Page 46 of For the Record

I hummed, the vibrations running through his shoulder. “None of this feels easy.”

He nodded, the motion rocking me slightly as his hand raised higher on my back. It was a perfectly friendly caress, but that didn’t stop my heart from picking up pace. My libido apparently didn’t understand that friends weren’t supposed to get their engine revved by other friends. It was out of control.

“I get that. But you have good people around you to help.”

That made me smile ever so slightly. I lifted my head from his shoulder, looking into those forest green eyes. “Like you?”

This time, his eyes dropped to my mouth, and for a brief moment, I thought he might just lean in. But he didn’t. He simply cleared his throat and pulled back enough to get a full view of my face. “Yeah, like me.”

Currently Playing: My Life by Billy Joel

***

It was funny how smells held more memories than most artifacts.

Don’t get me wrong, music was what usually took me back. There’s nothing like hyper-fixating on a song during an extra special season and then listening to it again a few years later. But what worked the most for me was scent.

I woke up feeling nostalgic. Maybe it was because of Dad’s flare up a couple of days ago or being out of my apartment, but something had me dragging out a box of my old things. Well, not just my old things. Some were Dad’s too. He didn’t have a ton of storage in his complex, and Adam had gone back to my house to grab the rest of my things, reassuring me for the millionth time that he didn’t mind me taking over his space.

While I was rummaging through a stack of nearly dilapidated boxes filled with homemade Christmas ornaments and those personalized keychains that I just had to have every time we went on vacation somewhere, I ran across an empty bottle of perfume from my high school days. Taking off the cap, I lifted the spout to my nose. Immediately, I got punched in the gut with memories of unnecessary drama, ridiculous crushes, and bad decisions. Mixed with a little fun here and there.

“Phew.” I put the cap back on and buried it deep in the box, ready to not see that little guy again for another ten years.

I reached for an envelope next. It was filled with old pictures of Dad and me. Every now and then, there would be one with Mom and Katherine too, but they were rare. I wondered if, even back then, he had a feeling about their loyalty to our family. If so, he never would have admitted it. A laugh sputtered out of me when I ran across one of me wearing plastic heels, giant fake sunglasses, and a banana hat. Dad wore a Santa hat and beard combo, and we each held a microphone, singing karaoke. No wonder Katherine left as soon as she turned eighteen. I was probably the most annoying little sister there ever was.

My smile grew further with each new picture. Dad and me at the zoo. Me on his shoulders with my ice cream melting all over his hair. Me around age five with a mouth covered in marshmallow fluff. A jar and a spoon in my hands and a wide smile on my face. I assumed Dad took that one. Mom would have never thought to take a picture of something she was going to have to clean up after.

I reached for a weathered green envelope labeled Aunt Trudy . Having no idea who the woman was, I assumed this was something of Mom’s that ended up in Dad’s boxes.

As I lifted the envelope, a small leather notebook fell behind it, the box shifting.

My curiosity piqued, I tossed the envelope to the side and reached for the notebook instead. Most of it appeared to be empty. I flipped through the pages back to front until I landed on a single paper with a checklist on it in Dad’s handwriting.

Bucket list, it read at the top. One item after another was listed farther down the page. I smiled to myself. He’d always had big goals.

My eyes scanned the list, taking in each one.

Make pasta from scratch

Take more pictures

Ride in a helicopter

Run a triathlon

Get a tattoo

Feed a giraffe

Ride a motorcycle

Fall in love

Become a parent

Buy a chinchilla

The only one he had ticked off was Become a parent. My stomach churned. He never got to do any of these, really. I mean, I supposed he’d fallen in love with Mom. He had to have somewhere down the line. They were married and they’d had kids. Yet it wasn’t marked off, and I couldn’t entirely blame him. Even on her best days, my mother was…a lot. Never had patience for loud noises, especially music. Hated toys being anywhere other than in our rooms. Even when I was a teenager, she pretty much walked around with a permanent storm cloud over her. Everything bothered her.