My shackles have been broken.
Still, even with so much on my plate, Greg is always on my mind. Sometimes he’s all I can think about, and other times he’s just there in the cracks of my broken heart, quietly reminding me to keep pushing — even if it has to be without him.
He would have made the past two weeks an adventure somehow. That I know without question.
“Will they be back?” I ask David.
“Termites always find a way back,” he says on a sigh, and my stomach sours, because I know just as well as he does that this old house won’t last much longer without some serious work being done.
“Speaking of the holiday,” I say as we walk up the porch steps. “You do all this?”
I point to the lights hanging over the porch, the tree decorated in the corner, the tasteful candy canes and wire sleigh complete with fairy lights sprawling across the yard. Every single thing is brand new, a far cry from the ugly decor from the 90s I’ve held onto all this time.
Then, I frown, taking in the fresh paint on the door trim, the sanded, beautiful wood of the porch. Two brand new white rocking chairs sit next to the little Christmas tree, and a doormat that I’ve never seen in my life sits at our feet. Even the garden looks like it’s been spruced up, and I know my son doesn’t like garden work.
“David,” I say on a laugh, discovering more and more new things as I look around. “Did Julia go on a shopping spree or something?”
But my son doesn’t answer. He just smiles, presses his spare key into the front door lock, turns the knob, and opens it, standing aside for me to enter first.
“Welcome home, Mom.”
Confusion washes over me, and I’m tempted to pop off some smartass remark about how weird he’s being, but the second I swing inside my living room, all that confusion is zapped away and replaced with pure shock and disbelief.
A giant, gorgeously decorated Christmas tree is the first thing I notice — at least six-feet tall and decked out in a stunning array of red and white and gold. Bing Crosby’s voice serenades us from a speaker somewhere as I take in the rest of the room — one I don’t even recognize anymore.
The old, lumpy couch and archaic La-Z-Boy that was falling apart have been replaced by a beautiful suede sectional, a warm walnut brown and littered with plush cream throw pillows and a chunky crocheted blanket. The tile floor that was in the house when we moved in is now polished laminate, the light fixtures no longer ancient ceiling fans and exposed lightbulbs, but instead striking bronze finishes that bring a modern feel I never knew was possible in a house this age.
There’s a new pedestal coffee table, a reading nook with a sprawling wall of shelves stacked with books, and a cozy reading chair complete with a pouf ottoman footrest. Every wall is covered not only with the family photos I’ve loved and cherished for years, but new ones in stylish arrangements, and art that somehow perfectly encompasses me — flowers by a lake, sunbeams through forest trees, a cartoon bumble bee, a funny word art graphic that says, I’m sorry, did I roll my eyes out loud?
It just feels like me.
“David,” I whisper, my eyes blurring with tears. “What is this?”
Still, he doesn’t answer, just follows behind me as I round into the kitchen and yet another gasp rips from my throat. I cover my mouth, standing by the new granite island, and trying not to panic at how much he must have spent on every new appliance I can see.
A new refrigerator, new stove, new microwave, new dishwasher.
I touch that one first, shivering at the thought of not having to scrub dishes clean before putting them in the machine that’s supposed to wash them for me.
It’s all completely renovated — everything from the floors and cabinets to the light fixtures. And not just the living room and kitchen, but the guest bath, too.
“How did you afford all this?” I ask, fingers trembling where they still hover over my lips.
David smiles. “Come on,” he says. “You’ve got to see upstairs.”
“There’s more?! David, this is ridiculous.”
He doesn’t address my question about the cost, but it’s all I can think about as he shows me my new bedroom — the bed so big and plush looking that I dive into it without a second thought, laughing with glee as the comforter and pillows puff up around me. And in the bathroom, a brand-new soaking tub like I’ve always wanted sits with a candle and book on a little shelf over the edges of it.
I can’t wrap my head around it, around any of it. Every new turn is a new discovery, every room has so much new that I can’t fully take it all in.