As We Are | Book 2

The Lioness

Chapter Five

The Lioness

Friday afternoon, I spend my day-off driving down to seaside suburbia, to help Desirae unpack into her old home again.

She insisted on not needing my help when I offered this morning on the phone, but I convinced her that I'd be a great help, while hinting that I really wanted to see her again.

Over the past week, Desirae and I have barely seen each other, we talk every other day on the phone, but I can't help but miss her beautiful face and her soul-warming presence.

Needless to say, I'm pretty darn excited to see her.

I find parking near a restaurant by the sea and I walk for a few minutes to the red-bricked apartment complex, that I've missed so much.

The last time I was here, seems like a lifetime ago.

I take the elevator up as I soak in just how much the place has changed. The walls are now and eggshell beige and the carpets are a modern black.

I walk down the hall until I'm face-to-face with door 14, savouring in the nostalgia the green door is inducing.

Desirae answers the door moments after I ring the doorbell.

"Hello, old chap," she says cheerily, hugging me as we step into the living room.

My heart is already in knots when I see her, for the first time with her coppery-brown hair out. Wild, like if a dandelion had curls.

"There aren't many boxes left, I've pretty much unpacked Molly's room and the studio," she says, rolling up the sleeves of her lilac shirtdress.

"What about your room?" I ask, walking around the room with my hands in my pockets.

"The studio can be my room for now, it's spacious, besides it's got a great view," she says lifting up a large pox and placing it on top of the other.

I walk out onto the terrace and the summer sun nearly blinds me.

I look around at the picture-perfect view that is exactly how I remember.

I look at the terrace one more time before going back inside, thinking how much of a sacred space it is because of the memories it holds.

The last time I was here, Desirae and I shared our deepest secrets that shaped who we are.

The day she finally confessed that Molly was her daughter, the day I finally told her about my dear, late sister, Madison.

"What are you thinking, Christopher?" she asks airily as I re-enter the living room, captivated and caught up in thought.

"Nothing it's just... this place holds so many of my best and worst memories."

"I know. The night I came here, all I could think about was our young adult selves and the troubles we helped each other through," she says pushing her hair back.

"We were such misfits back then," I chuckle.

"Oh, we still are," she adds, "nothing's changed," she smiles to herself.

"Everything's changed."

"Not really. We were always flowers. We've just grown – sprouted even – but... we're still the same old flowers."

Oh, how I have missed her poetic analogies, it nearly brings tears to my eyes.

I look at her for a moment too long.