Utterly Forgettable | MM Romance | Complete

Forty-Two: What Are You Selling

Mark was doing a special album of his "proposal reenactment," and had pestered everyone present at the party to send their pictures of that night. For the past couple of weeks Josh's phone would ping at random intervals, whenever someone sent a photo to the group chat Mark had created. He and Emery had taken to sharing a fondly exasperated look whenever their phones would beep in tandem.

Then one of the photos had caught his eye.

It was a photo of Mark and Michelle front and center during the proposal, yes, but on the periphery there were Emery and himself, perfectly preserved. They'd been sitting down on the floor at the time, looking into each other's eyes, and it... It soothed him, though it made him sad almost in the same breath. He'd saved it to his phone and found himself looking at whenever the ache of Emery's impending departure became too much to bear.

Was looking at it like a besotted idiot now, instead of selecting a brand of breakfast cereal and moving to the next aisle.

All the photos were niggling at him. Those photos were the beginning of something. A shared path, a journey, a life. Emery had had that once, with the ill-fated fiancé, and yet, these days, he didn't have a single photo to prove it. Or a single photo of Emma, or his parents. All his memories, gone as swiftly as the house he'd lived in. Snatched away in an instant.

In all likelihood, those mementos were gone forever. Thrown in the trash by whoever had bought the house, by someone who either didn't know or didn't care how much they meant to Emery. Emery never mentioned what he'd lost, but Josh knew him. Better than any other living person, Emery had admitted. There was no question he hurt with the absence of all the things no amount of money could ever buy back. So, yes, in all likelihood it was a fool's errand to try to find them. But likelihood wasn't certainty, and Josh owed it to Emery to try.

So he was going to try.

It was only now he realized he'd been standing in the same aisle, groceries basket in hand, for who knew how many minutes. Sparing a moment's guilt for not putting the groceries back in their proper places, he left the basket where he stood and walked out, car keys in hand. Shopping would have to wait. If he was going to Long Island on the off-chance the house's new owner knew where Emery's things had ended up, it wouldn't do to get there late in the day — he needed all the good will he could get.

He felt apprehensive for the entire drive. There were many fond memories of his time in that house, but the last month he'd spent there... More jarring, even than the mark Emery's actions had left on him, was the memory of Emma's death. He'd never gone back to a client's house after they'd passed away, and Emma had been far more than a client.

That, too, was a good enough reason to go. Not just for Emery's sake, but for Emma's. She'd have liked to know he'd tried.

Parking his car on the outside of the property was awkward, but it'd have been stranger to pull up the driveway. He'd never had to worry about that before. Luck was on his side — the gate was open, allowing him to just walk up to the front door. Josh averted his eyes from the swimming pool, but his mind was perfectly capable of feeding him the details.

Taking a deep breath, he rang the doorbell and waited.

A girl of about fifteen came to greet him, though greet was too generous a description; she was so focused on her phone that she didn't actually look at Josh.

"Hi. Can I talk to the owner, please?"

Now she looked him up and down. "What are you selling?"

"I'm not selling anything. I used to work here, before it sold, and I was wondering if something had been left behind." He hoped it didn't seem too strange. Her shrug said it didn't.

"MOM!" Josh winced. The impossible decibels teenage girls managed to emit were not something he'd ever willingly expose himself to. "There's a guy here who wants to talk to you."

A minute later a pleasant-looking woman, about his age, made her way over to the door. She had the same perky upturned nose as the teenager who'd disappeared back inside the house. "May I help you?"

"Hi. I hope so. My name's Josh Winters." He extended a hand, which she shook without introducing herself. "I used to work here for a time, under the previous owner."

"Sorry," she smiled apologetically, "But we're not looking to hire anyone. You can give me your number, and I'll call you if we're in the market. What did you do? Gardening?"

"Ah, no, I'm not looking for a job."

"Oh?" Her eyes narrowed.

"Emery — the previous owner — he didn't take anything of his when he left. I know it's been a while, but I was hoping you knew what had become of his things? Are they all gone?"

She crossed her arms. "It's been about two years."

"I know," he hastened to interrupt, hand raised placatingly. "I don't mean the larger things. I just mean... Photo albums, video tapes. Memories, really. Are they all gone?"

Her expression softened. She must have thought he'd been after valuables. Then she frowned. "Who are you, again?"

"Josh Winters," he repeated. "I used to work here."

"Yes, you said. Doing what?"

"I'm a palliative carer. I worked with the previous owner's sister until she passed away."

"And why are you after his mementos?"

"He's a friend," Josh said with conviction. Yes, no matter what, Emery was a friend. Would always be a friend. "And he's moving to a new place soon. I thought the best housewarming gift I could offer would be some of his memories back. If you happened to know what became of them, or could somehow point me in the right direction, I'd really appreciate it."

She eyed him critically. Josh was beginning to feel dizzy with all the mood swings. "Do you have any proof?"

"Proof?"

"That you're friends. Even if I know where you can find someone's photos and videos, how do I know you're not a reporter wanting to dive back into the 'What became of Emery Hall' cesspool, this time with fresh childhood pics?"

There had been reporters harassing the new owners of Emery's old house? Josh had no idea it'd gotten that bad.

Proof. He took out his phone, scrolling for the photo that had gotten him started on this quest to begin with.

"This is him with me. That's about the best I can offer as proof." Not entirely true — he could come back with Emery and eliminate all doubt — but he didn't want to make Emery live through something like that, not if he had any other alternative.

The picture did the trick. She shut the door behind her and walked out to stand beside him, squinting in the sunlight. "I didn't have the heart to throw old photo albums away. There are a couple of boxes in the garage with those and some VHS tapes that looked like home videos. Come on. They're all yours."

If his drive to Long Island had seen him apprehensive, it was nothing compared to his drive back. His stomach was a knotted mess, to the point where even the heavy traffic was a welcome distraction. Things had gone better than he could have hoped for — he'd gone in search of an address, a storage room, and he'd found the very objects he'd been looking for instead — but had it been the right call?

Would Emery feel happiness at reclaiming his past, or would it be just one more thing to hurt him?

The decision was out of his hands now — he might have been able to choose not to go but, once in possession of this priceless treasure, he couldn't choose not to give it to Emery.

Time to face the music.