Page 40 of Sunrises & Salvation
HUNTER
“ Y ou did what?” I ask my parents, staring at the two strangers in front of me. And they have the audacity to act surprised that I’m reacting badly? They just dropped the bomb that they’ve stayed in contact with the man who broke my heart eight years ago.
Granted, my reaction was a little dramatic, and I’m grown enough now to realize that, but I still remember the hurt I felt while I waited for my parents to come pick me up that night. My heart shattered like fine china inside my chest while the words he said repeated in my head.
My mom looks at my dad, and my dad sighs. “I’m sorry, Hunter. We were worried about him—” I cut them off, irritably.
“Worried? About him ? Need I remind you he’s the reason I dropped out of college?” My mom flinches, my harsh tone loud in the quiet of their house. But Adam has been here, in this house, who knows how many freaking times. And my parents have let him. No, scratch that, they invited him.
“Honey, we know it’s a lot, but after he came by, he was very distraught. I really think you should talk to him.” I make an argumentative noise in the back of my throat and push the mashed potatoes and gravy on my plate around, making a slight mess. I hate this feeling bubbling up inside of me.
Regret.
That’s what this feeling is, but I’ve been training myself not to regret anything. And it’s worked for me so far. I’ve done a lot of stuff that I wouldn’t have before.
I’ve faced my fears, learned to accept rejection, and experienced life so much more than I thought I was ever going to. Skydiving. Trips, plural, overseas to experience different countries and cultures. Taking every moment given to me and making the most of it.
I thought I was over it, over the betrayal I experienced at the hands of the two people who were supposed to be my friends. But I guess that’s a part of life; you have to have the bad times to appreciate the good ones.
I just wish the bad ones wouldn’t involve Adam.
I can understand why my parents did what they did; they’ve always had a soft spot for him since the first time I brought him home. Every time after that gave them the chance to let him into their hearts. And that’s another thing, because Adam is so easy to love.
That’s not my place anymore, though. He’s not mine, and he never will be again. It’s something I’ve accepted, and I’ll never regret the times we were together. I learned a lot about myself because of him.
“I’m not going to talk to him.” My mom looks like she wants to argue, but I press on.
“And I need you both to be okay with it. There are a lot of feelings from the past that I don’t want to dredge up.
But I won’t interfere when you say you want to invite him over.
The only thing I ask is to respect my wishes, and don’t have us here at the same time. ”
Because if I see him, I would probably do something stupid. Like accepting whatever half-assed apology he offers because I’m a sucker when it comes to him.
My dad nods, and my mom does too, albeit reluctantly.
“Can we please drop this now? I want to enjoy my dinner with my parents before I move right back out tomorrow.”
I’m only here for tonight, and that’s because the movers don’t deliver on Sundays, which is understandable, no matter how much I don’t want to sleep in my childhood bedroom.
My mom fawns over me, asking if I need anything or if there’s anything she can help me with, while my dad focuses on his food and nods his head whenever my mom acknowledges him.
“I have everything, Mom, but there is something you can help me do.” They both listen while I lay out my plans. It won’t be the most profitable idea, but the business plan is sitting pretty in my black messenger bag, propped against the leg of the chair I’m sitting in.
I excitedly explain my plans, laying out even the minuscule details.
This is my chance to start over and do what’s been calling to me for the past eight years.
Three weeks later, I shake the realtor’s hand and take the keys. The day I’ve been waiting for is finally here. Kind of.
The space is empty; the cinder block walls bare, and the cheap lights halfway lighting the space.
That’s okay, though, because I didn’t buy this because of how it looks now, I bought it for the vision I’m going to bring to life in this spacious storefront.
The windows let in just enough sunlight to leave a rainbow stripe against the floor, and I can’t hide the wide smile that overtakes my face.
My realtor departs with a pleasant wave, and I’m left all alone.
This is my space. My dreams are finally becoming reality.
I bring in the first box of stuff I’ve been collecting over the years, small knick-knacks to fill the space and bring joy to the people that enter.
Hand-painted flowerpots displaying the various LGBTQIA+ identifications, art that I’ve created to hang on the walls, and I have a few chairs already picked out. I’m just waiting for them to be delivered.
But all of that aside, the feeling of glee runs through my veins, and I turn around, taking in every nook and cranny of this space. The high ceilings will leave enough room for me to make a second floor, where I’ll be able to create a reading nook for my customers. The options are endless.
I did this. I did it.
Box after box, I carry them in until my muscles ache and twitch in rebellion.
The space slowly fills up with my things.
Things that are going to be displayed for customers and let them immerse themselves in an experience they can enjoy.
I especially hope that it becomes a safe space, like my dream has always included.
Where people can unapologetically be themselves without worry or concern for how the world sees them.
Just like I am now, living loud and proud and not ashamed of the fact that I’m gay.
I’m gay.
Even thinking the words to myself in a town close to where I grew up gives me a sense of rightness. The one place I was never safe, let alone safe to live my truth. But that doesn’t matter anymore.
The final box is heavy, way heavier than the other ones, and my arms give out halfway between my car and the front door, so I resign to pushing the cardboard across the cement sidewalk and maneuvering it over the slight lip of the entrance.
I pull in deep lungfuls of oxygen, intertwining my hands behind my head to help the air flow faster. I saw a runner do it once, so surely if it works for them, it should work for me.
I yank the lid off the box, and a smile the size of Texas takes over my face. My babies, carefully protected with bubble wrap, and each one individually wrapped in a thin layer of plastic to prevent them from becoming damaged in the move.
The custom covers I agonized over every detail for hours, placing each minuscule feature in place and moving it around until it satisfied the voice inside my head.
The sprayed edges took forever and a lot of trial and error to get perfect.
But I like how they came out. The combination of the icy landscape, with smaller significance to the story, like hockey pucks and sticks, is carefully placed.
An omnibus of two books. I send a secret apology to every other book in the series, but maybe one day I’ll be able to create one for those as well.
This was an important project to me, though, one I’m still giddy over when the author agreed to let me take on this mission.
This book was one that changed reading romance for me, and I am humbly grateful for her seeing my vision.
I close the box, securing it tightly to make sure no damage comes to it while I set up the rest of the store with what I can, until the rest of my stuff arrives.
I don’t know when I started crying, or why, but the intense feeling washes over me until I’m sobbing on the floor with my head in my hands.
The tears trail down my face for what feels like forever, until I have nothing left inside.
The only thing now is cathartic release, letting go of the past and starting my new life.
My old life was great, working as a graphic designer, but here my dreams are actually becoming a reality. One day, I’ll look back on this memory and know that this is the day my life truly began. It took twenty-seven years to get here, and I don’t plan on wasting another moment.