Free Coming Home to You by Liesel Schmidt

now, calling at various points of the day to check on me, stopping by the house just for a “quick visit and a cookie.” It had been how I’d discovered his absurd love of refrigerated Fig Newtons. He had come to check up on the house one day, supposedly just to see how things were going, and he’d wandered to the fridge. He’d peeked inside, then closed the door and shaken his head regrettably, all the while muttering under his breath about the uncivilized living conditions of a house with no Fig Newtons in the refrigerator.
    Needless to say, the next time he did a spot check, there they sat—waiting just for him.
    As all three of our lives became increasingly intertwined, romance bloomed, and soon Kate and Ray became nearly inseparable during her month there with me. The three of us had regular outings together, weekly trips to the movies and dinner. Game nights that lasted until the latest hours of the night. But in between those games and dinners and movies, Kate and Ray stole time together that didn’t include me, time that forged their bond as a couple instead of the trio that had begun it all. He complemented her in ways that made it inarguably apparent that this was
it
. After she’d moved to Atlanta, they’d been reduced to daily phone calls and video chats, but I knew they were both aching to see one another in person.
    And now, Ray and I were sitting across from each other in the small living room of Neil’s house, toasting the future.
    Ray finally left just after midnight, riding high on the optimism of a man in love and fueled by just the right amount of wine. I watched him pull out of the driveway and stood there, looking out at the stillness of the street, before I closed the door against the blackness of the night. The house felt quiet and so very empty after so much excitement, and I wondered fleetingly if this was what it was always going to be like—sending everyone home only to be left by myself, alone with the void.
    I sighed against the exhaustion that was quickly closing in, bringing with it all the feelings of hopelessness that so easily win the fight when you’re already too tired to go another round. I flopped down on the guest room bed and picked up the journal I’d moved from Neil’s—my—bedroom, along with my alarm clock and pillow.
    I uncapped my pen and began to write.
    Dear Neil,
    The water heater exploded today. Well, maybe not so much exploded as sprung a leak. I feel so horrible that it happened while you were away, like maybe it was somehow my fault, but Ray seems to think it would have happened even if you’d been here. Something faulty in the lines, or so he says. I don’t know if I can trust a coffee guy to shoot me straight on water heater malfunctions, though. The only things he knows how to fix involve copious amounts of caffeine, foam, and froth, and I have a feeling that this will take much more than simply tightening a loose bolt. Still, as a number-cruncher, I hardly feel qualified to argue with him.
    Since the unit was in your room and not somewhere that it could be taken care of later, we decided that it would be best to replace the carpeting in there right away.
    I hope pink shag suits you.
    The rest of the house, thankfully, seems to be fully functional at this point. I’m keeping an eye on the refrigerator, though, because that thing seems to be on its last legs. It sounds as though it’s going to break every time it cycles off, so that might be something you’ll want to have checked out when you come home.
    Here we go with the laundry list of things to do, right?
    Now for the good news.
    I’ll bet you were hoping there was some of that in here somewhere, huh? Yes, there is some. Ray is going to propose to Kate. He brought over a bottle of wine tonight to tell me all about it and celebrate, but the celebration was waylaid by the broken water heater. I promised to make it up to him by taking him out for a fabulous dinner and buying him a case of