they were dying.’
My hand closes over his. Still strong despite the pain in his voice. ‘I guessed later it wasn’t at me.’
‘And I liked you. But that wasn’t part of my supervision plan. I couldn’t sleep after the way I’d treated you, but I didn’t know how to explain and keep my promise to Jolie. I saw you leave the campsite that night. I wanted to go after you, to apologise, but I thought you’d figure me for some stalker.’ This time when he kisses me there’s all the pent-up emotion of these last few weeks. I match his hunger, deepening the kiss. When we stop to breathe, there’s wonder on his face.
‘What?’ I ask.
He doesn’t answer, keeping up the amazed act until I have to consider a sharp jab to his ribs. But then he chuckles.
‘This,’ he brushes my lips again, ‘is the only way to taste Diet Coke.’
I cover my mouth. ‘Is it yuck?’
He kisses each knuckle and then nudges my hand aside before answering against my lips. ‘Not at all.’
* * *
‘He’s here.’ Mum’s voice winds up the stairs to my bedroom.
The announcement is unnecessary—I’ve been staring out my window for the last hour, waiting for Luc to arrive.
Despite having been ready for ages, I check my reflection one more time. It’s kind of crazy really. This guy has seen me first thing in the morning, sunburned and without make-up. And as of last night he’s seen me sweaty and amped, singing on stage. He’s seen me drenched from a storm, crying and fighting with a grief I’ll never quite get over.
But it’s hard not to want to impress him. Since he came by on Tuesday we’ve been texting, and we even stopped for a late-night burger when he drove me home from the gig last night. However, he was super secretive when he asked if I was free for lunch today, and wouldn’t tell me where we’d be going.
Everything looks bright this morning. Even the girl in the mirror. I smile at her because I can meet her gaze at last. She’s not the same girl Dan knew.
She’s better.
And I hope he’d like her. In between teasing her and farting on her head, of course.
With one last critical scan of my long white dress and denim jacket, I slip on my wedges and hurry to meet Luc at the door. Mum and Dad look up from the paper as I pass.
Dad clears his throat. ‘Tell Luc he’s welcome to stay for dinner later. Shivani and the little man will be coming.’
‘I will.’
I’m out the door before Luc has climbed out of the car.
‘Hey,’ he says, wrapping me in a hug. ‘I’m pretty glad to see you too.’
I press a hard kiss to his lips. ‘Dad said you should come for the family dinner tonight. I think he likes you.’
Luc wipes a hand across his brow. ‘I wasn’t sure he liked my dance moves last night.’
I wince. ‘Please tell me they didn’t dance. It’s bad enough having my parents come to my show.’
‘By bad, you mean really good?’
Sprung. It was great. They only stayed for the first few songs but it was kind of cool to see them there at the back of the crowd. I grin. ‘Maybe. Where are we going, anyway?’
‘You’ll see.’
I’m more than a little confused when he parks outside one of the city’s biggest hospitals twenty minutes later. He gets a picnic hamper from the backseat and holds out a hand to me. ‘Coming?’
‘A picnic at a hospital?’
He sighs. ‘I’m hoping it will be better than it sounds.’
I get out and he links his fingers through mine. He explains that Jolie spent a lot of time here over the years. He shares the usual sibling stories of fights and adventures, but with the added twist of Jolie being hooked up to monitors, and nurses shushing them when they got out of hand.
They’re happy memories mostly, and he smiles as he tells them, all the while leading me along corridors then into a lift and through more corridors until I’m thoroughly lost.
We stop at a glass door. It’s close enough to the children’s ward that I can hear chattering voices. There’s a big sign with the words ‘Construction Site’.
Letting go of my hand, Luc pulls a key from his pocket. He unlocks the door and pushes it open.
I look around the corridor, expecting someone to yell at us for trespassing. ‘Are we allowed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do we need to wear hard hats or anything?’
‘Not as of two days ago. It’s a shame—I think you’d be hot in yellow. And boots. Now I kind of wish I’d brought you earlier, but I wanted you to see it finished.’
‘See what?’
He holds the door wide. ‘Take a look.’
I step over the threshold and into a kid’s fantasy. High windows let light stream over an area filled with climbing and digging and swinging equipment. Amazing murals of robots and animals and Disney princesses brighten the walls. But the centrepiece is all Jolie.
A blue-grey cubby with white trim and a bright pink front door.
There’s a small plaque in front of the colourful building. It reads, ‘Jolie’s House. Because we remember.’
I trace the words on my wrist.
The night I got the tattoo, I stumbled into the place and told the woman what I wanted, ignoring the judgement in her eyes. I didn’t care that she sneered through her lip rings. The needle stung so bad but I didn’t cry. I laughed until I hiccupped and laughed some more. Until tears ran down my cheeks.
I thought the words meant that I needed to go back to the way I was before Dan died if I wanted to be happy.
Now I think maybe they mean that I’m allowed to keep going. That it’s okay to change.
I can’t go back, and it was crazy for me to try. But maybe, just maybe, there’s a new kind of happiness ahead. If I can manage not to let my lingering fear screw the whole thing up.
Luc and I explore the playhouse together. We debate whether boys will use the rainbow-coloured tea set, race each other up the climbing wall and laugh as we fly down the slide.
‘I can imagine her here,’ I say.
Luc’s eyes grow misty. ‘Me too. She loved all the different play areas around the hospital but I think she would have adored this one.’ He exhales hard. ‘This couldn’t have been built without Gray helping to fund it. I know it’s not much money to him, but it’s a lot to us. He stayed in town for a few days after the funeral. We were talking late one night about her legacy and he remembered the house. She raved about it to him that very first night. We thought this was the perfect place.’
‘The kids will love it.’
‘I think so too. And don’t forget, I promised you lunch.’
I spread out the blue-and-white checked blanket while he pulls containers from the basket. The sun shines through the tall glass windows and it’s warm enough that I have to take off my jacket. It feels like a little bit of summer has been caught in this magical space.
‘First we have a crab pasta thing. It had a fancy name, and you like seafood, so I figured . . .’
He’s looking all nervous and hopeful and I think my heart might burst from the cuteness of it all. Then his words sink in. Crab pasta. I put my hand to my mouth in exaggerated horror. ‘You want me to eat Sebastian?’ I tease.
He understands the reference to Jolie’s favourite Disney movie. ‘No, I checked before I cooked him, this one was nameless.’
‘You cooked? I thought you didn’t really like cooking.’
‘Me too.’ He places the cold pasta salad and crusty bread out on the blanket. ‘For the last few years my life has revolved around Jolie, and I don’t regret a minute of that time. I thought I cooked for her sake, now I’m trying to work out if that’s true.’
I understand. I’m still trying to work out who I am now that Dan’s gone. I’m the same and different. Better for Luc to work it out over some recipes than lying in the gutter after a big night like me.
I sneak one of the pasta tubes from the bowl, giving him an unrepentant grin when he pretends annoyance. ‘It looks too good to wait.’ The creamy pink sauce starts to dribble down my fingers and I pop it between my lips before I can make any more of a mess. ‘Oh, my, deliciousness,’ I moan.
I lick the remnants from my fingers and his dark eyes on me make the gesture intimate.
I frown. ‘Don’t look at me like that in a children’s playground.’
Red spots appear on his cheeks as he scans the empty area. ‘I wasn’t looking at you like anything—besides, the area doesn’t open until tomorrow.’ He leans closer. ‘We’re most definitely alone.’
His mouth on mine takes thought and leaves feeling. It opens and I’m drowning and flying and I don’t even know. There is nothing else. I’ve been waiting for this—perhaps forever.
There’s something more than love and heat in his kiss. There’s happiness. I know what it’s like to fear that there’s no such thing, so I’m learning to treasure every drop. Being with Luc makes me think there might be more of it ahead.
But I don’t know. That not knowing used to terrify me. Life was this fragile thing that could be snatched away at any moment. But living with the terror is getting a little easier.
‘I love you,’ he says.
Simple words that wrap around me and then through me, warming the cold places I used to think were on permanent freeze. It’s not that with Luc I don’t think anything bad can happen—we’re both painfully aware of the crap that life can deal.
But in Luc’s arms, I remember that I can handle anything.
I remember.