The Patchwork Hearts

Chapter FIFTY TWO

Maya     (Yes, two Maya chapters in a row, oops)

I knock on the front door of Holden's house, after thanking Nella for the ride. She says she is heading over to get some groceries and tells me to text her later. She also looks at me like she knows exactly what I'm thinking, before I get out of her car. I wonder if she knows I'm terrified.

   I feel like I'm breaking all the rules, all of a sudden. I can see the house I grew up in. It's right there, and this is the first time since I've been back that I don't feel like I will have a meltdown just seeing it. My dad's car is in the driveway. I've made no effort, in two months, to talk to him. But I didn't think I'd be giving Holden the time of day, either. And here I am.

   The door opens and Holden's dog slips out to greet me. She's beautiful and I instinctively reach down to pet her head, before looking up to meet Holden's eyes. They flick down my body and back up just as quickly.

   "Um, hi." He looks so confused. "Did we... make plans?"

   "No. Oh, your mom called me this morning. She asked me to come and check on you-"

   "Of course she did," he says, and then grins. "Come on in."

   I don't hesitate, even though it feels like the weird kind of deja vu. I spent years and years in this house. For a few years, I was probably here more than I was at my own house. The energy feels different now, though. This isn't a house with an amazing mom and two young boys. Now, it is Holden's house.

   The front hall looks much the same but there are more plants than I remember. I slip off my shoes, then follow him through to the kitchen, trying not to notice how good his ass looks in his jeans.

   "Do you want a drink? Coffee, or anything?" he asks me, turning back around.

   "Sure," I say, and nod. "Thanks."

   He pours two coffees and adds a little milk to his, before holding one out to me. Black. He remembers.  I take it, and our fingers touch, just a little bit.

   "You could have called first. I mean, I don't need checking up on. I'm fine, as you can see." He waves his hand down his body and back up, and then smiles when our eyes meet again. "I mean, I'm not mad you're here, though."

   "Ah. Your mom said you should be taking it easy. Are you?" I ask.

   His smile turns into a grin and I see that dimple. Running a hand through his hair, he shakes his head. "I have work to do."

   "Oh right. I would love to see one of your paintings." I try to make this sound casual and like something I'd say to a friend.

   "One? Well, you're in luck. I have twelve here." He's making a funny face so it seems like he's kidding.

   I let out a laugh and then realize he's not joking. "Twelve?"

   "I need fifteen for the exhibit. I've been inspired lately..."

   I swallow hard. "That's good, right?"

   "Yep. I don't really let people in my studio, but... I will bring a few out. Do you want to go sit in the living room?" he asks me.

   He's obviously fine. I'm glad, because he just got stabbed a couple of days ago. He needed surgery, for god's sake. And three days later he's up and around, just like normal. He must be some kind of super hero. I don't need to be here, but now I want to be here. It feels good, and right.

   "Sure," I say and turn to go to the living room with my coffee in my hand.

   This room is very similar to what I remember it being like. The TV has been upgraded. There's a love seat that I don't recognize. And the plants are in here, too. But just as I'm sitting, I spot two paintings. They are leaning against a wall, off to the side of the room. I only have to look for a second because it's so obvious that I'm looking at two different paintings of myself.