Chapter Text
Epilogue
Ava’s hand slipped into hers, their fingers threading together, as Sara stared at the door. “You ready?”
Was she ready? The short answer was no. It had been a year since Sara had walked back into the house, sixteen years since she had barged through the very same door she was staring at now and found her sister. She would never be ready, not for this.
“No, I’m not, but it’s time.”
“Okay, but if you need a break you tell me. This doesn’t have to be done today, or even this year.”
Sara nodded, the understanding in Ava’s voice calming her frayed nerves, even as the corner of her mouth twitched up in a smile. The holidays were fast approaching, prompting their need to curate a livable guest room. “You say that now, but I’m not going to be the one to tell your parents they need to stay at that motel again this year. God knows Starling Falls isn’t exactly known for its five-star accommodations.”
Ava let out a light laugh before cocking her head at the door, and at Sara’s confirming nod, reached out to turn the knob, allowing the door to swing open.
Sara sucked in a breath before stepping across the threshold. It was just a room. Four walls covered in faded floral wallpaper, a closet, and some dingy furniture Ava had picked up at the thrift store. It wasn’t hers anymore. There was nothing of Laurel left in those walls other than her memory. Sara’s fingers clenched around the putty knife in her fist, and Ava’s hand squeezed at her other palm in reassurance.
She could do this.
Without another word Sara sank to the floor in front of the door and got to work scraping the faded stickers and residual glue from the wood, as Ava stepped further into the room armed with a roll of blue painter’s tape. The room didn’t need much, just some TLC and a new bedroom set.
“What about fate?
Ava’s question from months before suddenly echoed in her memory.
“What?”
“Do you believe in fate- that things, even bad things- happen for a reason?”
No. She wanted to shout the single word across the room, scream it from the top of her lungs so that the whole cosmos could acknowledge her view. No there was no fate, there was no rhyme or reason to the chaos of the universe. No reason that bad things happened to good people. Instead she cleared her throat.
“Things happen, whether they’re good or bad can only be determined in retrospect.”
Ava stared at Sara, her brow furrowing at the unexpected answer.
“Who said that?”
Sara shrugged, finally turning so she was facing Ava, her lips tilting up in a tight smile.
“No clue. But I heard it somewhere and I could never forget it.”
Sara paused in her work to watch Ava diligently stretch the blue tape across the baseboards. The leak, her family dying, were bad. There was no doubt about that. Her running away, joining the military, the mortar attacked that had then ended her military career, those events were more gray. If any of those things hadn’t happened, she wouldn’t be here now. She and Ava probably would never have met, at least not under circumstances that had led them to this moment. All that hurt, that loneliness, that loss, had led her here.
Ava stopped her methodical work to rip off two shorter lengths of tape and used them to section off the space around the etching of the canary on the baseboard, causing Sara to smile.
“This is it. This is the last room.” Sara mused as she sat back, spinning on her butt to lean back against the door and stare at her girlfriend where she sat cutely dressed in leggings and an oversized flannel shirt across the room, her long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail.
“Hmm?” Ava hummed out the wordless question as she looked at Sara from the far corner of the room.
“Everything else is done. After this, it will be like a whole new house.”
“Not new.” Ava replied , the roll of tape falling to her lap as she turned, and folded her legs in front of her, mirroring Sara’s position. “Fresh paint, and new appliances won’t erase the history, the memories. But maybe it will help make it whole again.”
Sara nodded in consideration, her eyes locking with Ava’s for a long moment before turning back to her task. That was right.
Fate was a fickle thing—when she had come back, she hadn’t been looking for home. “Home” had been a concept that she had abandoned a long time ago, but somehow, somewhere along the way, home had found her instead. She, Ava, this house—they made each other whole.