Redemption

27 - Aisle Finds

Chapter 27 - Aisle Finds

I avoided the outside world for the next couple of weeks, not even venturing to the office, patiently waiting for the arrival of Christmas and the New Year. I haven't been able to muster the strength to step a foot outside, to show my face, afraid everyone, even strangers, will see right through me, the denial so deeply rooted in my gut.

Faking sick was easier than I expected, especially when you truly sound like your nose is plugged over the phone. I made Caleb go along with my lie, probably more for his sake than mine, knowing Jo and Bonnie would never let him hear the end of his mistake.

He's been bringing me food every day. Sometimes it's lunch, sometimes breakfast, sometimes dinner, always from a place I've never tried before. It all depends on his personal schedule, not that I mind. He'll sit with me on the couch, my feet resting on his lap, tell me about his day at work while I inhale my food, not really paying him that much attention as I shove the takeout in my mouth. He requests to see my nose every day, almost immediately after I swallow my last bite, his lip pulled between his teeth every time he looks. After he's finished with his inspection, he tells me to take my medication, even if it's over text. It irritates me. I know he has nothing but good intentions, only wanting to speed my recovery and make sure I'm well cared for, but his smothering can do the opposite of bringing me comfort.

When Christmas finally comes around, Isaac comes home, a backpack and duffel bag with him, packed to the brim. He could of overpacked, or maybe he's planning on staying for awhile. Either way, I'm glad to have him back in my space. He makes fun of my apartment, the lack of decoration, the mini Christmas tree placed in the middle of my kitchen island, the way it looks the exact same since the last time he stepped a foot in here, besides that one addition. It was always something that bugged him. His room, despite it being vacant most of the time, is crowded with clutter. He kept most of his stuff when we moved out of our childhood home, whereas I threw mine away or donated them, not willing to look at them, not wanting them following me around, haunting me with memories that have become poisoned, hollowed out. For him, it's different. He was younger, less observant, and he bounced back in ways I could not. I envied him for that.

His room is covered in posters, ones he ripped out of magazines or found at thrift shops. Most of his favorite toys from his childhood still remain on the shelves above his dresser, his baby blanket always placed neatly on top of it, folded, obstructing the view of the mirror behind it, one that leans against the dark navy blue walls.

He drags me to Target on his second day here, forcing me to buy a couple of things that I would like. It's funny having him boss me around for once. It takes us a little while, most of our focus on our banter, fighting over what we should make on Christmas Day, only three more moons until the day arrives. I finally end up selecting a few items I actually can stand, decorations I will enjoy seeing every day.

Our cart is filled to the brim with some fake plants, knowing that I don't have the ability to provide for real ones, a gold hourglass, a rack for my shoes, some magnets for my fridge, a pink alarm clock that shines the time on the wall, a rug for my bathroom, and some more picture frames. On my way out, Isaac asks if I want any paintings for my walls. It's the worst part about my place, he says, it feels weirdly uncomfortable when they're so bare, he adds.

I give in, going to look at the paintings with him. We wander aimlessly down the aisle, the bright colors jumping out at us as we pass by. Nothing catches my eyes until we are about to leave the aisle. There are two people going in for a kiss, a man and a woman, their faces outlined in a shimmering gold, the background behind their faces a dark blue, causing the strokes of gold to look like meteor showers in the night sky. Their lips are inches apart, so close to being together, to molding into one another. But there's a third person in the painting, her face in between the two people, a barrier. She's transient, eyes closed, no expression on her face.