Mystery Of Why The Universe We Created Explodes

Chapter 5

As I stepped into our house, a cacophony of raised voices and banging objects assaulted my ears. Dad and my brother, Dalyn, were at it again, their argument escalating into a heated exchange.

Their deep, manly voices boomed through the hallway, each trying to outdo the other in intensity. The air was thick with tension, making me feel like I was walking into a war zone.

I recognized the familiar signs – Dad's stern tone, Dalyn's defiant growl, and the slamming of fists on the kitchen counter. It was a familiar, yet unsettling, dynamic.

Their disagreements were frequent, often sparked by differing opinions or misunderstandings. But this time, the intensity seemed palpable, like a powder keg ready to ignite.

I hesitated, wondering whether to intervene or slip away unnoticed.

Surreptitiously, I crept up the stairs, trying to escape the familiar, yet draining, argument unfolding in the kitchen. The same discussion, the same concerns, the same frustration – it was a cycle I'd witnessed countless times.

As I reached the midpoint of the staircase, the creaking of the step beneath my foot seemed amplified. My brother, Alex, emerged from the kitchen, his eyes locking onto mine.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, the tension between us palpable. The kitchen lights illuminated his flushed face, and the mix of anger and helplessness in his eyes.

"Where have you been?" Dalyn slurred, his bloodshot eyes narrowing into an accusatory glare. The stench of alcohol wafted from his breath.

I stood frozen, unsure how to respond. Dad's intervention saved me from Dalyn's drunken interrogation.

"Get back here, Kyle. We're not yet done," Dad's firm voice boomed from the hallway.

Dalyn's eyes flashed with defiance, but he stumbled backward, disappearing into the kitchen.

"Go to your room, Kyle. Now," Dad ordered, his footsteps closing in.

I mouthed a silent "thank you" to Dad, and he responded with a discreet smile.

Seizing the opportunity, I swiftly ascended the remaining steps and darted into my room. The door creaked shut behind me, and I locked it, muffling the escalating argument.

"Don't you dare turn your back on me when I'm talking to you, young man!" Dylan's furious roar pierced through the door.

Muffled voices continued, a cacophony of anger and concern. I leaned against the door, ensuring it remained shut, and took a deep breath.

I trudged wearily into my bedroom, the weight of the world bearing down on me. The argument downstairs still raged on, a constant reminder of the chaos that had become my life.

Kyle's addiction had taken its toll on our family. Dad's frustration and worry were palpable, and I felt trapped in the middle.

As I reached my bed, I let out a deep sigh and collapsed onto the soft duvet. I buried my face in its comforting depths, covering my ears with my hands.

"Make it stop," I whispered, desperate to silence the cacophony.

But the voices persisted – Kyle's angry shouts, Dad's stern warnings, and my own anxious thoughts. They swirled in my mind like a maelstrom, refusing to subside.

I squeezed my eyes shut, focusing on the gentle texture of the duvet and the quiet sanctuary of my room. Slowly, my breathing steadied, and the din began to recede.

I slowly opened my eyes, disoriented and groggy. The persistent ringing of my phone pierced through the darkness, jolting me awake. I had no recollection of dozing off.

The blinking red dots of my alarm clock glared 8:45 P.M, a harsh reminder of my unintended slumber. My blinds remained tightly shut, blocking out any natural light.

The only illumination came from my phone, its screen glowing brightly on the floor. I crawled out of bed, stretching to retrieve it.

Without checking the caller ID, I hastily pressed the answer button.

"Hello." I groaned, still caught in the haze of slumber.

"Did I wake you up?" Rhys's deep voice resonated through the line, tinged with amusement.

"Obviously," I sighed, my eyes slowly focusing.

Rhys's laughter echoed, banishing the remnants of sleep. His infectious cackles stirred something within me, and I found myself smiling.

"Well, what can I say aside from sorry?" he asked, still chuckling.

"I'll treat you at Charlie's is better," I replied, my voice now more alert.

Rhys's warm laughter filled the line once more. "Deal!"

We spent the next half hour engrossed in conversation, catching up on each other's lives.

He had phoned to clear the air, ensuring we were on good terms. Our chat flowed effortlessly, covering everything from school to our shared interests.

As we talked, Rhys suggested meeting again at the pool tomorrow, and I agreed, looking forward to it.

But my stomach had other plans. Its loud, embarrassing growls interrupted our conversation, making me cringe.

I shifted uncomfortably, hoping Rhys hadn't noticed. But the silence on the other end indicated he had.

Mortified, I tried to compose myself, waiting for the awkward moment to pass.

"Sorry, I haven't eaten dinner yet," I admitted, feeling a bit sheepish.

Rhys's warm laughter filled the line once more, infecting me with a chuckle.

"No worries, go feed yourself!" he teased.

We exchanged goodbyes, and he promised to call first thing tomorrow. "Goodnight, sleep tight!"

"Goodnight," I replied, smiling.

As I hung up, my stomach protested again, its growls louder and more insistent. I couldn't ignore its demands any longer.

Deciding to satisfy my hunger, I headed downstairs to scavenge for food. The kitchen lights illuminated the empty space but as I entered the kitchen, the aromatic Italian spices wafting from the stove tantalized my senses, making my stomach growl louder. The savory scent of simmering tomato sauce, oregano, and basil teased my taste buds.

Mom stood at the stove, expertly mixing the sauce in a casserole dish. She turned to me with a warm smile.

"Hungry?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with knowing glint.

I nodded sheepishly. "Yeah."

Mom's smile widened. "Hold on, it's almost finished. Just setting the cheese on top."

She sprinkled a generous layer of melted mozzarella, and the golden-brown crust beckoned me.

I reached for the plates, my mind on autopilot as I set the table. My gaze drifted to the empty chair beside me, and I hesitated. Should I set a plate for Dylan?

Occasionally, he joined us for dinner, but tonight I doubted it. The argument earlier and the telltale signs of intoxication – the slurred words, the unsteady gait – told me he wasn't sober.

After the incident awhile back, I knew what to expect. The disappointment, the worry, the frustration – it all felt too familiar.

Mom, oblivious to my concerns, continued mixing ingredients, the aroma of simmering sauce filling the air.

Just as she finished, Dad entered the kitchen, his expression unreadable. He looked unwearied, despite the earlier confrontation.

Without a word, he took his usual seat at the head of the table, his eyes fixed on some point beyond us.

The silence felt heavy, punctuated only by the clinking of dishes and Mom's gentle humming.

I placed the last plate, my eyes meeting Mom's. She offered a reassuring smile, but I knew she, too, was worried about Dylan.

We began eating in silence, the only sound the clinking of utensils against plates. The tension was palpable, a heavy fog that hung over the dinner table.

Mom, attempting to break the ice, spoke up, "Where's Dalyn?" Her voice was gentle, but laced with concern.

Dad's response was curt, his eyes fixed on his plate. "Inside his room, knocked out."

The unspoken words hung in the air: Dalyn's drinking problem, the argument earlier, the elephant in the room.

Mom's gaze met Dad's, a silent understanding passing between them. They knew tonight's dinner would be strained.

I focused on my plate, avoiding eye contact, the weight of my brother's struggles settling upon me.

The clinking of utensils continued, a stark contrast to the unspoken emotions swirling around us.

I gazed at Mom's face, her expression a mirror of Dad's - a mix of disappointment, worry, and frustration. Their eyes, once full of warmth and love, now seemed to hold a deep-seated discontent.

A knot formed in my stomach as I realized I was the catalyst for Dalyn's downfall. Despite Mom and Dad's reassurances that it was his choice, his life, I couldn't shake off the guilt.

Their words echoed in my mind: "It's not your fault, sweetie. He's responsible for his actions." But the weight of blame lingered.

I knew I wasn't entirely to blame, yet I couldn't escape the feeling that I'd contributed to his demise. I'd unknowingly unearthed the demons Dalyn had tried to bury. I'm the one he least expected to turn into something he abhorred yet here I was, standing proudly of what I become and rubbing it in his face who I turned into.

Our once-unbreakable bond had frayed, and I felt responsible. I'd changed, grown into someone Dalyn no longer recognized or accepted.

The memories of our past, of laughter and shared moments, now taunted me. I missed the brother who once loved and supported me unconditionally.

My appetite vanished, like the love and acceptance Dalyn once showed me. I pushed my plate away, the food congealing into a cold, unappetizing mess.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I struggled to comprehend the damage I'd unwittingly caused. The dinner table, once a sanctuary of warmth and connection, now felt like a cold, harsh reminder of what I'd lost.

"I think I'm full." I muttered, pushing my half-eaten plate away. The food, once appetizing, now felt like a choking burden.

I abruptly stood, my chair scraping against the floor. My parents exchanged a knowing glance – a sympathetic gaze that screamed, "It wasn't your fault, Kyle."

But I saw through it. They could reassure themselves, but not me. The weight of guilt and responsibility crushed me.

As I walked past Mom, she whispered, "Don't be so hard on yourself, Kyle."

How could I not be? The voice in my head relentlessly taunted me: "You're to blame. You deserve your brother's wrath."

I swiftly climbed the stairs, desperate to escape the dining room's oppressive atmosphere. Locking myself in my room, I let the sobs escape, muffling them with my pillow.

Tears streamed down my face as I succumbed to the anguish. The silence of my room enveloped me, a hollow comfort.

I lay on my bed, surrounded by the comforting familiarity of my room. Yet, the haunting thoughts lingered.

"What if I had been different? What if I hadn't changed?"

But as I gazed up at the ceiling, a realization dawned on me.

This is me. This is the real me, the entire time. I haven't changed; I've just embraced my true self.

The tears slowed, and my breathing steadied. A sense of acceptance crept in, like a warm embrace.

I thought back to the moments that led me here – the struggles, the doubts, the fears. And the triumphs – the moments of courage, self-discovery, and growth.

I realized that my brother's rejection wasn't about me changing, but about his inability to accept me for who I've always been.

However, the comfort of self-acceptance was short-lived. My mind reverted to Dalyn's rejection.

"Why can't he accept me?" I wondered, frustration creeping in.

I couldn't shake off the feeling that I'd failed somehow, that I'd pushed him away.

The tears returned, and I buried my face in the pillow.

"Why can't he see that this is who I've always been?" I whispered, the pain and confusion overwhelming me.

In this moment, I felt lost and alone, adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions. My self-acceptance, once a beacon of hope, now seemed fragile against Dalyn's rejection.

The darkness closed in, its shadows suffocating. I let it consume me, surrendering to the crushing weight of self-blame.

My heart felt heavy, like an anchor dragging me down. Every breath was a struggle, every thought a torment.

"Why wasn't I enough?" I whispered, the question echoing in my mind.

Tears streamed down my face, a bitter reminder of my vulnerability. I felt exposed, raw, and defenseless.

The silence of my room seemed oppressive, a physical presence that amplified my pain. I longed for escape, for respite from the anguish.

But it was inescapable. The darkness had become my reality, a constant reminder of Dalyn's rejection.

I curled into a ball, wrapping my arms around myself. The gesture offered little comfort, but it was all I had.

In this desolate moment, I wondered if I'd ever find my way back to the light, or if the shadows would forever define me.

SATURDAY'S eerie silence hung over me like a shadow, a stark reminder that four agonizing days had passed since Drew and his family vanished. The usual weekend bustle felt hollow, a cruel contrast to the emptiness gnawing within.

Unresolved tensions still simmered, remnants of our charged brunch at Charlie's. The unspoken words, heavy with implication, lingered between us like a challenge. The air was thick with questions: What really happened? Why did they leave?

As I stood there, lost in thought, the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for answers. The silence was a palpable weight, pressing upon my chest, urging me to confront the secrets and fears that had been building.

A chill crept up my spine as I stood before Drew's eerily silent house. The locked front door, a barrier to answers, seemed to mock my delayed intentions. I had postponed our crucial conversation, and now...

The empty garage, a hollow shell, confirmed my growing unease. Where was everyone? The usual warmth and laughter emanating from within those walls had vanished, leaving only an unsettling stillness.

My mind racing, I retraced the events: our tense brunch at Charlie's, the unspoken words, and now...this. Had something been brewing, simmering beneath the surface? The questions swirled, a maddening vortex: Where had they gone? Why the sudden departure? And what about our unfinished conversation?

The repetition of my steps, a frustrating rhythm, echoed through the empty streets. Day two, then three, and still...nothing. Each visit to Drew's house yielded only silence and locked doors.

Hope, a fragile flame, flickered with each approach, only to be extinguished by the same disheartening scene: an empty garage, sealed entrance, and an unsettling stillness.

My thoughts churned with possibilities, none bringing comfort. Had they left town? Was everything okay? The uncertainty gnawed, growing with each passing day.

As I stood there, disappointment's bitter taste lingered, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd missed something crucial. The conversation I'd postponed now seemed urgent, and its delay haunted me.

Every night I lied in bed, I listened to every sound of a car that passed. Night's dark canvas, a backdrop for my restless thoughts, stretched out before me like an eternity. I lay awake, ears straining to catch the hum of a familiar engine, the crunch of gravel beneath wheels.

Each passing car, a fleeting whisper of possibility, teased my hopes only to vanish into the distance. The silence that followed, a heavy blanket, smothered my optimism.

My phone, a lifeline to Drew, remained stubbornly silent. Calls went unanswered, diverted to an impersonal voicemail. The robotic voice, a cold substitute for his warm tone, echoed in my mind: "Leave a message..."

The darkness seemed to amplify my worries, conjuring worst-case scenarios. Where was Drew? Why the ominous silence? The unknowns swirled, a relentless storm, as I lay trapped in this limbo of uncertainty.

Desperation drove me to scroll through social media, searching for any crumb of information. Melissa's profile, a potential lifeline, beckoned. I sent a message, fingers trembling with anticipation.

"Hey, have you heard from Drew? He's been gone for days and I'm getting worried."

The waiting game began anew. Hours ticked by, each one an eternity. Finally, her response appeared:

"Honestly, no idea. I've tried calling, but...nothing."

Melissa's words, a mirror of my own fears, offered no solace. The thread of hope snapped, leaving only tangled anxiety. Our shared uncertainty hung like a dark cloud, obscuring any glimpse of Drew's whereabouts.

A glimmer of hope sparked within me. I recalled the familiar pattern: Drew's family often visited his grandparents, returning home after a brief stay. But four days had passed, shattering that comforting routine.

Determined, I sprang into action. I seized my gear and hastened downstairs, two steps at a time, my heart racing with anticipation.

The stairs creaked beneath my feet as I descended, my mind racing with possibilities. What if I found something? What if...

Reaching the bottom, I turned toward the entryway, my hand grasping the door handle. A deep breath, a surge of resolve, and I pushed outside, into the unknown.

The bright sunlight, a stark contrast to my darkening thoughts, enveloped me. I stood poised, ready to take the next step, driven by a newfound sense of purpose. Where was Drew? I was determined to find out.

I was in the living room when I heard a clatter in the kitchen. Obviously, it’s mom. I haven’t seen dad or my brother cooks, ever.

The clatter in the kitchen signaled Mom's presence, a comforting familiarity. I called out, "Mom, I'm heading out! Be back before dinner."

Her warm response, a reassuring echo, came from the kitchen: "Take care, hon."

"Thanks, Mom," I replied, already moving toward the door.

With that brief exchange, I felt a sense of relief, knowing she'd be there when I returned. The ordinary moment, a fleeting normalcy, provided a welcome respite from the worries plaguing me. I grabbed my gear and stepped outside, the door closing behind me with a soft click.

I glanced at my watch: 10:30. Time to move. My bike, faithful companion, awaited. Two hours of pedaling lay ahead, but determination fueled my pace.

I swung onto the saddle, feet finding their rhythm on the pedals. The road unfolded before me, a serpentine path to answers. I veered left, guided by familiarity, toward the house that held my hopes.

The wind whispered secrets as I rode, the sun casting long shadows across the pavement. Each rotation of the wheels brought me closer to Drew's grandparents' home, the potential hub of information.

My heart pounded in anticipation: Would they know something? Had Drew's family contacted them? The questions propelled me forward, my bike devouring the distance.

The majestic acacia trees, sentinels of the road, stretched their leafy canopies above me, a sheltering umbrella against the afternoon sun's fiery glare. Their dappled shade danced across my face, a soothing balm for my sun-kissed skin.

As I pedaled, the familiar landscape unfolded: the small bridge, a nostalgic landmark, marking the journey's midpoint. Memories flooded back – laughter, excitement, and adventures shared with Drew.

The wind, a welcome ally, swept across my face, whipping away the damp strands that clung to my forehead. The cool breeze invigorated me, refreshing my resolve.

With renewed vigor, I pressed on, the trees' gentle rustle and the wind's gentle caress accompanying me toward my destination. Drew's grandparents' house drew nearer, promising answers, comfort, or perhaps a mix of both.

The relentless sun beat down, soaking my back in perspiration. I glanced at my watch: 13:18. Almost there.

I turned onto the familiar street, a sense of relief washing over me. The iconic "Welcome to Aleosan" sign loomed ahead, a beacon of nostalgia and comfort.

As I cycled beneath its arching letters, a wave of memories flooded back: laughter, visits, and warm moments shared with Drew's family. The sign's faded paint and weathered wood seemed to whisper, "You're almost home."

My legs pedaled on autopilot, guided by muscle memory, as I navigated the final stretch. The grandparents' house, a haven of answers, drew near. I could feel it.

With a deep breath, I prepared myself for what lay ahead. Would I find Drew's family? Would they know something? The uncertainty propelled me forward, my bike rolling toward the doorstep of revelation.

I scanned the houses, tracking the numbers, as familiar landmarks unfolded. Yet, subtle changes caught my attention: the once-yellow house now wore a soothing blue hue, like a refreshed canvas.

The Sampaguita, those delicate white blooms that once lined the street, had given way to vibrant yellow bougainvillea. Petals danced in the breeze, a colorful welcome.

Progress's gentle touch had reshaped the neighborhood, infusing new life into the familiar landscape. Though the essence remained, the nuances reminded me that time stands still for no one.

My gaze returned to the house numbers, homing in on my destination. Drew's grandparents' residence, a constant amidst the subtle shifts, came into view. My heart quickened, anticipating the encounter ahead.

Amidst the refreshing changes, one constant stood out: the humble brown mailboxes, faithfully attached to each gatepost. Their weathered exteriors and rusty hinges told tales of years gone by.

I looked ahead and saw the familiar Ficus indica tree, it was standing beside an old craftsman house where I am very much acquainted with.

As I pedaled closer to Drew's grandparents' house, the familiar mailbox came into view, a reassuring anchor to the past. Its brown paint, slightly faded, seemed to whisper, "Some things remain unchanged."

I slowed my bike, approaching the house with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The mailbox, a symbol of continuity, steadied my nerves.

When I stopped in front of it, I immediately took off my helmet and lingered my gaze around. A smile formed in my face when I saw the trite basketball ring we erect before beside the garage, with Pablo’s help. With a deep breath, I leaned my bike against the gatepost, next to the faithful mailbox. The moment of truth had arrived. I pushed the gate open and stepped onto the familiar path, ready to uncover the secrets within.

Memories of laughter and toil flooded my mind as I stood before Drew's grandparents' house. I recalled our seven-year-old selves, bursting with enthusiasm, as we pleaded with Pablo, Drew's grandfather, to craft a hoop for us.

We eagerly took on household chores, scrubbing dishes and washing clothes, to earn his favor. The memory of our tiny hands, soaping and rinsing, still brought a smile.

Pablo's skilled hands had transformed wooden scraps into our prized hoop. The sweet taste of accomplishment had made every hardship worthwhile.

As I gazed at the house, nostalgia washed over me. Those carefree days, filled with friendship and imagination, seemed like a lifetime ago.

I took a deep breath, shaking off the reverie. My purpose today was different. I needed answers about Drew's disappearance.

I glance toward the enormous tree beside to find the tree house we made was still there. What surprise me was it’s still in a good condition, I assumed. It even looked better because of the dark brown painted wall. I was about to dismount from my bike when the front door abruptly opened, followed by a woman’s voice.

“Good goodness, Pablo. Come quick. Look who’s here,” Martha exclaimed, Drew’s grandmother.

Her hair has now repletes of grey hair. She’s wiping her wet hands on the floral dress she wears. Subsequently, Pablo’s head jut out of the half-opened door. His face lit up and broke into a smile when he saw me.

“Kid!”

“Hey!” I said while waving my hand.

They fleetly walked the distance between us, wearing their best smile while approaching me. I dismounted my bike, carefully laying it to rest on the ground, and met them halfway. They suddenly enveloped me in a warm embrace the moment they reached me.

The familiar scent of old roses wafted up, transporting me back to memories of Martha. The fragrance, her signature perfume, filled my senses, evoking a deep sense of comfort and nostalgia. It was as if the past had wrapped itself around me, holding me close.

Time stood still as we stood there, locked in a gentle hug. The world narrowed to the warmth of their arms, the softness of their touch and the sweet, haunting smell that bound us together.

“Jesus, you’re soaking wet,” Martha said. The upwreathing concern in her voice was palpable. It even more deepened when she looked behind me and saw my bike.

“Did you just use your bike going here?” she asked worriedly.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Get inside kid and have a drink,” I heard Pablo said.

They ushered me inside. The living room was still looked the same. To the right side, two green couch was facing the television with a glass table in between. On the left was the hallway, going to the four bedrooms.

The hallway, once a familiar passage, now felt like a nostalgic gallery. Walls lined with memories, each frame telling a story, chronicled the passage of time. Photos of laughter, milestones, and everyday moments hung in neat rows, a visual narrative of love and connection.

Amidst the sea of changing faces and scenes, one constant remained: the cream-colored rug, soft and unwavering, a comforting anchor to the past. Its gentle hue, a soothing balm, seemed to whisper,

"Some things remain, even as life unfolds."

The rug's steadfast presence was a testament to the enduring power of tradition and warmth of the house.

They lead me to the kitchen, where I saw the running microwave with a pie inside. I took a seat, facing the kitchen door.

“What do you want to drink, kid?” Pablo asked me while opening the fridge.

“Water will do.”

“Are you hungry? Don’t worry, Kyle. The apple pie I bake is almost finished,” Martha said. She then goes to the oven and to checked.

Pablo brought a glass of water and place it on the table. I immediately took it and consume its content in a one big gulp.

“Why the sudden visit, Kyle?” Pablo gently asked. The usual voice he’s using every time he talked.

Still wearing a smile, he took a seat beside me, patiently waiting for my response. I set the empty glass in front of me and meet his gaze.

“Uhmm.. yeah, about that. I just want to find out if Drew and his parents’s been here. Seems like they’re gone already.”

I laughed and scratched my nape, embarrassed to tell them the reason I’m here. “And I wanted to visit you guys too.”

Is it too much to worry if you haven’t seen your best friend for almost four days and wanted to know if he’s doing good? Yeah, I guess it was.

Martha stops what she’s doing the moment she heard me. She faced us immediately, and I was not expecting the sad expressions on her face.

I caught her looking at Pablo, still showing the same emotion. They stared at each other’s eye and it feels like they’re having a silent conversation only them understand. When I looked at Pablo, I saw the same emotion swirling in his eye.

My heart beat ferociously. Different scenario formed in my head. What if Drew was hurt and at the hospital?

“Is something wrong?” I heard myself asked, voice wavering. It causes them to emerge back to reality and realized I’m still with them.

They both looked my way. Martha clearing her throat, trying to regain her composure while Pablo was straightening his already orderly shirt.

“No, nothing’s wrong. They never got here,” Martha replied while slightly laughing, waving me off. She’s now smiling that made me feel relieved. I can still sense the sadness awhile ago lingered in the air, but I shrugged it off.

If they’re not here, then where are they? A huge doubtful point curdled in my head. Pablo seems to ensnare the question in my eye. He gives me the answer I anticipated.

“They go to the province,” He said, looking away.

“To visit Amy’s family. It’s been ten years since she got back there,” He added.

I remember Drew once mentioned about their family from his mother’s side.

My shoulder slumped down when Pablo said finally sinks in. This was the very first time Drew didn’t tell me about him going somewhere. I know it’s unnecessary of him to tell me where he goes. I can’t still help but feel disappointed. He always did tell me when he’s going somewhere. Was he that mad at me and Rhys to do that?

Maybe it’s time for me to accept that the day will come, two close friends will depart when they grew up. The time when a person no longer needed a friend to share his problem cause he’s a grown man now and needs no somebody. Don’t need a friend cause he can now talk to his wife when something is wrong.

I don’t know, but the thought of Drew settling down did something in my insides. Yeah, of course. I loved him, that’s why.

Starting now, I need to accept the fact that once Drew found a perfect match for him; I need to set him free and let him experience of how happy having a family is. But I see no better perfect match for him but me. I mentally laughed at myself. Silly me. That will never happen. He’s straight.

I stayed longer at Pablo and Martha’s house, talking about life. Laughing and sharing something they missed about me and Drew growing up. It's been 8 years since I got back here and we had a lot of catching up to do.