by Brent Jones
Sierra laid on her side, Drew nestled in behind her, his arm wrapped around her soft breasts. “What a day,” he said. He wasn’t prone to such contrived expressions, but it seemed fitting. It had been a day wrought with grief, but a day of enlightenment, too. He had shed his excess baggage, discarded the chains that had held him in place.
Sierra kissed his hand, her body tight against his, her warmth calming to his soul. “I’m proud of you.” She snickered all of sudden, as if something funny had just popped in her head. “But dude, seriously. Kara was there?”
“Yup.”
“What a dirty whore.”
Drew kissed the back of her neck, his lips traveling to her shoulder blade. “I thought you said you don’t judge other people’s sexual exploits.”
“Not unless they involve you.”
“Uh oh,” Drew teased. “Sounds like someone is getting possessive.”
She rolled on her back and met his spirited gaze, a pretend look of offense on her face, and stuck out her tongue. They both erupted in emphatic glee. He kissed her slow and deep. “Don’t worry about Kara—”
“Dude, I’m not worried. I just think she’s twisted, that’s all.”
Drew held still for a moment, allowing himself to be overcome by an unfamiliar sensation. “I think I’m—” He hesitated. “I think I’m happy, Sierra, and I know it sounds selfish, but that’s all that matters. I think I’m actually happy for once. And that’s saying a lot.”
* * *
Chapter 33
Drew dipped his roller in the tray, sopping up fresh paint. Mushroom, the color was called, although Drew thought of it simply as off-white. “Almost done,” he said.
Sierra wiped her brow. “Good.” She was focused on the trim around the windows, a job that Drew detested. “I’m getting hungry.”
Weeks of sweltering summer had passed, and Drew worked tirelessly on his father’s house—now his house, to be more accurate. It was a labor of love and it was all he could think of, aside from Sierra, who occupied the rest of his consciousness.
“Oh, I almost forgot. My brother and Stephen are coming over for dinner tonight.”
“You talked to your brother today?”
“I did.”
“And?”
Drew set the roller in the tray, turning to face Sierra. “He agreed to represent me in court.”
Sierra let her brush drop to the living room floor, splattering paint on clear plastic sheets. She clapped her hands. “I knew he’d help you!”
Drew let out a deep breath. “Didn’t make asking him any easier.” He approached Sierra, pulling her close, bringing his lips to her. “Thanks for all your support.”
“Are you sucking up so I’ll cook dinner again?”
“More root vegetables? I’ll pass.”
“Dude, you can’t cook to save your life. What are you gonna make us? Toast?”
“I have something else in mind,” he said, leading Sierra to the kitchen. “Come check this out.” His laptop was sitting on the counter.
“New video diary?”
“Nope.”
Drew had sat in front of his laptop for almost an hour that morning, attempting to record a new entry. But the words came out clumsy and forced.
“I deleted them all, believe it or not. Every last one.”
“Oh?”
“Not trying to erase the past or anything. Just content to look forward for a change.” He pulled up a browser window—a tutorial on grilling. “This is what I wanted to show you.”
She scanned the screen. “I didn’t even know you had a grill.”
“It’s a bucket of rust, but it’ll do for now.”
They walked back to the living room. He hesitated to get back to work, his eyes lingering on a stack of picture frames he’d pulled from the walls.
Sierra followed his line of sight. “What’s on your mind?”
“Have you ever thought about getting married?”
“Are you crazy?”
“I didn’t mean us. Not today at least. I just mean, you know, in general.”
“It’s such an outdated concept, for starters. The ring, the dress no one ever wears again—”
“A city hall wedding then.”
“Listen, dude. Marriage isn’t a prescription for happiness the way people think it is. There are tons of unhappy married people.”
“What about my brother and Stephen? They seem happy.”
“They do, but it isn’t because they’re married. It’s because they’re in a loving relationship.” She gave her head a shake. “You know how I can spot the married couples in restaurants?”
“How?”
“They’re the ones not talking to each other.” She touched his arm. “I love that you’re thinking about the future, I really do. But marriage is just one of those things people usually do for all the wrong reasons.”
“I guess.” Drew picked up his parents’ wedding photo. “They just look so happy.”
“They probably were,” she said, giving the photo a hard look. “Your mom was beautiful.”
“She still is.”
“Do you believe that? That your mom is still with you somehow?” she asked without hint of curiosity in her voice.
Drew was slow to respond, giving himself a chance to consider her question. I always wished Mom could guide me from beyond the grave. He couldn’t recall if he’d ever shared that thought with Sierra. “I’ll never know for sure.” He placed the frame back on the stack. “I guess all that matters is that everything worked out all right.”
About the Author From bad checks to bathroom graffiti, Brent Jones has always been drawn to writing. He won a national creative writing competition at the age of fourteen, although he can’t recall what the story was about. Seventeen years later, he gave up his freelance career as a social media manager to pursue creative writing full-time. The Fifteenth of June is his debut novel.
Jones is working on his sophomore release from his home in Fort Erie, Canada. He’s a bearded cyclist, a mediocre guitarist, (mostly) vegetarian, the proud owner of two dogs with a God complex, and a devoted “Instagram husband.” Subscribe to his newsletter or follow him on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.