June First
: Part 3 – Chapter 35

Brant, age 26

It’s my first June first without her.

Aunt Kelly sits beside me in the spongy grass, her cheeks streaked in tears. The sun sinks behind a blood orange horizon, casting an ambient glow atop the staggered headstones.

“I’ve been visiting your mother’s grave every year on this day,” she murmurs, dabbing her cheekbones with a handkerchief. “This is only the second time I’ve cried.”

My heart races as I sit beside the gravesite, cross-legged. “This is only the second time I’ve visited her grave, period,” I admit guiltily.

She smiles. “I appreciate that you came with me today. I think it’s why I’m extra emotional.”

A warm breeze kisses my face, and I close my eyes with a mix of melancholy and peace.

It’s been nine months since I reached out to Aunt Kelly, reestablishing a relationship after years of bare minimum contact. She’s always been kind to me; she’s always been good. And she’s the only person left linking me to my mother.

I’m not sure why I grew so distant.

Sad reminders, maybe.

Fear.

She looks like my mom with her coppery hair, like maple syrup, and melted chocolate eyes. She still smells like her cat, but sometimes, when the breeze blows just right, I’ll get a hint of the same sweet scent of my mother. They’re imprints that used to make my skin prickle and stomach pitch, but now they bring me a semblance of comfort.

Just like Bubbles.

As it turns out, Aunt Kelly had Bubbles tucked away inside a box in her attic this whole time. The stuffed animal was taken into evidence by the detectives on the scene, but when the crime was pieced together fairly quickly, and the case was closed, the few belongings collected that night were given back to Aunt Kelly, the next of kin.

She’d nearly tossed him.

The plush toy had partially fallen into a puddle of blood, staining the elephant’s leg. But Aunt Kelly decided to wash it instead, cleaning the toy thoroughly with bleach and peroxide, knowing how important it was to me.

Only, by the time it was returned to her, she’d already bought me a new elephant, thinking Bubbles had been thrown away.

I was finally acclimating to my new life with the Baileys. I was in therapy. I was trying to forget.

And she feared that if I saw the old toy, it would set me back and hinder my healing.

So, she sealed him up inside a box, along with an assortment of other childhood trinkets. Books and special outfits. A few art projects I’d created in Kindergarten made of molds and clay.

She’d planned on giving me that box when I had my own children one day, to pass the treasures down to a new little boy or girl.

Bubbles sat inside that box in Aunt Kelly’s attic for twenty years.

Until there was June.

She’d contacted my aunt on a desperate whim, shortly after arriving in New York. June eventually told me that she’d simply woken up with a feeling one morning. She couldn’t explain it. She said she’d been missing me a whole lot, crying herself to sleep with Aggie in her arms, wishing I had my own special elephant from childhood.

While June had begged her parents for information about the lost toy over the years, they never had any answers for her. She’d even called the police department one time, but they had no idea what she was talking about.

She never thought to ask Aunt Kelly.

Not until that morning.

My aunt shipped the toy off to New York the same day, then June shipped him to me, wanting to personalize the gift with her poem.

And hell, I’m grateful.

I’m so fucking grateful.

Bubbles was returned to me at the perfect time, helping to fill the gnawing void, as well as the multiplying holes in my heart. I’ll never know what prompted June to call my aunt, but I’m convinced she saved my life that day.

I let out a sigh and glance up at the cloudless sky, grazing my fingers along the blades of grass. Turning to Aunt Kelly, I murmur, “I’m sorry it took me so long to come with you. I saw how much it hurt you every time I said no.”

Aunt Kelly sniffles, sticking the handkerchief back into the front pocket of her peachy blouse. “I understood, Brant. I was never angry or resentful.”

“But it still hurt.”

The sun sets a little lower, shadowing my words.

She glances my way. “It hurt that we lost her. It hurt that asking you to visit your mother’s grave with me was even a question—not that you said no.”

I bite my lip, skimming over the carving of my mother’s name. “Well, thank you for waiting for me. Thank you for giving me time.”

“Sometimes that’s the greatest gift we can give someone,” she says. “Time.”

Her words tickle me as I internalize them.

Time can be the most painful thing in this world, but sometimes, it’s the only way to heal.

“A memory found its way to my heart today,” Aunt Kelly says to me, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. Her voice is soft and willowy, and her eyelashes are clumped with mascara as she blinks in my direction. “Caroline was pregnant with you… eight or nine months, I think. She was about ready to pop.” She smiles wistfully, the hazy sunset bringing out the orangey tones in her hair that mingle with silver and white. “She was stressed because she couldn’t decide on what to name you. It’s a huge responsibility, after all—naming a human. We’d taken a walk through the park that day, sipping on hot cocoa as winter melted into spring, watching the children scatter around the playground.”

My eyes water, thinking about my mother so content and carefree as she prepared for an exciting new life chapter. I swallow, leaning back on my palms as Aunt Kelly continues.

“We took a seat on a park bench, catching up on life. People-watching. She was so happy in that moment—I don’t think Luke…” Her jaw tenses as she glances away. “I don’t think Luke had become violent at that point. Controlling, yes, but…”

I glance down at the grass, hating him more than ever.

“Anyway,” she swallows, inhaling a choppy breath. “There was a little boy across the park, maybe seven or eight. He was the cutest little kid with shaggy dark hair and a crooked smile. But what stood out the most was the girl.”

Our eyes meet, and my brows furrow.

“There was a little girl in the sandpit,” she tells me. “She was younger. Tiny. She’d arrived with her own parents a few moments earlier, and the second they plopped her down into the sand, she started crying. Awful, terrible screams.” Aunt Kelly smiles again through her welling tears. “The girl made the whole park go running for the hills… except for the boy. He stayed. And while everyone else packed up their things to leave, he ran straight to her, patting her back. Comforting her. Telling her she was going to be okay.

“He calmed the little girl down, then sat beside her in the sand and played with her for the next hour until her tears were replaced by laughter and joyful squeals. They made sand castles. They made moats. And let me tell you, it was the sweetest darn thing I’d ever seen.”

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I clear the emotion from my throat. “What happened?”

Aunt Kelly’s smile widens with memory. With sweet nostalgia. “Your mother walked over to the boy before he could leave—well, she hobbled, really. Her belly was enormous,” she laughs. “She went to the boy, and she asked him what his name was.”

My breath hitches.

“He said his name was Brant.”

A lengthy silence stretches between us for a moment, only fractured by the sound of singing cicadas. I run a hand through my hair, sitting up and watching as she stares off between the headstones, the heartwarming memories lighting up her eyes.

“She told me she’d finally decided on your name, and that any boy with that name was destined to become a good, honorable man,” she explains. “And then, when she got home, she researched the meaning behind the name, just out of curiosity. Do you know what it means?”

I shake my head. I never bothered to look it up.

“Sword,” she tells me. “Brant means ‘sword.’ Brave, gallant, a stalwart defender.” Aunt Kelly reaches into her purse and pulls out an opened bag of Skittles, quirking a smile as she tips the corner toward me.

Cupping my palm, I hold it out to her.

She pours the candies into my hand, the purple ones already plucked out. Just like she’d done when I was a small child.

“You’ve lived up to your name, Brant. More than you know.” We both glance at the headstone, feeling my mother’s presence swirling around us, wrapping us up in a warm hug. “I know she’d be so very proud.”

“Let’s go, June!”

Her smile lights up my phone screen, complementing the glitter in her silvery eyeshadow. She calls over her shoulder to an unknown female, “One sec! I’m on a call.” Then she faces me again, her smile widening the moment our eyes lock through the video chat. “Birthday adventures,” she says in a breathy voice, sounding apologetic.

“Go,” I tell her lightly. “Have fun.”

June glances behind her again to where a group of friends laugh and loiter near a storefront building, then walks with her phone to a quieter corner. “They can wait,” she tells me, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. A tension-filled moment lingers between us, our connection still palpable despite the fact that we’re staring at each other through my cracked cell phone screen and June is nine-hundred miles away.

I clear my throat, breaking the silence. “You look really pretty.”

Ducking her head, I swear she blushes as a bashful little laugh slips out. June sweeps her long brown hair to one side as it glints with streaks of golden highlights beneath the lamppost. She’s wearing something that looks like an old-fashioned flapper dress, pearly and infused with gems, and her lips are cherry red. “Thanks,” she says softly, glancing back up. “I just got done with a performance. Nothing major, just a background dancer. Celeste has had some really great connections for me out here, and…” She trails off, her eyes turning haunted for a moment. Another life reflects back at me. “And I miss you.”

My throat tightens as that tension flares again, riddled with poignancy and unsaid emotion. I swallow. “I miss you, too, Junebug.”

“I’m doing really good,” she tells me, tucking a thread of hair behind her ear. A silver hoop earring glimmers in the muted lighting. “I’m thriving, Brant, I really am. I feel so independent and alive, and…” She hesitates, licking her lips. “And if you ever wanted to visit me, I think… I think that would be okay. It would be really good to see you.”

Christ, I want to cry.

She’s telling me she’s thriving. She’s flourishing.

She’s living on her own, chasing her dreams, just like she’d intended to do.

She’s telling me she still loves me, and maybe we can work.

I love you, too. I love you so goddamn much.

It would be so easy to pack my bags and fly across the country to sweep her off her feet. It’s what I want to do with every fiber of my being. Images of doing that very thing heat my blood as I think about our first meeting. Our first hug. Our first kiss.

I wonder how long we’d last before she was naked and moaning as I sunk deep inside her.

But it’s only been nine months.

And judging by the love-laced look twinkling back at me like bright blue skies, I don’t think she’s ready yet. I don’t think we’re ready.

My relationship with her parents is still rocky—Andrew hasn’t spoken to me since his fist landed on my jaw and his words sliced me to the bone. Samantha has been more merciful, checking in on me and emailing me family updates.

But I haven’t seen them since that day. I haven’t seen them face-to-face, and if I can’t even look them in the eyes yet, I have no business pursuing their daughter.

I refuse to set us up for failure.

She must notice the way my face falls, and the way my eyes dim as I fumble for a response that doesn’t sound completely hopeless. June lets out the barest sigh, just a little breath of disappointment. She nods, a silent response to my own, and is then interrupted by a slender redhead.

“June, you’re taking forever, our ride is wait—” The woman does a double-take into the phone, her eyebrows arching with interest. “Oh, hello,” she says to me, an appreciative grin curling.

I blink. “Hey.”

She nudges June with her shoulder. “Who is that?”

“He’s…” June trails off, her words fading into the night.

And I wait.

I wait for her answer because I have absolutely no idea what that answer is.

I’m not her brother. I’m not her boyfriend.

To most, I’m nothing but a mistake.

June glances at me in the screen, her smile flickering. “He’s important,” she settles on. “I’ll be right there.” The girl shrugs and tosses her purse over her shoulder, skipping out of frame.

Before I can reply, someone else pops into the camera. A man, probably the same age as June. He’s lanky with shoulder-length black hair and a beanie on his head. He grabs June by the wrist, trying tug her back to the group. “C’mon, Bailey, we miss you.”

His bold eyes case her gorgeous face, trailing her curves as flirtation glimmers in his stare. Sweeping his hand up and down her arm, she throws him an awkward smile and pulls free.

He wants her.

I wonder if he’s had her.

And the thought makes me want to fucking die.

Traffic and car horns mingle with static as June walks farther away from the group, holding the phone closer to her face. She nibbles her lip again. “Sorry about that. I, uh… I should get going. The gang is waiting.”

“Of course,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as pathetic as I feel. “Happy birthday, Junebug. Be safe, and send me a text in the morning so I know you got home okay.”

“I will,” she smiles warmly. “Thank you.” June falters for a moment, her gaze slipping to the right, then back toward me. “Celeste made me a birthday cake. And when I blew out my candles, I made a wish. It was the same wish I made on my ninth birthday, and every birthday since.”

I stare at her, my chest swelling with emotion—burning, aching, stinging, as if that emotion is trapped inside with no way out. Heaving in a hard breath, I nod my head. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Brant.”

A ribbon of hair floats into her face, catching on her ruby lips, and it almost looks like she’s about to cry.

But she doesn’t.

She clicks off the call just as her name is shouted from behind her, and my screen goes blank.

I sit on my couch for a few minutes, missing the sound of her voice.

Missing everything.

Then I drag myself to bed and prepare for another day without her.

“I wish that we can be together forever.”

“Forever, huh?”

“Forever and ever.”

I bet you’re still wondering if June’s wish came true.

Well, we’re not quite to the end of the story yet.

But we’re getting close.

Things were looking pretty grim at this point, and for as much as I wanted June to thrive and prosper, the more she settled into her exciting life in New York City, the more I felt like she was slipping through my fingers.

We still talked regularly, sometimes daily.

She sent me selfies in front of every rainbow.

We still looked at each other with that same potent mix of longing, pain, and heartrending love.

But it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

And as the days bled into months, and another year passed us by, I wondered if I’d missed my chance. I wondered if our forever was just out of reach.

Luckily, things started looking up shortly after June’s twenty-first birthday. I had my first brush with hope.

That hope came in the form of forgiveness.

And that forgiveness came in the form of Andrew Bailey.