Shoes were dumped unceremoniously in the suitcases, then jeans and T-shirts. I'd bring a garbage bag up here next time and throw away his personal clothing items. I was still so fucking pissed off, so maybe I really would auction them off on eBay. I just wasn't sure whom exactly I was so angry with—him, myself, maybe both. I sighed. "Sorry, man, but I am. I'm so damn mad. I fucking am. You should be here." I sat down on the small bench in the middle of the room and just stared around, letting a few tears fall. This was okay; this was normal. This was the way normal people grieved. And why had I come here today when I had planned to come weeks ago and decided I wasn't ready? And I was here now—the day after Lily had rejected me? Why? To prove I was strong enough to handle this? To prove I wasn't the damaged goods I'd been made to feel like? To prove I could grieve normally? "Christ," I muttered.
I carried the suitcases into the hall and took one last look around his room. Eventually, I'd have to do something with the furniture. Either that, or I could sell the house furnished. I walked downstairs, lugging the overstuffed suitcases and set them down at the front door. I looked back up the vast staircase. The office. It was the only other place I could think of that I'd need to clear personally, the only other place he might have personal items, personal correspondence, etcetera.
Inside the room, there were a couple bookshelves, but the only books in it were ones I could tell had been placed there for show by a decorator. Holden had never read or been interested in reading War and Peace in his life. I had to chuckle at that. Holden had been many things, but a bookworm had not been one of them.
We so rarely hung out in his office, I didn't recognize most of the items, but a box on the bottom shelf looked vaguely familiar. Picking it up, I placed it on the desk. What I saw when I opened it caused my breath to catch. Oh shit. Photos of us as kids. As I flipped through them, memories skated through my mind: how we would use BB guns to shoot at cans in Holden's backyard for hours after school when we were supposed to be doing homework. How Holden would get model car kits for his birthday and Christmas, and his dad would build them with us. How Holden would grow impatient and I'd end up finishing them while he chattered relentlessly about anything and everything, just there, keeping me company. The time a kid at school tripped me in the hallway and laughed as I wiped out, and later Holden spent his allowance money on shaving foam and squirted about fifteen cans of it through the vents in his locker. Watching R-rated horror movies when I spent the night at his house, even though we weren't allowed, and then being too scared to go to sleep. Tears were streaking down my cheeks, even after I closed the box. In some strange way, now that Holden was gone, I felt like I'd done all those things alone. It felt like I kept losing Holden in little pieces: first in his physical presence, then in the things I could no longer remember—the sound of his voice, the unique phrases he liked to use. Once his house was cleaned out, I would lose proof of him in the items he owned. And then I'd be truly alone. No family. No best friend. No one.
You never really lost him. He'll always be a part of you. Always, Lily had said.
Lily. And suddenly peace broke through one of the cracks in my broken heart, just like those small flowers that somehow—impossibly—grew out of fissures in the rocks at the edge of the forest stream. Holden had changed me; he had saved me, in so many life-altering ways, whether he was here now or not, whether I got to keep him forever, or whether I didn't. I clenched my eyes shut, holding back another flood of tears. Despite the peace that flowed through my heart, an aching sadness settled inside, too. I recognized this moment for what it was: I was saying goodbye. I was finally strong enough to let him go. I tilted my head back and held my fingers up in the shape of a V. "Thank you," I choked out. "Thank you so much, buddy."
On my way out of his house, I stopped in the downstairs bathroom. After I'd washed my hands, I opened the medicine cabinet. Inside were two prescription bottles—pain pills prescribed to Holden. I hesitated only briefly before I shut the cabinet and left the bathroom. I didn't even bother flushing them down the toilet—I felt no desire whatsoever to take them. As I closed the door behind me, despite the lingering sadness, my heart felt full of all the things Holden had given me in this life: peace, love, and strength. And I'd carry those healing gifts with me forever.
**********
The doorbell rang just as I had sat down to a solitary dinner of grilled cheese and tomato soup. Wiping my hands, I got up to answer it to find Jenna standing there, biting nervously at her lip. My shoulders drooped. "Hey Jenna," I said, feeling the guilt of seeing her hurt face right in front of me. I held the door open so she could enter and led her over to my couch. "How are you? Do you want something to drink?"
She gave me a hesitant smile. "I'd love some wine if you have it."
"I'm sorry, I don't keep any alcohol in my apartment. I have soda . . ."
"Soda's good. Thanks."
I went to the kitchen and filled a glass and brought it back to her. She took a sip. I sat down next to her.
She put the glass on the coffee table and turned to me. "I'm sorry to drop by without calling—"
"It's okay." I shook my head. "I haven't called you back, and you deserve an explanation." I ran my hand through my hair. "I'm sorry, Jenna. I'm so sorry for what happened at the charity event. I can only imagine how you felt. If I had had any idea . . ."