Page 233 of Heartache Duet
After what feels like an eternity, I finally feel comfortable enough to “use” the present. I go to my room and use it in private, just in case it’s inappropriate, because who the hell knows with Connor.
I sit in the middle of my bed with the jar on my lap while darkness surrounds me. Pathetically giddy, I can’t help but giggle when I flick the switch. A buzz sounds from inside the jar, and it takes a moment for something to happen, but when it does, my jaw drops, and my heart soars. Tiny specs of light glow from the jar, hitting the walls of the room, circling all around me. “Fireflies,” I whisper, watching them float across the room. And then the music starts, “Fireflies” by Owl City. I’d told him about that camping trip with my mom, but it was so long ago, and how… how did he remember? How did he do this? Tears fill my eyes while elation fills my heart. “Mama!” I leave the jar on my bed and rush to the living room. “Mama, look!” I grasp her hand, force her onto her feet.
Trevor stands, too. “What is it?”
“Look!” I practically drag Mom into my room and wait for Trevor to step inside before closing the door. “Look! And listen.”
It takes a second before Mom gasps, “Ava, it’s our song.”
“It’s our song!” I laugh out.
“And fireflies.”
“So many of them! Whenever we want them, Mama! Connor—” I break off on a cry, the weight of his gift hitting me right in the chest. “He gave us a do-over.”
“He gave us a do-over,” Mom repeats, finding my hand in the darkness. “Oh, Ava. It’s beautiful.”
“I know.”
She squeezes my hand. “Let’s go!”
“What? Where?”
“Come on!”
Trevor opens the door for the both of us, and I quickly flick off the switch on the jar, not wanting to waste its battery. Now, Mom drags me by my arm… through the house and out the front door. She doesn’t hesitate, not even for a second as she calls over her shoulder to Trevor, “Open the garage.”
Trevor complies, and she starts rummaging through all the stuff we wanted to keep but had no real use for. “What are you looking for?” I ask.
“The tent!”
“The tent?” I repeat.
She smiles over at me. “Ava, if we’re going to have a do-over, we’re going to do it right!”
Trevor chuckles. “I think it’s over here.” He shifts around some boxes and uncovers our old camping gear.
“Yes!” Mom yells, arms raised in victory.
I laugh, my heart aching in all the best possible ways. “Where are we going to camp, Mama? This is crazy.”
“It doesn’t matter where, Ava! As long as we’re together!” She looks at Trevor. “All three of us. Me and my children!” I don’t miss the widening of Trevor’s eyes or the way her words have him standing taller. She’s always referred to him as my brother, but never as her child.
“Grab the sleeping bags,” she orders me, and of course, I do as she says, laughing when I see her throw the tent onto the unkempt grass of our front yard.
She tries to unzip the bag for the tent, but she’s struggling with just one hand, and she starts laughing—the hysterical kind that has me doing the same. It takes three people over a half hour to put up a tent that’s at least thirty years old. It doesn’t help that we only have the streetlamps to guide us. We all three stand back when it’s up and then burst out laughing at the sight of it. It’s obvious rodents have gotten to it since we used it last because there are giant holes where they shouldn’t be. “It’s so sad-looking,” I say through a giggle.
“It’s perfect,” Trevor says.
Mom nudges my side. “Go get your gift.”
I run into the house and grab the jar, then run back out, holding it to my heart. “Got it!”
Mom and Trevor are throwing the sleeping bags into the tent, and I don’t know if she plans on all of us sleeping in there for the night, but I don’t think it’s possible. Still, I crawl in with them and set the jar in the middle, then flick it back on. When the music starts, Mom begins to sing, so loud and so free, and I join in with her. We’re off-key and obnoxiously loud, and I look over at Trevor, who shrugs, yells, “I don’t know the words!”
The tent vibrates, and I think we’re the ones causing it, but then something wet hits my forehead. I look up through the giant hole above me. Another droplet. “Oh, my God, it’s raining…”
Mom cackles. “It really is a do-over!” She takes my hand again. “Let’s go.”