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“No. No. I’m good. I’ll be fine. I have a meal to prep.”
She watches me for a few seconds more before she nods then smiles.
“Okay, hun. Don’t go trying to do everything. I said I wanted to learn, and I mean it.”
I laugh because Journee is one of the worst cooks. She is amazing with her garden, loves all animals, but is horrendous in the kitchen. Still, she tries. She refuses to let this get the better of her. As long as she’s willing to try then I’ll be willing to show her. All the while making a backup dish or three just in case hers implodes in our faces. People laugh but it’s happened several times in the past. Very messy.
“O-kay.” I drag out the two syllables as I unlock my locker and grab my bag. “I’ll save all the chopping for you.”
She gasps then kicks my locker door.
“Hey! That’s not all I’m good for.”
“Never said that. You did. See ya.”
I hear her groan as I slip out the back. Checking my watch, I note the time. The next shuttle is moments away. Speed walking to the stop, I arrive just in time. Taking the DOT is one of many things I like to do here. I rarely use my car. If I do, it’s because I have errands I need to run before or directly after work. Journee and I usually come in to work together. Today, we didn’t because we both had things we agreed to bring to celebrate Noelle at work. We had a small gathering at the foundation, but a larger shindig at home.
Home.
That word sparks memories from other places. My past. I beat them back. I don’t want to deal with them. Seeing Daire has my thoughts trying to lead me down a road I don’t have any intention of venturing. There’s a good reason for it. The last time I strolled that way, I ended up in a very dark place. I’d like to steer clear of that nightmarish hell at all costs. Thank you very much.
The house I share with Journee is home and the only home I need to think of when I hear that word.
Who are you trying to convince?
I begin humming random melodies. They sound like children’s tunes. It won’t be until much later that I realize the significance of such a thing. For now, I multitask by making a list of what needs to be done when I get home while thinking of the first things that need to be handled.
Journee and I share a place here. It was Journee’s at first. Now, it’s ours. I’ve been back in Savannah for a little over a year now. I used to live here a few years ago. My mother lives here. She was born here and has always loved it. I was born in ... another part of Georgia. I lived here for two years before I moved away. She brought me back here after ... everything. We lasted one month before I couldn’t take being under the same roof as her. Journee had posted a flyer for a roommate on one of the information boards at a center I visited once. The rest is history, as they say.
As is everything in the past.
I shake away the thoughts as I disembark the shuttle. Walking to our four-bedroom home while trying to focus my thoughts is an exercise in futility. I focus on naming the flowers and plants I pass on my way home. The Tuscan sun yellow, two-story house is a welcome sight. It’s my signal to shift my thoughts.
Once inside, the real work begins. The hardest part of my day is keeping my mind from drifting. I can’t allow it to venture into that territory of other. It’s too much and I know I’m not ready for it. Setting the timer on my watch, I prepare for the uphill climb that is my mental fight against the past.
Music at an increased volume. Check. Random movie playing on surround sound speakers. Check. Three hours and fifty-six minutes and counting. Let the war begin.
Chapter 3
JAXSON
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Savannah, GA April 11– Tuesday afternoon
