Like To Be You ✓

thirty nine pt. one

it's big-brain time!!! put on your thinking caps and let me know your theories in the comments below :)))

o-o-o

I haven't spoken to my father since I got to know about the affair.

It's unfair to him, I know, being left all alone in the dead of winter because of a stupid, stupid mistake he committed, but I couldn't bring myself to visit him.

In the morning, when I saw Mom making cinnamon rolls, Dad's favourite, I decided that I would do it.

The ground is hard with the cold, and the frozen grass snaps under my boots. When I come to a stop before my father's grave, I find five white lilies, their stalks held together with white thread. Against the corner of the stone is a glass painting of a sunflower, and the dim sunlight filters through it, casting yellow and green spots on the clean ground.

I smile and set my bunch of baby's breath next to the lilies, and dropping to the ground, I cross my legs and lean forward to press a kiss to the stone that has his name inscribed on it. 

I rub away a bit of the soil, open the tiny plastic box which has a cinnamon roll in it, gently tear a small piece off, and bury it under the soil. Then I take a bite of the roll, and smile at how long it's been since Dad and I shared a cinnamon roll, and how much I've missed it.  

I finally get up once the sun dips beneath the horizon. My throat feels raw with all the talking I've done, and I clumsily get onto my feet, craving a bottle of water.

As soon as I step away from my father's grave, the wind begins to howl. It makes the great iron gates ahead rattle, and dry flowers from neighbouring graves roll over the ground. I turn to my father's grave, ready to catch the glass painting in case it topples over, but everything is still on that patch of soil. Even the baby's breath is there as it was. 

Not a tiny petal on it trembles. 

 A plastic bottle bumps against my ankle as it goes flying by. I pull my jacket tighter around myself and trudge towards the iron gates.

It's only when I'm back in my car that I notice the dark clouds in the sky. By the time the car is warm, fat pellets of rain are pattering against the roof.

Thoroughly creeped out, I reverse my car out of its parking spot and speed down the road. When I reach Cartier Street, the rain has turned into sludgy ice. 

The garage door is open when I enter past the gates, and I decide to park my car in there too. Tyler's getting out of his Honda Civic, which has ice melting off its windows and sides. 

"Hey," I say, getting out of my car. "What're you doing here?" 

He waits for me by the door leading to the house as I press the button that'll bring down the garage's shutters. 

"It's time for some mystery-solving." He says when I come to a stop before him. His red shirt, the same one he wore when we went to the City Centre over two months ago, is folded at the collar, so I smooth it down. 

His fingers follow mine over his clavicle, and chase them down his arm. They capture mine at his wrist, and he brings them up and presses a kiss to each fingertip. 

"That sounded like a line out of Scooby Doo." I say. 

He laughs, and the pad of my index finger brushes the inside of his lip. 

"Zayne'll be here soon." His breath is warm to my cold fingers.

"You really know how to ruin the mood." I pull my fingers away and press a quick kiss to his lips. "Come on, let's go mystery-solving."