The One You Can't Forget (The One, #1)

twelve

Hainsey

It's 9:30 a.m. by the time I get to Emyln's house the next day. Mondays are always my day off because they're the slowest days of every week and Mrs. Brantford is usually capable of running the shop on her own. That only works out if people want to rent the mountain bikes and avoid the tour, though. So today is my lucky day. I've been running errands since 7:00 a.m., and now it's time for me to mow the lawn like I do every third day or so. To me, it's a pointless job - something a kid attending middle school should be doing. But considering the situation I'm in, every bit of money helps.

The backyard of Mrs. Brantford's house is well-kept thanks to me. In fact, I'm the one that's basically redone the backyard since Ems left. I thought it would be a great way to practice for my landscape architecture bachelor's degree I wanted after I graduated high school. Things changed before I even had a chance to fill out an application, though.

I shake my head at the thought. There's no use in thinking about that kind of shit anymore. Daydreaming isn't going to help me get through the day.

I don't bother knocking on the front door. I've been working with this schedule for years. Although I'm not a fan of Ems's Mom, I do have to appreciate all the things she's done for me - all the dinners she's invited me over for, the jobs she's given me. One thing I do have to admit is that the feeling of guilt is a lot stronger than it was when Ems was living in Abbotsford. Now it feels like I'm fraternizing with the enemy. Mrs. Brantford is the reason why Em's family broke, and here I am helping her. I should know better. But sometimes you have to put yourself first.

Just like any other Monday, it's just Miles and Joel that are home. Both barely give a nod of acknowledgement before I'm upstairs and heading to the back door that leads to the massive backyard I have to mow.

As I walk down the hallway, I see the door to Ems's bedroom. It's closed. She must still be sleeping. I stop walking and stare at the door. I bet her bedroom is set up the same way as when she left it - the minimalist way, with her bed, desk, and chair, a couple shelves holding her favourite pictures. I remember all the time we spent together in that bedroom, doing nothing but talking or reading or spending long hours creating the ultimate playlist.

My inner voice is telling me to get a grip. It's a bad habit to think about the past, yet here I am doing it again.

But you know what's even worse than not being able to stop thinking about what things were like? What hurts more?

Thinking about what things could have been like. If she'd stayed, things would be drastically different in more ways than I can gauge. So many questions I ask on a daily basis would have an answer. For a moment, I allow myself to picture what life could be like: Ems and I driving down the Sea to Sky Highway and stopping to hike each and every waterfall; us falling asleep in the same bed and waking up in each other's arms the next morning; us being far, far away from the place and people that broke us.

I wonder if that's what we'd be doing.

But I guess Ems and I are never going to solve the mystery of what could've been.

We can be civil, we can work together, but that's it. We're not friends anymore. And we're sure as hell not lovers.

Turning away from the bedroom door, I head out into the backyard, away from her and our shared memories that I long to forget. It's a hard thing to do, but I manage.

Though I can't help but notice the magnetic pull that's tempting me to turn around, open her bedroom door, pull her into my arms, and thank her for coming back for me.