Sometimes, certain sounds and scents can be like little time machines whisking us back to moments in our pasts that are so vivid, so powerful, that we can close our eyes and step into those memories again.
Those flashes through time can be beautiful, like visiting a lost love just one more time, for the briefest of seconds.
Or they can be devastating; resuscitating ghosts we’d rather never face again.
I experience both variations. Often.
Blue and I shared years of tomorrows that turned into yesterdays, and then one day he was gone. I can’t explain how I knew, other than I watched him slowly drift away and disappear. Maybe it was the way his body relaxed and fell into a deep sleep. Or maybe the absence of the creases in his forehead. It may have been how his eyes remained the color of a summer sky—never shifting to that darker, nameless hue again. It could have been how his touch, once rough, demanding, and controlling, gave way to a sweet, patient gentleness.
I’ll always miss Blue, but I welcomed Evan.
Evan said I do.
Evan placed our newborn baby in my arms.
Evan never walks away, sorts dishes, or believes he can fly.
He does, however, believe in the myth of little red bugs sealing the fate of soulmates.
I do, too.
The sounds of strings being strummed, arpeggios, and Evan’s raspy, sexy vocals welcome me as I step out onto the sunny porch. Only now, our daughter has added her talents to the melody, and they play seamlessly together.
This particular song brings me right back to the park like it was yesterday. I remember the smiles. The rain. Blue’s sexy wink. Clouds and rainbows. Naked flesh against flesh under the bridge. Ice cream and crazy heart flutters.
I remember the singe of fear and longing that would burn through me when I’d have to go back to work and life. As if my heart was telling me no, don’t go too far. This is where you belong.
As soon as I put the tray of iced teas and lemon sugar cookies down on the wicker table in front of them, Evan and Lyric finish their duet and put their instruments off to the side to reach for their favorite cookies.
“I hope you made more, Mom,” Lyric teases. “Dad will devour all of these himself.”
Smiling, I sit on the cushioned loveseat next to Evan. The porch has become our favorite part of the house since we moved in. The house was gutted and rebuilt in record time. We left a lot of the original charm of the house—such as the hardwood floors and the crown molding, but we did some major restructuring to the overall layout. Many of the walls were removed or relocated to give the house an airy, open concept modern style. The bathrooms and kitchen have been completely updated. Our little shed in the backyard has been converted into a small studio—or mancave as Evan likes to call it. We insisted on keeping the original tin roof and have spent many a rainy night in that shed, snuggling on the futon with candles lit.
The house isn’t lonely anymore, or a place Evan is afraid enter. It’s now a home full of love, music, and happiness.
“There’s lots more cookies inside,” I assure them.
My husband puts his arm around me and pulls me closer. “Thank you for the cookies,” he says, kissing my cheek. “They’re good writing fuel.”
He’s been working on his first solo album, Out of the Blue, for several months. It’s a compilation of new and old acoustic songs he’s written that are much like the songs he used to play in the park with Acorn. Soft, dreamy, and a bit haunting.
“You’re welcome.” I smile, then shift my gaze to our five-year-old son, Noah. He’s sitting on the floor with Mickey in the far corner of the porch, humming to himself. He stares out the windows up at the sky, watching the clouds go by.
Daydreaming.
He has no interest in cookies today. Or breakfast. He completely ignored my offer of fruit or cereal or pancakes earlier, only wanting to sit with the dog, listen to his father and sister play music, and look at the sky. Getting him to eat lately has been difficult.
Evan leans closer to me, nudges his face into my hair and whispers in my ear. “He’s fine, baby. I promise.”
I hope so.
I wonder. And I worry.
Noah could be like Blue. Lost. Confused. Struggling with thoughts and voices. Afraid to ask for help—or worse—not knowing he needs help.
Or, he could just be a thinker. A quiet daydreamer. Like Evan is now.
So I watch him closely—maybe too closely, I admit.
Evan gives my hand a squeeze, then grabs an iced tea and a handful of cookies. My gaze lingers on him as he walks to the corner of the porch. His old, button-down blue jeans still fit him in a way that makes my insides flutter with desire. A few strands of gray streak his long hair that’s tied back today, accentuating his narrow jawline. He no longer tries to cover the faint, jagged scar on his cheek with his hair. I no longer think of that scar as a reminder he almost died. I think of it as a reminder he lived.
He sits crossed-legged next to our son, and Mickey immediately climbs into his lap. Noah nods at something Evan has said in a voice too soft for me to hear. He takes the glass of iced tea and sips it with an adorable grin that’s a mirror image of his father’s. My worry eases when Evan breaks a cookie in half and gives half to Mickey and half to Noah, who chews it and points up toward the sky. I’m sure he’s explaining a cloud figure in great detail, and Evan listens intently, while gently pushing Noah’s long hair out of his face.
He meets my gaze across the porch and winks at me, mouthing the words “I love you.” Smiling, I blow him a kiss back, before turning my attention to Lyric, who’s telling me about a guy she’s been seeing.
She thinks he’s the one. He’s complicated, she says, but she doesn’t care.
I understand. More than she knows.
I never wished for, or wanted perfect. I only wanted to love and be loved. I believe in the happy ending—for all of us.
