Page 30 of Last Slice of Pie

After the first night I met Bryan when we slept in the tree house together, it slowly became our thing. Yes, he was James’s friend way more than mine, but he was still mine too. During the day, although they were nice to me, they mostly pretended I didn’t exist, but at night, if one of us put the light on in the tree house, the other would come. Sometimes we would meet several days in a row, and other times we would go months without. Every night before bed though, without fail, I would look out the window. Occasionally, I still find myself looking out there.

“What about . . . what about the house—is it still there?” he asks.

“No. A few years ago, when GiGi got sick and I started taking over the property, I didn’t feel like it was needed anymore. I fired Cole, broke it down, sold everything in it, and used the frame for firewood.”

I know he didn’t get along with his stepfather. He never said much, but then he was never one for words. Sometimes, though, with his silence and his expressions, we heard him loud and clear. To me, that house represented loneliness and sadness, and even if he never knew about it, I got rid of it for him.

He turns to look at me, his gaze one of tenderness and reverence. “James mentioned in passing once that he was no longer here. I didn’t realize it was because of you.”

I press my lips together. There’s nothing to say, so I just shrug my shoulders.

A breeze blows over us, and I shiver. It feels colder now than it did this morning. Moving closer to me, Bryan wraps his arm over my shoulders and snuggles me into his side. The movement is simple, natural, but as we stand here, I focus on his warmth, because it’s hard to reconcile with my heart that he’s really here. I’ve dreamed about moments like this with him for so long, and I’m almost afraid to blink for fear that it will disappear.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come for GiGi’s funeral. I should have, and I know it.” I glance up at him as he says this. His gaze is still locked on the tree house, but his face is solemn, his mouth turned down.

“It’s okay. Really, it is. James wasn’t here either, so I kept it small and just had a few of her friends over.”

The truth is, I didn’t want him here. At first I was angry he didn’t come—after all, she loved him, too—but I quickly realized it was for the best.

I was inconsolably grieving for her, and mourning the loss of my loved one, one who represented all of my parental love, was hard enough. To include the boy I’d loved my whole life, the one who hadn’t bothered to visit once after he left, would have been too much. I couldn’t add one more burden on my emotional wellbeing. I needed to make peace with the loss, and I needed to learn how to be alone.

“I’m still sorry . . . more sorry than you’ll ever know.”

Part of me is hoping he’s apologizing for so much more than just the missed funeral.

Bending over, his head comes to rest on top of mine. The gesture is small, but it’s enough.

“Wanna make s’mores?” I ask, hoping to lighten the mood and change the subject.

He lifts his head and looks over at the patio furniture I’ve arranged in the shape of an L with a propane fire pit filled with lava rocks in the middle. I love that fire pit. It was on clearance at Home Depot last summer and it’s kind of ugly, but I had to have it.

“Do you have Reese’s Cups?” His tone is so serious and so hopeful at the same time.

“You know I do.” I smirk.

He perks up. “Then hell yeah.”

I squeeze his waist and then release it.

Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup S’mores

MUTED SUNLIGHT WARMS my skin as the scent of Thanksgiving wakes me. The house is quiet except for Lexi moving around the kitchen, and I’m shocked to realize I slept so late. She offered me the guest bedroom, but after the s’mores, we ended up watching a movie, and I chose to stay on the couch instead. I would be lying if I said I woke up completely happy to be here; instead I feel weighted in melancholy. Yes, without a doubt I am happy I chose to come, but by being here, I’m forced to face the choices I’ve made over the years that didn’t include this, didn’t include her.

Turning my head, I stare at the fireplace. The look on her face after the repairman left last night . . . it was hard not to see the utter disappointment. Fortunately, I haven’t had any problems with my home, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time, and the price tag he quoted her was high enough to make even me flinch.

A long wooden mantle hangs over the fireplace. On it there are pictures ranging all through the years, and I’m in five of them. Five. This adds to the guilt I already carry. She kept me present in her life, whereas I tried my hardest to tuck this place into the past.

“You’re awake,” I hear from the doorway.

Sitting up, I rub my hand over my face to wipe off the sadness and find Lexi smiling at me.

“Yep, just woke up. How long have you been awake?” I ask, taking her in from head to toe: sleep pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, slippers that look like boots, and a small apron with fireflies on it tied around her waist. Her hair is back up on top of her head, and I can’t help but think she looks so good. She isn’t trying to be anyone but herself, and I love that about her.

“Maybe an hour. There’s fresh coffee and breakfast is almost done, so come on in when you’re ready.” She smiles, turns around, and practically skips back to the kitchen.

“Someone is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning,” I call after her as I make my way to the bathroom.

“I’m usually a morning person anyway, and I’m definitely happy today.”