His Wedding My Exit Chapter 11
Six months later, the first phase of the Dallas expansion wrapped up. The company set up a Southwest regional department. I was promoted to regional operations manager, and I put in to stay on there myself.
The day I moved into my new apartment, my mom came over to help.
At the furniture store, she pointed at a black leather sofa. “This one hides dirt well.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want it.” In the end I bought a light-colored fabric sofa.
I painted the walls a warm white, lined the balcony with a whole row of flower stands, and rolled out a rug in the living room that I’d loved the moment I saw it.
Nobody called it tacky. Nobody told me it didn’t look good.
That night I sat on the rug, opening packages. All at once I remembered something from years back.
The first time I showed Hayden reference photos for decorating.
He’d frowned and said, “Why do you always like these tacky things?”
That night I really did close out of my own pictures and spent half the night hunting for modern styles. Minimalist styles. Japanese Zen styles.
I tried so hard to figure out what qualified as high-end.
Only now did I finally understand.
Home was the place I had to come back to every single day.
Me liking it was already enough.
A year later, I went back to my old city for my college roommate’s wedding. At the hotel entrance, I ran into Hayden. He’d lost some weight. When he saw me, he stood there a few seconds before he asked, “When did you get back?”
Me liking it was already enough.
A year later, I went back to my old city for my college roommate’s wedding. At the hotel entrance, I ran into Hayden. He’d lost some weight. When he saw me, he stood there a few seconds before he asked, “When did you get back?”
“Yesterday.”
“How long are you staying?”
“Leaving tomorrow.” He nodded.
After the reception ended, I stood outside waiting for my ride.
Hayden suddenly called after me. “Freya.” I turned around.
He was quiet for a moment. “I remodeled the apartment.” That surprised me a little.
“I threw out the black sofa, changed the walls to warm colors, put flower stands on the balcony too.”
I looked at him. “Do you like it?”
He froze. “What?”
“Do you like warm-colored walls?”
He didn’t answer.
I already knew what the answer was.
“Hayden, back then, I never wanted everything to be exactly the way I preferred it.”
“I only hoped that in that home, there’d be a little bit that belonged to me.”
His eyes suddenly glazed over.