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That dollhouse I've been living in? It's starting to feel very awkward and cramped right now.
“I want to move them,” Henry states.
I look up, but he’s looking at the table I just set.“What?” I look around the small space. There’s nowhere else it will fit. We can’t move the table.
He coughs,“I want to move Mom, Dad, and Peter. I want a place we can both go and not think about that day. Is that okay?”
Oh.
Oh!
He wants to move their graves.
“Let’s just put it on the back burner and focus on today,” Julian interrupts; his grey eyes look like thunder as they storm Henry.“Let’s think about what we’re grateful for, and we can think about this later.”
He’s trying to protect me.
“Yeah, that's okay,” Henry nods. "I just wanted to ask. I thought it might make you feel better. Knowing you never have to go back there again. I didn't mean to," He closes his exhausted eyes, "I didn't mean to fuck up dinner. ”
He looks at his watch. "Harper and Kent should be here any minute.”
“Where?” The silence after I asked that question was so loud that it had its heartbeat.“Where would you move them? You live here, and I live in Texas,” I state.
Julian’s eyes widen like I just emitted a rainbow from my mouth. It’s the first time I’ve mentioned something pertaining to after.
I swallow and look at Julian,“If I can still live with you, that is?”
Julian closes the space and grasps my hand,“You know that’s not even a question, Pumpkin.”
I chew my cheek.“I am…trying,” I sigh. "And you all are so persistent and annoying that I figured I owed it to you to try, that is.”
“You owe it to yourself,” Henry responds.
Julian squeezes my hand.
“I don’t know where to move them yet. I just know I don’t want them to stay there.” Henry replies.
I nod.I don’t want that either.
“What if…” I think about their graves. It takes an endless stream of nonsensical comments and thoughts not to envision Andrew.“Well…”Find the words Poppy.“We never got to pick anything out. Nothing was personal. Harper’s parents picked out everything for Mom and Dad, and well, they helped again with Peter. I love them for it, but if we get this second chance, what if we do something different?”
Henry nods; it’s slow and confused.
“What if we set them free?” I offer.
“What… oh,” Henry’s brows inch higher.“You mean cremate them?” He speaks each word slowly, as if it's a new language he's trying to pronounce correctly.
I nod.
Henry cracks his thumb,“I never considered that.”
“If they’re not buried, then nothing can corrupt their site. We can spread them in different places. Let them be free.”
The timer dings, alerting Julian that he needs to turn on the heating plates to start warming the food. There’s no oven or microwave here—that’s too dangerous, I guess. So, our Thanksgiving meal is going to be semi-warm, thanks to the portable heating plates Julian brought with the catered food.
“I like that idea,” Henry finally replies. I watch his face as meticulous as Sherlock Holmes picking apart a crime scene, carefully looking for signs.
I think Henry means it.
