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Gavin
Present
I stareoff in the distance as my Range Rover is loaded into a freight box with a few boxes of my clothes inside the car. The car should arrive at Micah’s house tomorrow evening. My SUV being loaded and shipped has reality setting in. And my nerves zapping like live wires.
This is really happening. I am going home.
Gavin: Car with three boxes inside should be at your place tomorrow night.
Micah: Cool. I’ll let you know when it arrives. What time is your flight tomorrow?
Gavin: 10am, with a stop in Houston. Should be in Tampa between 7-7:30pm.
Micah: If your shit arrives before you land, want me to pick you up?
Gavin: Nah. I’ll just grab an Uber.
Micah: See you tomorrow. Tell your mom I said hi. Fly safe.
After my car is driven off, I go back in the house that no longer belongs to me and breathe deeply. In Los Angeles, houses sell faster than imaginable. At least that is what my realtor said. Regardless of the reason, I am happy to have things coming together. Call it divine intervention or luck of the draw—I don’t care—but thank god I was able to check every item off my to-do list.
Scanning the empty house, I sigh. The day I put my house on the market, I also asked every person I knew if they wanted to purchase any of my furniture. A few hours ago, the last piece—my bed—was picked up. With not much furniture in the first place, it wasn’t challenging to sell a bed with two nightstands, a couch, loveseat, coffee table, and a dining set. I had buyers lined up on the first day. In less than half a day, each piece was claimed.
Everything kept falling into place. And after each domino fell, I thanked the higher power watching over me. Because obviously someone out there wanted me to repair our broken relationship.
My phone buzzes in my palm, Mom’s name and picture flashing on the screen.
“Hey, Mom.”
“You ready, honey?”
“Yeah, I just have a couple more boxes for your garage.” Yesterday, I took over the majority of what I planned to keep. All I had left was my carry-on for the plane and two small boxes.
“Okay. I’m leaving the house now. We can grab something to eat after I pick you up. See you soon.”
“See you soon.”
* * *
Mom and I sit in silence at the dining room table with two open pizza boxes between us. Of all the things to have for dinner on my last night here, Mom suggested our favorite pizza place. Honestly, it didn’t matter what we ate. As long as we spent this time together, I was happy. And as much as I dislike California, I will miss Mom terribly.
“I wish you would come back to Florida with me,” I tell her.
She sighs before taking a bite of pizza. After she finishes chewing, she says, “Gavin, maybe I will return in the future. But for now, my place is here. Maybe I’ll feel different once you’re gone, but I won’t know until that happens.”
I nod, accepting her answer. “Just hate that you’ll be out here alone. If Dad was still alive, I’d feel different.”
“I’m not alone, Gavin. Believe it or not, I have friends. Lots of them. And we spend time with one another.” Mom points her slice of pizza at me and laughs. “Just because I’m a mother and older, doesn’t mean I forgot how to enjoy life.”
“Ha ha. Fine, I guess I believe you’ll make it without me here. But if anything changes…”
“I promise you’ll be the first to know.”
We finish eating and put the extra pizza in the fridge. Plopping down on the couch, we spend the next two hours laughing at old episodes of The Simpsons. The night is the perfect end to my time in Los Angeles. Next to my mom, laughing and spending time together.
And right then, I send a wish to the universe that Mom will want to move back to Florida soon. Because I need her just as much as I do Cora. The only women in my life that matter. The only women who keep me whole and in check. My secret request is selfish, but I don’t care. There are some things in life worth being selfish over. Like love.
We rise from the couch around ten thirty, give each other a hug, and head to our respective rooms. I kick off my shoes and tug my shirt over my head before landing on the bed. I stare at the ceiling for a while, counting the plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars I stuck to the ceiling when we first moved here. The stars were a constant reminder of Cora and the French sentiment I once told her. She truly is the stars to my moon. And she illuminates everything important in the world. Everything important to me.
