Sarah
Styrofoam takeout boxes sit empty and forgotten on the table while Jason and Frank talk about the future. They gesture wildly, eyes alive and vibrant as they jot down notes and ideas about what they want their new firm to look like. I’m reminded of all the photos I’ve seen of the beginning of giant companies like Google or Amazon—just a couple of guys in a basement or garage with nothing other than passion and good ideas.
Jason slides his notebook out of the way and leans forward. “The thing is, with McDougan & Kent firmly established here in Denver, I’m not sure we’re giving ourselves the best possible start by setting up to compete with them.”
I stand and gather the trash from the table. I agree with him. They need to pick up and move. It’s a realization I came to a couple days ago, but can’t wrap my head around because I don’t know where I fit into that equation.
Frank runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. You’re right there. I’ve been thinking about that, too. New York City or California seem like solid options. Thoughts?”
My heart leaps at the thought of California, but I clamp down on the excitement. This isn’t my discussion. I mean, I have some mad receptionist skills, but other than that, there’s not much I bring to the table as far as sustainable architecture goes.
“What do you think, Sarah?” Jason leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head.
I drop the silverware in the sink and cram the takeout boxes into the trash and then lean against the counter. “I think you’re right.”
Jason studies me for a long moment and then a thought flashes across his face. “Nora told me about the building you drew. That night at Impossible Design? I had some thoughts about that.”
Frank draws his brows together. “You drew a building?”
“Yeah. It was a silly thing that would never meet code, according to Nora. Just something to pass the time.”
Jason laughs. “And also, according to Nora, it was really good. She said you had some serious skills. As an artist, not an architect, of course.”
“Of course. Although, I wouldn’t go so far as to say I have skills. I just doodle when I’m bored.”
“How is it that I don’t know my girlfriend has serious skills as an artist?” Frank looks appalled.
“That’s not something that just pops up in every day conversation, you know?”
Frank stands and makes his way to me, a funny look on his face. “I love that there is still so much I have to learn about you.” He sweeps me into his arms, his gaze locked on mine, and kisses me, his hands roaming my body as if he intends to learn the rest of my secrets this very minute.
Jason rolls his eyes and then clears his throat. “Anyway, as I was saying…” He waits for Frank to release my lips. “I thought maybe we could do our own take on Impossible Design. Sarah could draw a building, one that would never work in real life, and the challenge would be to make it work.” He goes on to explain all the ways he’d want the challenge to be different, all the ways it could be better. His enthusiasm is contagious and excitement builds in my belly at the thought of being part of what these two men are building.
Frank glares at Jason until the litany of ideas tapers off. Jason’s lips part. “Don’t tell me you haven’t asked her yet.”
“Gee. Let me see. I told you I was going to ask her after you left and last I checked, you’re still here…”
“Ask me what?”
Jason begins apologizing and I lean around to put my face directly in Frank’s field of vision. “Hey. Hi. Remember me?” I give him my best aren’t I cute face. “What are you going to ask me?”
Frank catches my gaze and smiles at me. He cups my face and runs a thumb along my cheek. “Imagine it’s just the two of us. Imagine candles and soft music.”
I nod, eager for him to get to the good part. “I’m imagining.”
“Okay, good. See, I want you to move in with me for real. I want to go to Ohio and get all of your stuff and mix it up with my stuff. I want to go to bed with you and wake up with you. I can’t think of a better way to learn all the things I still want to learn about you.”
The answer to his question is a no-brainer. For me, home isn’t a place. It’s a person. It’s him. Frank Wilde. The man who stopped to help me when no one else would. The man who gave me the strength to see everything I was missing, the courage to take responsibility for my own mistakes and force my family to take responsibility for theirs.
I grab Frank’s face and kiss him loudly on the lips. “Of course I’ll move in with you!”
Frank smiles and then leans in to kiss me, his body pressing against mine. After several wonderful minutes, Jason clears his throat again. “Just a reminder that I’m still here.”
Frank releases my lips. “Yeah…about that…” He runs his hand along my hips as he jerks his head toward the door. “I think it’s about time you got out of here.”
* * *
The next day, after some serious cajoling from me, Frank and Jason decide California is the best place to start their firm and I actually jump up and down in excitement. We spend the rest of the day researching the different cities and finally decide on San Diego. The climate is perfect. The ocean is close.
“And I’ve always wanted to learn to surf,” Jason says as we all sit, grinning at each other over Wikipedia articles about our new city.
That night, I draw for Frank. At first, it feels ridiculous as he hovers over the paper, gasping at the images I bring to life. “You could sell this stuff,” he says when I’m done. When I downplay my ability, he continues to gush until I stop feeling ridiculous and start feeling hopeful.
Maybe I could sell this stuff…
After a few weeks, Frank comes with me to Brookside to help pack up all my things, to decide what I’m taking and what I’m leaving. Outside of my clothes, some pictures of my family, and other knickknacks I’ve collected over the years, there’s not much I have that’s worth keeping. Most of it finds its way to Goodwill and frankly, I don’t mind at all.
Giving away the bits and pieces of my old life is like shedding a skin. The final step of moving out of my old ways and into my new. As I watch Colton’s truck trundle off with my furniture bouncing around in the bed, a sense of warmth settles over me.
“You feeling okay?” Franks asks. “Still good with your decisions?”
I lean into him. “Most definitely. No regrets.”
“Exactly. No regrets.”
While we’re in Brookside, Frank and I stay with Colton and Tessa, but spend each evening in the main house with the rest of the family—my mom, my dad, David, and his wife and kids. It’s a strange thing, sitting around the same dining room table in the same kitchen from my childhood, and even stranger still that we’re all laughing and joking as if nothing ever went wrong between us.
Dad’s pretty much all healed. The only way you’d know about the stroke is the slight lisp to his words. One night he pulls me aside. With his hands gripping my arms, he looks at me for a long time. Finally, he draws me in for a hug and runs his hand through my hair. “I’m sorry for everything,” he says. “I was the adult in the situation. I shouldn’t have let things get as bad as they did. I should have worked harder to make things right between us. I love you, Sarah. I always have and I always will.”
The words circle around me like fireflies, bringing my broken parts back to life. I cling to them. I repeat them. I wrap my arms around my father and memorize the moment.
Frank fits in with my brothers perfectly, flinging sarcasm like he belongs in the Carmichael kitchen. They trade war stories of their youth. Dissect the challenge of growing up on a farm versus growing up on a ranch. My dad laughs and laughs at Frank’s stories about the rest of the Wilde boys.
“You boys sound a lot like these two,” he says, indicating my brothers.
Frank nods. “We are. I think our families would get along pretty well.”
And the next week, when I go home with him for a Wednesday night dinner at the Wilde ranch, I get a firsthand glimpse of how right he is.
Frank’s family is bigger.
And more boisterous.
But the love they share between them is just as strong, if not stronger. They know each other’s strengths and weaknesses and aren’t afraid to point either of the two out. They accept me with open arms and within the span of one evening, I feel just as at home with the Wildes as I do with my own family, though I’m thankful for our little slice of quiet heaven in our Denver apartment, filled with boxes and bare walls in anticipation of our move next week.
Between all the people and all the conversation and all the food, the needs of children and mothers and brothers and fathers, time with our families is pure chaos. I’m better when it’s just Frank and me. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family. I didn’t think I did, but it’s become clear to me that I do. And the more I get to know Frank’s family, the more I love them, too.
But they’re all peas in a pod, square pegs in square holes, happy with life in a small town. Satisfied with dirty hands and tired backs.
And I’m glad for them, I really am.
But I’m finally happy in the city. With the energy of many people chasing down their dreams. Cars clogging the streets and buildings reaching for the sky.
The moment we arrive in San Diego, I know without a doubt that we made the right call.
Frank and I belong here.
But more importantly, we belong together.