Tommy Sallow is onto better and brighter things. After working a small hometown beat in upstate New York, he's finally in sunny California. As expected, it's the same shit in a different town. Except, you know, now he's near the ocean and miserable...
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It's cold. Colder than usual for California. We got home yesterday and I'm pretty sure we brought the New York chill with us. We got home late last night, leaving the whirlwind of New York behind. It was late, so I stayed one last night against Tommy's firm chest in the distinct comfort of his home.
As much as that moment and every moment alone with him has been a freaking dream, I couldn't wait to get Mia this morning. Being away from her this long was tough. Video chats and endless pictures are not the same as actually getting to hold her in my arms or hear her laugh throughout the day. I think Tommy was a little excited too because he insisted we pick up breakfast after getting her, not wasting any extra time this morning in getting out the door.
After picking up Mia and grabbing said breakfast, he drove us back to our place. Tommy and I decided that it would be best to talk to Mia sooner than later. To tell her everything. But we haven't quite made it that far. The plan was to make some hot chocolate, because everything goes better with hot chocolate, and for me to start the conversation with her alone. Then Tommy would come in to answer any questions she might have. But as soon as we walked in, Tommy caught sight of the yard. The very yard that still carries the broken presence of what Mia witnessed.
I could see the tense in his shoulders as he scanned the vision that was left standing. As soon as Mia chased Stella to her room, he took off outside without a word. He didn't need to say anything for me to know what was coursing through that head of his.
The thick misty air has created a wet, sleek blanket across the yard. The sky is dark, that heavy layer of clouds turning everything gray. It makes it all feel so muted, empty, lackluster. It's almost as if the universe can feel the unsettled nerves flashing across the yard at this moment. Like it knows lingering pain is being held hostage in the broken remnants of the playhouse. My brother created a pile of the mess, compiling the scraps into one area. But the damage is still apparent.
Coming back home, leaving our bubble of New York should have been terrifying. The thought of returning back to reality, of figuring out exactly what we are outside of a mystical vacation land can be worrisome. But I didn't have any of those fears. I was actually excited to return home. To bring what we had there into our everyday lives. Until I remembered the mess we would be coming back to. The reminder of what I left behind.
The moment we left New York, this very scene began playing in my mind. It's not just a shattered playhouse. It carries a lot more meaning than that. And the fact that Tommy hasn't left that yard since he walked in tells me just that.
I've been standing in this very doorway for the last several minutes. I want to move, I really do. I want to sprint across the yard and hold Tommy's hands in mine, calm the look of alarm and dismay flashing across his eyes. I want to remind him that I'm standing right here, unharmed.
But I also know he needs this.
He needs to be the one to pick up the pieces, to put it all back together.
