rubble of my life. And amidst it all, I had almost lost Jake … again. But he had come back to me, where he belonged, to live with Audrey, Freddy, and me. And for the first time since I was ten, everything felt good.
Damn near perfect in fact.
Audrey’s cool hand against mine brought me back to reality, sitting in the renovated Salem Skin, with all of our friends and family surrounding us at the front desk.
“Make a wish, guys,” she whispered.
“What should we wish for?” I asked Jake, and he scoffed.
“We can’t make a wish together, Blake. I make my own and you make your own. But we have to keep it secret. Don’t tell anybody your wish, Blake, or it won’t come true,” he lectured with adamancy.
“Jeez,” I muttered, shaking my head, taking in all the army of flickering flames. “Okay.”
Then, I took a deep breath and blew.
***
The cake was eaten and the guests were gone. Cee, Shane, Audrey, and I cleaned up while Jake and Freddy hung out with an episode of Daniel Tiger on the waiting room TV. Then, we all left the shop with hugs and final birthday wishes, all too ready to wind down. At home, Audrey got Freddy settled in his room, freshly furnished and decorated to his liking, while I made sure Jake was set for bed, teeth brushed and face washed. When he was comfortably huddled beneath the blanket with Blue at his side, I eagerly retired to my bedroom, flopping onto the mattress to wait for my girlfriend.
It was a good day, I reluctantly admitted to myself, allowing the smile to spread slowly across my face. It wasn’t something I’d expected, but throughout the day, I had found myself grinning and thinking about how nice it was to be celebrated. Even to have my parents there, offering a birthday card with a bit of money they knew I didn’t need. But they had wanted to give it to me, they had wanted to show some affection and love with a gift, and I had accepted with a hug.
Things weren’t perfect, but our path to recovery was lit with hope. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying the journey.
Dr. Travetti hadn’t come the way I’d hoped she might. She was invited, both by Audrey and me. I wanted her to meet Jake. I also wanted her to see the progress I’d made since our last session so many months ago. But she hadn’t come. She called instead with an apology and an explanation.
“I got my closure at Christmas, and I’m worried that seeing Sabrina’s family again will reopen the wounds that have finally begun to heal,” she’d explained regrettably. “But I wanted to call and let you know, I am so proud of you, Blake. If I haven’t said it enough, I really am, and I do hope I see you again.”
I didn’t think I ever would, but I hoped, too.
Audrey quietly entered the room and closed the door behind her, barely allowing it to click shut. “Oh, my Lord,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I didn’t think that kid would ever go to sleep.”
“He’s excited,” I offered. “It’s been a long day.”
“Oh, I know.” She climbed onto the bed beside me, sitting with her legs crossed. “I just couldn’t wait to get in here with my birthday boy.”
Her porcelain fingertips made absentminded circles along my bicep while she hell my gaze with a quiet affection. Round and round, up and down, her eyes hooded and lips curved into a small smile. A full heat puffed inside my chest, coiled through my throat, and licked with pressing insistence against my tongue until I asked, “How the hell did I get so lucky?”
“I ask myself that question a thousand times a day.”
We had a good life and a good routine. It was an easy, comfortable blanket, wrapping us up in a warm security and reminding us with gentle smiles and gentler touches that this was it. She was it for me, and I was it for her, and I couldn’t create a more imperfectly perfect pairing if someone paid me to.
“I have something for you,” I said, losing the staring contest to look away and grab a book from the drawer in my nightstand.
“It’s not my birthday,” she protested with a giggled laugh.
“Trust me, this is a present for me, too.”
I handed her the book, something she immediately recognized with widened eyes and a soft separation of her lips. When she cracked the spine and opened the pages, she let out a whispered gasp.
“What?” I asked, amused.
“I didn’t think you’d write in it,” she admitted quietly.
“Why not?”
Audrey smiled and cocked her head exhaustedly, like the answer should’ve been obvious. “You’re a little hard to please.”
Snorting, I gestured toward the book, encouraging her to read, and she did.
There wasn’t much between the pages, admittedly. Poetry was something I succumbed to only when the inspiration struck, and that didn’t happen often. Only when life got too loud, too hard, or too much, did I feel the itching need to put pen to paper. But I had, when inspiration called, and I kept every single one.
There was a poem for my birthday last year. One for Thanksgiving and for Jake’s second accident. The prose scribbled on those lines were laced with pain and written with a shaking hand. But then, there were the others that came after. The one I wrote after Audrey and I had made love. The one I jotted down quickly while unpacking her boxes. The one about having dinner with my parents, so overwhelmed by the absence of bitter words and sour faces. The one I woke up to scribble in the dark, about watching her sleep, so overrun by love and the good things I never thought I’d have, or ever deserve but always wanted.
“Blake …” Her hand pressed hard against her chest, fingers splayed.
“I’ve come a long way,” I replied as she continued to read.
“You have,” she agreed.
“That’s because of you.”
Audrey looked up, blue eyes swimming in crystal lakes, and shook her head. “No. It’s because you let it happen. You got tired of standing still, of living in the past with all your guilt and anger, and you decided to start moving. You did that. I was just there, hoping to come along for the ride.”
“Well, it was a bumpy road,” I laughed bitterly.
While clutching the book in her hands, she leaned in, kissed my lips, and whispered, “The ones worth taking usually are.”