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“Please.”
It felt awkward, like we were strangers standing together at the Starbucks counter, but at least we were talking. Most people wouldn’t have thought it was much, but it was incredible to me.
I mumbled a quiet, “Thanks,” as he brought me my mug. Taking it, I went over to the table and sat down.
When he was being that nice, running back to hide in my room seemed… mean. I fought for something to say. “Um, did you have a plan on how to start?” Hopefully he did, because I sure didn’t.
Owen took a sip of his coffee and nodded, walking over to the table. “Yeah, I thought we’d set aside the stuff we know is important first, then we can start going through the clothes we just want to donate.”
I nodded. It sounded like a reasonable plan. “And we just start setting aside things that might be worth some money as we find it?”
“That'll work.” It was a short answer but politer than I was used to, so I wasn’t sure what to say back. “Did you eat yet?”
He kept weirder hours than I did so I wasn’t sure how long he’d been up. He shook his head. “Not really hungry yet. I figured I’d make something after we were done. There’s enough eggs in there to make a real breakfast if that sounds good to you.”
Was he offering to cook?
“Sounds good.” My brain was still in shock with how well it was going so I was struggling to respond. “I think there’s some sausage in the freezer. Just the microwavable kind, but they were on sale last time I went shopping.”
I’d given up putting a real list together in favor of just picking out the cheapest sale stuff in the grocery store. It made meals weird sometimes, but at least there was enough food in the house.
“That works.” He nodded, and we both took another sip of coffee.
It seemed like we were both hiding behind the old mugs, but I wasn’t sure what he was struggling with. I knew the crazy running through my head, but did he? Was that why he wouldn’t look at me unless he had to?
When we’d finished our coffee but had been too quiet for far too long, there was no way to put it off any longer. I had to speak to him or clean out their stuff. Both were going to be hard. Together, they seemed impossible.
“You ready?” Again, his voice held more understanding and was nicer than I was used to.
“Sure.”
We both stood up awkwardly and headed out of the kitchen. I couldn't help looking at the spot where I’d knelt — and I could feel him watching me, doing the same. It was probably stupid, but I knew I’d never be able to walk through the kitchen without remembering that moment.
The walk through the small house seemed longer than normal and the stairs almost endless. Standing in front of the door left more awkward silence. Finally, Owen reached out and opened it.
I hadn’t been in the room in months and the air had a musty smell to it, but Owen must have come in at least a few times because it wasn’t as bad as I’d been picturing. There wasn’t any dust on the shelves or even cobwebs in the corners. It was probably the cleanest room in the house.
I gave him a quick glance and gestured with my head toward the room. “Um, thanks.” Thanks for cleaning up our dead parents’ room seemed… tactless. But I wanted him to know I’d understood.
He just shrugged and looked away. “So… Wedding dress and stuff first?” Without really waiting for an answer, Owen turned for the closet. “She probably had it in here, or in the chest under her bed. I don’t think it’s with the photo albums, but if we don’t find it there…”
He opened the door to the closet, and as outwardly calm as he seemed, I couldn’t help but wonder how real it was. A few months ago, I might’ve thought he didn’t care at all, but there was something about Owen that just never reached the surface. He wasn’t emotional so much as he was reactive, explosive, and I never knew what would set him off.
I watched, not wanting to move. I didn’t want to make Owen do all of this on his own, but I felt paralyzed by the sight of our parents’ room. It made it feel real in a way I wasn’t ready for, yet another way to force my acceptance.
“Photo albums,” Owen reminded me without turning back.
I blinked then turned for the bed, kneeling so I could reach under and pull out the cedar box they’d kept their most prized possessions in. I inhaled deeply, not wanting to open it.
Owen appeared back in the doorway to the long closet, leaning with his hip against it. “You don’t have to help,” he said, his face impassive.
I still wasn’t sure what to say. “I… It’s just… I’m fine.” I was going to stick with that. It was easier than trying to explain the crazy in my head.
“No, you’re not.” He shook his head and started walking over to me. Kneeling beside me on the floor, he reached out and opened the chest.
The smell of the wood brought back countless memories. She’d had that chest for as long as I could remember. Getting the chance to look inside it had been incredible as a child. It was like our very own treasure chest, but one that was off limits and not to be touched by children.
“Do you remember watching her sort through the stuff in here? I could never figure out why, but some days she’d just take everything out and rearrange it.” Owen looked inside the box like he wasn’t really seeing it.
