Page 8

Jonah

“Hey! Earth to Jonah. Anyone home?”

The blur of a green hand waving in front of my face snaps me out of the thousand-yard stare I’d been stuck in, eyes fixed on the distant horizon of rolling green hills and sunset, thoughts a few thousand miles away back in Washington.

Gemma, owner of said green hand, plops into the seat next to mine on the wide back porch of the house we’ve spent all day filling with boxes and furniture.

“Sorry,” I mutter, shaking off the last of my distraction. “Need help with something inside?”

She shakes her head. “Nah. We’re good for today. Dad’s working on dinner and mom and Kasey are discussing what color we should paint the guest room.”

Gemma clasps her hands behind her head and lets out a satisfied sigh. After the long day we’ve had, I’m in complete agreement with the sound.

The evening offers a bit of quiet reprieve after how busy the whole day has been. Friends and family from around the village have been popping in and out all day, bringing food to fill the fridge or helping to carry furniture or just stopping by to offer their well wishes and congratulations.

It’s one of the things I miss most about living here, the way everyone comes together to mark special occasions like one of their neighbors moving into a new home, babies being born, weddings celebrated with the entire clan.

All the milestones that make up a life are commemorated by the whole community.

I still love the life I’ve built for myself in Seattle, but it’s hard not to feel that wave of nostalgia, longing, and homesickness on a day like today.

“Thanks again for being here,” Gemma says, and a pinch of regret settles itself in my chest.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

She arches a brow. “You flew all the way across the country and took time off from your job. Saying thanks is the least I could do.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

That brow of hers arches even higher. “Of course it is. You know how proud we all are of you for what you’ve accomplished.”

I’m aware.

It usually comes up a half-dozen times whenever I come back to visit, and it never fails to make me squirm with discomfort, feeling distinctly like an impostor.

Sure, they might see it as impressive, but I still feel like I barely know what I’m doing most days, bumbling my way through adulthood, attempting to find myself in a world I would have had no place in just a few years ago.

I’ve always had a little chip on my shoulder about it.

Not only in the small-town-kid-heads-to-the-big-city sense, but in the sense that all paranormals have felt in some degree since the passage of the Acts.

Being visible, being a part of the human world, going up against centuries of legends and folklore that would paint us as monsters to be feared, as well as against all those people who hold the opinion that the world was better off before we were an acknowledged part of it.

It’s all been a lot to handle, and I can’t imagine my part in it being anything to write home about.

“All I’ve accomplished,” I say with a scoff. “Yeah, sure. Even if that means I’ve been a terrible son and brother and barely make it back here once a year.”

“You’re here now, aren’t you?”

“I still feel bad,” I mutter. “I haven’t been home as much as I should since I left for college.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it.” She leans over and nudges me with her shoulder. “You’ve always been too hard on yourself.”

I grumble a denial, but she just rolls her eyes.

“You have been, and you know it. And you also know you can loosen up, right? You don’t have to be everything to everyone, and you don’t have to be so perfect all the time. You’re great just the way you are.”

Her words strike a nerve. Raw and sensitive, something that’s been gnawing at me for years.

I’ve been carrying it around even before I met Susie, but I’d be a damn liar if I tried to pretend it hadn’t gotten worse this last week.

This old, tired need to prove myself, make something of myself, be a ‘success’, whatever the hell that means.

Like I always had just a little further to go before I was worthy of good things.

But maybe that’s not so true anymore.

Maybe it’s never been true.

Who knows?

Being home always makes me feel like this, like I’m not doing enough, not here enough, not repaying all my family and all this entire village has given me throughout my life. Like I’ve got this bar I’ll never quite reach, this magical ‘good enough’ that will always be just out of my grasp.

It’s the same way I’ve felt about myself, my body, my sense of confidence and willingness to go after what I want.

But Gemma’s still looking at me with that half-patient, half-superior expression on her face, like she knows she’s right and she has no problem waiting until I pull my head out of my ass and realize it, too.

And even while I don’t want to give her the satisfaction, the words feel different this time around. Maybe it’s getting older. Maybe it’s the way I’ve finally been finding my confidence and settling into my skin these past couple of years, but I decide not to fight her on it this time.

“Maybe you’re right,” I mutter.

Gemma’s eyes go wide and a gloating smile curls her lips. “I’m sorry? Can you say that again?”

“Don’t push it.”

“Come on,” she taunts. “Just once more. So I can savor it.”

“Gem,” I say, exasperated. “You’re right. Okay? Let’s not make a bigger deal of it than we need to.”

She lets out a whooping laugh. “Oh you bet your ass I’m going to make a big deal of it.”

I grumble some more, and am just about to stand and leave her to soak in her victory, but she reaches over to lay a hand on my shoulder.

“And you should make a big deal of it, too, Jonah.” Her voice has taken on a different quality. Softer. More sincere. “You deserve all the good things in the world, and I really hope you know that.”

The nerve strikes again, somewhere closer to my heart this time.

I cough around the sudden lump of emotion in my throat. “Thanks. I’ll try to remember that.”

“Good,” she murmurs.

We both fall silent, watching the sun set over emerald green hills. Overhead, birds call and lazy clouds drift through the sky, and the faint sounds of mom and dad and Kasey’s voices come from inside the house.

A perfect night.

Here, with my family, in this place that will always be home no matter how much time I spend away from it.

“Alright,” Gemma says, slapping her hands on her knees before she stands. “That’s enough of that. We’ve officially met our heart-to-heart quota for at least the next year. Let’s go see if dad needs help with dinner.”

I stand as well, following her into the kitchen with a light, expansive burst of joy unfurling in my chest. A weight lifted off my shoulders I hadn’t realized I was carrying.

Later in the evening, after we’ve eaten and said our goodnights, we leave Gemma and Kasey to settle into their new home in peace.

My parents have kept their cozy den built into the mountain rather than opting for something more contemporary, and that’s where we head after dinner.

The village is a wonderful mix of past and present, tradition and modern sensibility.

On one end, carved into the mountains, dozens of dens filled with families that have histories here going back generations.

On the other, a patchwork of new development, homes filled with some of those same legacy families, but also newcomers.

Blended homes and new faces, a breath of fresh air to usher in a whole new era after the Acts were passed.

Mom and dad turn in early, dad grumbling all the while about how he’s too damn old for manual labor, and mom giving him an indulgent smile because she knows just as well as the rest of us that when it comes to his family, there’s no favor too big and no help he wouldn’t give.

It leaves me alone, and after taking a shower I wander back to my childhood room, a small chamber cut off a short corridor leading from the main part of the den.

It’s strange to be back here, in this space that feels so much smaller than it used to when I was a kid.

Stranger still is lounging across my bed strewn with its soft mattress and furs, closing my eyes for a moment and reflecting on a whole life that I couldn’t even imagine existing when I left here to make my way into the world.

My mind drifts to Seattle, to the Bureau, and, inevitably, to Susie.

A big, dopey grin spreads across my face when I think about that evening in her apartment, our conversation at the Bureau, where we left things and where things might go when I get back.

I’m finally getting somewhere with the woman of my dreams. I have a date with her on Friday, and I’ll be damned if I’m not prouder of myself for that than I’ve ever been of anything in my life.

Still, I’m not sure what the rules are here. I’ve been aching to text her for the last couple days—or better yet, call her—but I don’t know if that would be weird.

After all, besides what happened at her apartment and that kiss we shared in the supply closet, I barely know Susie.

I’ve been too much of a godsdamned coward to work up the nerve to talk to her beyond asking her questions about her expense reports and occasionally saying hi in the breakroom, so I have no idea if reaching out to her now would come across as… too much.

I don’t want to rush things, and I don’t want to scare her off, but the longer I sit in the silence, the harder and harder it becomes to deny that urge.

An echo of what I felt last Friday afternoon. An undeniable tug. An instinct calling me toward her.

And after everything Gemma and I talked about, I’m feeling a renewed surge of confidence. After so many years chickening out and beating myself up and not having the courage, maybe it’s long past time I stepped it up and let Susie know what my intentions are here.

Besides, it’s just a text. One text. I’ll send her one casual text, just to let her know I’m thinking of her. If she doesn’t respond, no biggie. It’s evening back in Seattle and she might be busy, anyway.

Even with all those excuses and cop-outs running through my head, I can’t stop the swell of anticipation—of hope—as I reach for my phone and type out a message.