Page 83 of When Ben Loved Jace

“Knock yourself out.”

I slowly turn each page. Chinchilla features heavily. Many of the sketches are of her, but Eric makes frequent appearancesas well, along with random people who all seem to be in public settings.

“Do you go out drawing a lot?”

“When the mood strikes me. Yeah. Or sometimes I just sketch from memory. That’s why all the ones of Eric are a little off.”

“You know,” I say leadingly, “there’s an easy fix for that.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve already got the best model a guy could ever want.”

I don’t think he means me. I pause on a drawing of Chinchilla with her head resting on her front paws, pure adoration filling her eyes. Tim painted it with watercolors. “This one is really beautiful,” I say, holding it up for him to see.

“Thanks. That’s when she was still a puppy.”

I turn the page and am surprised to see myself. Tim had drawn me in the past, and painted me, but that was back in high school. This sketchbook is much newer. “How long have you had her now?”

“Gosh,” Tim says on his way over with two plates. “Must be getting close to two years now.”

He was still thinking of me then, years after we’d split up and nearly as long before we’d meet again. I close the sketchbook, my heart racing. He missed hearing me sing. I missed his art.

“You’re so talented,” I tell him.

Tim smiles while setting breakfast in front of me. “You always were my biggest cheerleader.”

“No,” I say, picking up a fork and jabbing it at him. “That was Krista. She was a literal cheerleader.”

He laughs. “Then you’ve always been my greatest champion.”

I thaw again, because it’s true. “You have a gift. I think you should share it with the world, but that’s a personal choice. At the very least, let Eric inside. He deserves that much.”

Tim sits on the other side of the table and nods solemnly without promising anything. I dedicate myself to appreciating his culinary art instead. The food looks amazing! Diced sweet potatoes have been roasted with onions, the eggs only lightly scrambled with yolks that are still soft. Some sort of crumbly cheese sprinkled over it all—feta maybe—adds a delicious pungency.

“I made it a little greasier than usual,” Tim says, seeming pleased with the way I’m shoving bite after bite into my mouth. “That always makes me feel better when I’m hungover.”

I’m actually doing pretty good, but I’ll take my medicine anyway. “Mmmm!” is the only review I can give him currently.

We both dig in, the food rapidly vanishing from our plates.

“So uh…” Tim pinches off a piece of pan-toasted bread and hand-feeds it to Chinchilla. “How are you feeling about everything else this morning?”

My chewing slows as I finally allow myself to explore the issue. I could forgive Jace. But at the moment, I don’t really want to. Of course, that’s only half of the equation. I swallow and take a swig of coffee, buying time, because I don’t want to promise anything I can’t follow through on. But having seen his art again, and all the ways that Tim has changed…

“Maybe it’s for the best,” I answer at last.

“You sure about that?” Tim asks. “You were in a lot of pain.”

“Was I?” I say as if it’s all a distant memory.

He searches my eyes, his own filled with relief, like I’ve granted him redemption. Then he stands. “Let’s make it official then.”

He rushes from the room and returns with Aaron’s note, which he takes to the stove. “Fuck all this bullshit,” he says, turning on one of the burners. “Bad endings can lead to good beginnings. Right?”

I hesitate, because part of me still feels a little uncertain. About what, exactly? I’m not sure, but I am eager to put all the ugliness behind me, so I nod. A corner of the note touches flame. The rest burns so quickly that Tim hisses and drops it in the sink before washing the ashes down the drain. I’m glad to see it go. I don’t want to wonder anymore.

“All right!” Tim says, returning to the table and hunkering down in front of his plate. “What are we gonna do with all this free time?”

“I should probably go home,” I say. “If only to get some fresh clothes.”