Friend Of The Family: Epilogue
When I wake up, the lights in Mr. Reed's bedroom have been turned off, the scented candle on the nightstand blown out. I'm sleep-warmed and a little hazy as I reach a hand around the bed next to me. Cold. Empty. Where is he? Rolling opposite, toward the edge of the bed, I fish my phone out of the pocket of my jeans. 4:09 a.m. Dad should be up in a couple hours.
I gather my clothes and hurriedly make my way into the guest bathroom, turning on the shower and ridding myself of last night's underwear. Taking a minute to scan my body in the mirror, I realize how tired I look - because I am, and I already know I'm probably going to be asleep most of the day. My thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of the phone on the vanity.
Reed: You're up early. Toast, coffee? x
Memories of last night's rendezvous fill my mind and a deep blush takes my features as I tap back : yeah down in a sec 💕
After my shower, I slip into a pair of pink flannel pajama pants and a tank top and make my way down to the kitchen, where Mr. Reed has set out my breakfast, but is nowhere to be found.
Me: thx 4 breakfast, btw where r u?
Reed: End of the hall, past the bust, door on the right. x
I take a sip of the coffee, -he remembered how I like it- and abandon the toast to find him. The hallway is dimly lit but bright light flows from under the door at the end and I let myself in.
"Hello?"
"(y/n), welcome."
He sits at a desk near the door scattered with a few different piles of books, journals, tinkering with something. I take a look around the room. It's a maze of dark shelves filled with all manner of books, records, magazines, and in the center, a large desk, on which sits a nearly burned down candlestick and behind which are two doors, one green and the other purple. There are a couple rows of what look to be pews, and a long, seemingly wine-stained Persian aisle runner, and while I'm all for meticulously curated decor, I can't quite place this room's purpose.
Taking a couple steps further in, I look around a bit more. Portraits of different religious figureheads line a wall and I notice a vinyl player off to one side of the room. "So is this like, your office or...?"
"Office. Sanctuary. Man-Cave. Whatever you like." He doesn't look up.
"Huh. Cozy. And why have I been summoned here at nearly 5am?"
"You woke up at nearly 5am, I heard your dainty little footsteps, and I figured that maybe... you'd like to open a gift, what do you say?"
"I say...yes, please" I beam, closing the door behind me and wandering behind his seat at the desk. He has a journal of barely legible scrawl open and I watch over his shoulder as Mr. Reed carves details into a small wooden figurine. Resting a hand over either of his shoulders, I set my chin on his head and he relaxes his arms, setting down the figure and carving knife. "Right. Take a seat just there," he gestures to the pews, "hold out your hands and close your eyes, please." He taps the tops of my hands and I do as he says.
Taking my seat and closing my eyes, I hear Mr. Reed shuffling through the room behind me and then feel him settling into the pew just beside me.
"Don't look yet, dear."
"I'm not, I swear," I laugh, feeling a weight settle into my palms, and run the tips of my fingers along the edge of it... thin... large.... square....
"Go on, then. Open."
I open my eyes and it dawns on me. It has to be a vinyl. Has to be. There's no way it's not.
I cautiously peel back one edge of the wrapping paper to see a gilded block letter 'Y' over a blue background. No fucking way. I quickly rip away the rest of the wrapping paper and in my hands sits the vinyl record cover of Lana's Born To Die : Paradise Edition... and in the left bottom corner, in gold looping script.... it's signed. My eyes go wide. I have to blink a few times to make sure this is really happening. Holding the record up to the light, the metallic script shifts and glimmers. It is real. She... she signed this. She held this. I scoff in shock, feeling tears sting the corners of my eyes.
"Well? Do you like it?"
"Thank you...so much... holy shit. How did you even get this?"
"Well, you'll remember that before the world shut down, at the height of her popularity, she used to do signings, meet-and-greets, that sort of thing... I've been to...many."
"I thought you didn't leave the house anymore?"
"Not for things like...groceries, or clothing, stupid things, but... for her, on occasion... I make an exception."
He smirks, proud of himself, and I can tell this is of the same sentimental value to him as it is to me.
"Mr. Reed, are you sure you want me to have this? You said it was one of your favorites... I can't take something like this from you..."
"Let me give you something I love, that we both do. That is what this is all about, after all."
"But I didn't get you anything-"
"Wrong. I'd say, (y/n), that your mere presence here, your personality, as pretentious, contrarian and apathetic as it's been, has been a great gift to me. So thank you, for the gift of allowing me to know you."
I attempt to blink away tears of joy but they come regardless and he wraps an arm around my shoulder as I wipe them away, "Merry Christmas, (y/n)." A kiss to the top of my head.
"Merry Christmas, Mr. Reed."
He tips my chin up. Our eyes meet, and he leans in.
As we kiss, I feel one of his hands rest on the back of my neck and it occurs to me that this may be one of the last times I get to be with him like this before Dad and I head back to the city, and the Oxbridge winter break concludes.
Mr. Reed's tongue tastes like black coffee, and he smells of cardamom and clove. He takes the record from my hands, setting it aside and pulls away for a moment. "I'll miss this. You, being here..."
"After this...When will we see eachother again, in person I mean?"
"Well, they do still allow you a summer holiday, yes?"
"Yes..."
"I don't see why you wouldn't be able to fly in..."
"But it costs-"
"I'd pay for it. Happily. You are worth at least the price of a Heathrow-Boulder plane ticket, or maybe even the other way around..." he takes one of my hands in his, quirking an eyebrow at me.
"You'd come to see me?"
"If I absolutely have to, I don't see why not. Bit of nostalgia never hurt. "
"But what about in the meantime?"
"We have phones, (y/n), E-mail addresses. I watched E-mail come into existence, and it hasn't failed me yet. I've known lovers who stayed in touch over oceans with much less than you and I have at our disposal." He smiles and the corners of his eyes crinkle and I bury my face in his chest to keep from crying. I couldn't have estimated how strongly I'd react to the idea of leaving.
Mr. Reed wraps his arms tightly around me, a hand drawing soothing circles into my back. "Come now, that's alright. Everything will be alright, (y/n). You have my word. You'll see me sooner than you know."
I sniffle, breathing deep as I look up at him. "Okay. Yeah. I-I'm sorry I just, I really like being with you and-"
"I know. I feel the same. We'll have tomorrow," his voices drops to a whisper "We have tonight..."
He's right and after a couple minutes, we move back to the kitchen to prepare a Christmas Eve breakfast for Dad.
Christmas comes and Christmas goes.
I recieve a green leatherbound journal from Dad, 'To the next great American novelist: never stop.'
He and Mr. Reed unknowingly gift eachother the exact same grey cashmere sweater, and on the morning of the 26th, we share a tearful goodbye.
Upon my return to the Oxford dormitories, I unpack the Christmas cookies and Lana Record he gave me. I feel myself tear up just looking at them and send a message over Whatsapp: miss you 🥺
Seconds later : And I you. Have you unpacked your things yet? x
Me: no, just the presents from you and from Dad.
Reed: You may want to do so, left a little something at the bottom of your suitcase for exactly this occasion. x
Me: what is it?
Reed: Unpack. x
I tear into the suitcase hastily, tossing clothes, books and toiletries around the room with total abandon until-
I see it.
There, at the bottom of my suitcase; an immaculately folded checkered cardigan.
