Page 38 of The Intimacy of Finding You

“There is a way. Don’t make fun of him. He’s perfect as he is.”

“It isn’t Fishy I’m laughin’ at. I’m laughin’ at you naming him that.”

“That’s still him. Come on, Fishy. Let’s go sit on the couch away from the mean man making fun of you.”

I rolled my eyes just as I wiped the tears away from them. They went to the couch in front of where I was standing, but I stood right where I was. Callum’s house was nice. Like, a lot nicer than I ever would’ve expected. The walls were a beautiful dark blue, and the couch and loveseat were the perfect light gray to complement them.

His house was big, too. Before we’d gone up the porch stairs, I’d spotted a fence around the back and what looked like a shed’s roof peeking out from behind it. It was the kind of house I’d always dreamed we’d have when we’d gotten older.

It was just outside the city enough to have space in between neighbors and more legroom than most city apartments or suburbs could offer. I liked it.

It almost hurt to see, though. Knowing it was what I’d imagined for us all those years ago.

I walked around the couch, pausing when I noticed the coffee table. Or, at least, I thought it was a coffee table. I ran my fingers over the wooden side, feeling the grain beneath my skin. “What’s this?”

Callum leaned forward, looking at it just as I was. “Oh, yeah. This is my coffee table. The glass here?” He felt around the side of the front, pulling just a bit. The glass on top started to move forward, revealing what I could already see underneath. “It moves, and I can mess with this underneath if I want to.”

Around the edges was just wood. In the center, beneath clear glass, was an unfinished Scrabble game, frozen in time. There were only three words. Papa, where the middle a acted as a part of the word Callum, where the m acted as a part of the word mockingbird. “Where did you get this?”

“I made it.” He stood up from the couch, Fishy watching his every move as he went to one end of the table. “My initials are carved right here.”

There, in the upper-right corner, CS was scratched into the wood. I felt it, too. I wanted to touch all of it—the dip and the slight scratch from the wood grain trying to get underneath my skin. I wanted to scrape against everything tied to him, if only for a second.

If I hadn’t had our memories together in my mind, I wasn’t sure if I would still be here. I understood freezing a memory. I understood it all too well.

“I didn’t know you made stuff like this.”

Callum shrugged. “I didn’t start really getting into it until a few years ago. The shed in the back is where I do all my work.”

Fishy was lying on the cushion right beside where Callum was sitting, so I took a seat right next to him. He was a lot calmer now—just his tail gently moving back and forth as he stared at me again. I gave in to his not-so-puppy eyes and ran my hand up and down his head and back. “Have you done other things in the house?”

“Yeah, I’ve made most of the wood in here. It’s relaxing to me and ends up being cheaper than buying wooden furniture. Now that I have everything I need to do it, anyway.”

“What are you workin’ on now?”

“Rocking chairs. One for me, one for Papa. I should be done with them before New Year.”

I almost couldn’t imagine him with a hobby like that, but it fit. “Can I see?”

He pursed his lips a little and squinted. “It’s a bit of a mess in there. But yeah, I can show it to you. Fishy, do you want to go outside?”

Fishy absolutely wanted to go outside, immediately jumping off the couch and disappearing somewhere I couldn’t see. I blindly followed Callum to what looked like a dining room with a large sliding glass door. The moment he opened it, Fishy booked it out and into the backyard.

Callum flicked a light switch, turning the outside light on. His backyard was also pretty big—the shed barely took up any space. It wasn’t a huge shed by any means, but even though it was loaded up with wood, tools, and at least a dozen cans of wood stain, it didn’t seem too cramped. There was a tall construction lamp sitting in the corner, acting as our light as Callum brought me over to the chairs.

“This one is Papa’s. It’s all finished. Mine is almost there.”

They looked like they were made of dark oak, a gorgeous, deep, rich color. “Can I touch it?”

“Yeah, Papa’s is dry, so you can sit in it too if you want.”

I reached out, sliding my hand along the armrest. It felt smooth and looked even smoother. He’d obviously put a lot of work into it. The shitty, cheap vodka I’d drunk earlier had worn off, and I could really feel it. Truly appreciate it.

Was this what love in wooden form felt like? Warm despite the snow on the ground outside, and comfortable? I couldn’t help but wonder. If we’d stayed together, would he have made me something, too? I’d like to think he would’ve.

Gently, I rested my hands on the armrests as I lowered myself into the chair. It was sturdy, holding my weight perfectly. When I moved backward, letting it rock, I almost understood what it felt like to be weightless—as light as a feather. I let the love built into the chair take all the pain and heaviness away, though it’d only be for a second. I was envious of it. Envious of a fucking chair that got to feel the hands of a man I’d never stopped loving but had left completely behind. I’d left him like I’d never loved him in the first place.

“Is it good?” Callum leaned against the table behind him, a soft smile on his lips.