Hotline Fling

47: Turning Tides

Juneau's POV

It was beyond depressing when your bedroom space got replaced by an air hockey table.

My former bedroom, a corner within Aunt Margaret and Uncle Joseph's unfinished basement, was depressing when my bed was in it. Jax and Gage shared a room, and I refused to share a room with Alec's raging teenage boners. Aunt Margaret and Uncle Joseph set up my makeshift bedroom here until they tossed my bed to the curb. Surprisingly they tossed it out, Uncle Joe must've finally won an argument.

"We'll get you a bed tomorrow," he promised.

"It's...inhabitable," I mumbled.

It was depressing as fuck. My meager belongings from the U-haul trailer created a small stack of boxes behind my red sofa.

"I'd give you Alec's old bed, but..." Uncle Joe rubbed his bald head and gave me an apologetic smile. "Can't guarantee it's clean."

Eww. Disgusting. They threw out my bed but kept his cum-stained mattress? "I'll sleep on the sofa. Really, not a big deal. Totally preferable."

Aunt Margaret clasped her hands. "Now that you're here, Juneau, there's some stuff you need to go through."

I needed to contact Damian, but their one-hour notice gave me little time to pack. But I also needed privacy because I couldn't guarantee I wouldn't start crying under the overwhelming pressure of my professional and personal failures.

"This time, you're staying until you find some stability. No more flying out like a bat outta hell." Aunt Margaret pointed to another pile of boxes stacked in a pyramid behind the large, slouchy, butt-carved, L-shaped sofa that made my ugly red one look like an improvement. "I never threw anything out."

"Damn right you didn't," Uncle Joseph teased. Before Aunt Margaret acted on her angry eyes, he kissed her forehead. "Which is why I love you. Everything's important."

"I should toss you out to the curb." Indignation filled her voice, but her eyes flashed with playfulness. She pointed at the stairs. Uncle Joe was getting kicked out.

"No one would take me," he called behind his heavy steps. "Good luck with Hoarder Helen, Juneau."

"I prefer...collector and admirer." Aunt Margaret huffed, then pointed at the top of her pile. "Those are yours from City College."

"Great." I cracked open the one on top to memorabilia of my college boyfriends, sweatshirts, and minimally used but expensive psychology textbooks. I pulled out the shirts and pushed the box to her feet. "Toss or sell. I don't care."

None of the school stuff held any sentimental value. I didn't have much academic guidance in high school other than my counselor passing me a list of suggested colleges. CCNY was the only non-community college I was accepted into. My biggest mistake was letting my guilt of feeling like a family burden outweigh the financial costs. I graduated in four and a half years with decent but not impressive grades, but this was not the past baggage I minded unpacking.

I pointed to my parents' trunk. "Let's do the hard one," I told Aunt Margaret, who separated the remaining boxes into a semi-circle around where I sat on the floor.

The brown leather and brass-accented steam trunk lived most of its life at the end of my parents' bed. Their 'most important belongings' rested inside, whatever those were. I claimed it after their funeral but never opened it. Smooth leather pressed against the pads of my fingers. I traced the contrast of soft material and dulled brass edges.

Stale, aged air hit me once the lid sat cocked back at a ninety-degree angle. A rush from my accelerated heartbeat spread through me like I opened a buried treasure chest with one soft click. "Oh, gosh." I gasped at endless amounts of white lace. My mother's wedding dress. I lifted it gently in my fingers, memorizing the intricate beading around the heart-shaped neckline. It was hideous and precious all at once.