Easter Sunday.

There are so many memories that surround the brightly colored holiday. Memories wrapped in young innocence and endless feelings of joy. We had a tradition growing up, one that I anticipated and planned for every year. The night before Easter, we would hide our baskets for the Easter Bunny to find. Once he found it, he'd fill it with delicious treats and hide it somewhere new. The thrill of finding our baskets in the morning became a challenge between my brother and me. We'd race one another, desperately trying to one up the other.

It was more often than not that Jared would find his basket before me, seeing as he was all of a year and a half older than me, something he rubbed in my face each and every chance he got. Don't get me wrong, he was a good big brother, the best. Always made sure I was okay, that I had everything I needed.

Though we grew out of hiding baskets, Easter was still a time for family. A time we all came together. My mom was a sucker for holidays. The decorations were always over the top, gifts came in waves of excessiveness, and egg hunts went well into high school. Of course the candy inside was swapped for cash, but regardless of the prize, my brother and I still managed to make it an all out brawl to collect the most eggs.

That's the thing about holidays, no matter how big or small they are, they always carry memories. And they always hold a place for family.

Thing is, a bank of memories is all that remains of family tradition. Losing my brother two years ago shifted the family dynamic. Mom lost the magical spark the holidays used to provide her. The decorations stay locked in the attic, gathering layers of dust stifling the memories within. Dad stopped wearing his ridiculous holiday shirts, the ones with themed puns that he just loved to work into nearly every sentence for the day.

As for me, I removed myself from all things Jared. It was easier that way. Easier to step into another life and leave the one I once lived behind me. That included moving away from home as soon as I graduated from college. It also meant leaving behind the people who once built the foundation beneath my feet. The very people who held me when my entire world crumbled. Jared was gone, and the weight that's left behind in the absence of someone can be unbearable to hold.

The one person who knew what I was feeling, who held me throughout that dreaded night I got the news, is the same person I had to run from. Owen Lewis. My brother's best friend, my first real love. Losing my brother broke something inside me. It tore me open and left me bleeding on the sidewalk. And that pain, that feeling of emptiness, it changes something in you. It suffocates your ability to love, to give others what they deserve. And Owen didn't deserve an empty shell of who I was slowly becoming. He deserved more.

I knew the only thing left to do was leave. So I collected my diploma, packed up my car, and left. I drove as far as I possibly could, leaving a trail of pain and Polaroids of a past I could no longer swallow. And that was it. Gone, with no intentions of ever going back.

Now I'm here. Standing under the heat of the California sun, feeling the small beads of sweat fighting to build along my neck. I've avoided holidays, made excuses to decline various invitations from friends who felt sorry for me for not having a place to go. I did have a place. I just didn't want to be in a space that would remind me of him, to build a new memory that didn't include him.

I spent all of yesterday with my phone in my hand, flying through an internal filing cabinet of excuses not to come. I pulled Kendra's name up on my phone so many times, my thumb lingering over her name, ready to provide her with a doozy of an excuse, one that would get me out of today. Because it's not only the holiday that had me hesitating. It's the fact that every person she invited had a plus one.

When I chose to run from my home, my family, I also ran from Owen. I left him with a half assed apology and a trail of tears. It's been a year. A whole year of regret. A year without dating, without attempting to connect with anyone else.

All of the shit from my past aside, I'm here. I threw on my most pastel colored dress, complete with flats and a white cardigan and decided to Easter the shit out of today. My life may be different, today may not be filled with the memories of a past I so desperately wish to relive, but it's the life I'm left with. A life I can't keep hiding from.

With a mimosa in one hand and a small plate of fruit in the other, I make my way to a standing table. Kendra wasn't lying when she said she loves to host parties. The large expanse of yard blanketing the back of her home is perfectly suited to host any type of party. As if the natural beauty of colorful flowers and scattered trees wasn't enough, the perfectly placed decorations lights up the entire scene. From the sparkling eggs dangling from trees to the pastel tablecloths lining the tables, the place looks like the Easter Bunny himself sprinkled his magic across the yard.

For my first dive back into a holiday, this one is at least easy on the eyes. As my gaze continues to travel the beauty I'm surrounded in, I take in the sight of some of the kids. They're all dressed to perfection, sparkling dresses and curled hair running alongside the boys in their slacks and collared shirts. I remember getting a new outfit every Easter. A dress covered in bright flowers or pastels. My brother hated his collared shirts, so Mom always made sure to also put in a t-shirt, usually a graphic tee, something to represent one of his many obsessions. His favorite was a classic Lost Boys tee. He wore that thing almost everyday for over a month.

I tear my eyes from the kids, ripping my thoughts away from the vision of my brother strutting across the house in his favorite tee. A tee that's now become my favorite to sleep in on the nights where my heart pounds too loud, when the pain hurts too much. Nights where all I want is to hear my brother's voice again, to hear a stupid joke or listen to the brotherly insult he wants to pass my way. I'd do anything to hear him make fun of me again.

His go-to joke? Reminding his best friend, my once boyfriend, that I used to wet the bed. It was one fucking time when I was six. I drank way too much at the county fair and fell asleep still fully clothed. He never let me live it down, though. Owen always found it endearing, placing a kiss to my forehead every time my brother attempted to use it as a weapon.

The ache in my heart shifts directions as my eyes begin to cling to every smiling couple around the yard. From long, admirable marriages to couples still tempting the waters of dating, every person here seems to be linked to someone. Everyone but me. As if I didn't already feel the emptiness of going solo today, the handsy and happy couples surrounding me begin to feel a bit like a cage. Like I'm stuck in the middle, isolated and on display for all to gawk at.

I whip around, leaving my tall glass and plate still piled high with strawberries and various melons. I leave it all, ready to bail, to return to my one bedroom apartment where I should have remained today. The comfort of sweatpants and a very special faded tee already calling my name.

And that's when I see him.

The crowd practically parts, the sun creating a spotlight on the one man I ran from. The one I left my heart with when I packed all my belongings into the back of my Honda Civic, driving away from all memories and emotions that tied me down. Tied him down. He didn't deserve my pain, to be drowning alongside me. At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

But he's here.

Why is he here?

How is he here?

My feet have lost all power to move. My heart ricochets across my chest as it pounds inside my ears. A loud redundant thump that has my hands beginning to shake, my chest beginning to ache.

He looks good. He looks really good. The dark wash of his jeans perfectly cut to remind me of the long, lean limbs beneath. The powdered blue shirt subtly clinging to the very muscles I used to run my hands across. The ones still branded to a memory that I cling to when the nights get too cold. And though I'm across the lawn, I know the way his eyes must be glistening against that shade of blue, set off by the same hue of vibrancy gracing his chest.

It's been a year. One year since I saw him, since he held me, since I melted to the words I love you. One whole year since I left that piece of my heart in the past. A year since I've let someone's lips caress mine, since I let my heart dance to the beat of another. A year since him.

His feet begin to move, his powerful legs carrying him in my direction, the smallest of a smile building across his face as those vibrant blues become more apparent. He doesn't appear to have the same sense of frozen shock that I do. He doesn't appear to be breaking inside at the memories lost, at the feelings still burning a hole inside.

I could still run. I could walk away just like I did when I graduated. I could hightail it out of here and add this to the list of growing regrets. Except I'm still frozen, wrapped in a daze of swirling emotions, rooted to the ground in longing and anticipation of hearing his voice again, of feeling home.

"Mari," he smiles, planting himself just a few steps in front of me. The name, my name, falling from his lips catapults a whole series of feelings. It's the name my family uses. The one my brother used to call me. Owen was always the only one outside of family who used it. Because he was family too.

"Hey," I croak through a desert of a mouth, nearly choking on the word as it scratches its way out.

His smile widens, the crystal abyss of his eyes brightening. "What are you doing here?" He asks the very question still spinning around my head.

I shuffle a bit, reminding myself that my feet aren't actually glued to the ground and giving my breaths a minute to stabilize. "I work with Kendra," I gesture toward the house.

He nods, looking away briefly before bringing his gaze back to mine. "Small world," he nods. "I work with her husband. Well, we work within the same branch, different locations. He's here, I'm still in Texas. But business brought me out here for the holiday and Kendra insisted-"

"You shouldn't be alone on such a brightly spirited holiday," I finish for him, the two of us sharing a smile, one that feels so much like home.

"Exactly." He's quiet for a moment, allowing my eyes to scan his features. He looks so damn good. So much the same and yet, so completely different. His hair is still cut shorter along the sides, the top left a little longer. I used to love to run my fingers through his hair, begging him to always keep enough for me to hold onto. He always did.

"So," he clears his throat. "California, huh? This is where you ended up?"

My eyes fly from the visions of silky hair, of private, tantalizing moments of feeling it slither through my tight grasp as I meet his lighted gaze. "Uh, yeah. California," I nod. "I didn't actually have a real plan but something about the ocean just drew me in."

His smile widens, those eyes of his glistening in a knowing acknowledgement. I love that he still knows me. I love that in a look, in a vague comment, he sees everything.

"You remember our trip to Florida?" He's nearly laughing and the memory has an immediate smile filling my face.

"How could I forget?" My body has relaxed, the tension of the day melted into the grass at his presence, as the light hearted memory wraps us both up. "We spent all day on the beach."

"Yeah, and your stubbornness to prove one layer of sunscreen was enough bit you in the ass," he laughs.

"Okay," I lift a hand, pointing a finger in his direction. "One layer is usually enough. How was I supposed to know it would wash off in the water?"

"Because both Jared and I told you more than once."

We're both laughing. It feels so good to laugh, especially today. But the giddiness of happiness quickly falls, a veil of pain stifling it to the ground. Memories have been shadowed lately, covered in darkened clouds. They're meant to be happy, they're meant to bring light to the already darkened edges. But all they ever seem to do is remind me that he's gone. That all he is now is a memory.

"Hey," Owen's hand rests against my arm, a feeling of warmth igniting my skin as I lift my eyes to his. "Let's go paint eggs."

"What?" My head snaps to the side, peering over at the table full of kids, a plastic tablecloth lining the wood beneath as various colored cups and baskets of eggs fill the table.

"Paint eggs," he repeats, sliding his hand from my arm to clasp around my fingers and pull me toward the table. "There's a whole set up. Let's go."

"Owen, that's for the kids."

"Says who?" He smiles back at me, still intent on his mission. "There's no sign. You're merely making an assumption."

"Yeah," I agree. "Based on the fact that the table is a child's height, there are no other adults, and egg painting in general is for kids."

"Nah," he shakes me off, pulling us up to the table. "Egg painting is for Easter, not for kids. And I happen to think it looks fun. Come on."

Against my better judgment, I slide into the low seated bench, scrunching my knees nearly to my chest as Owen does the same. He reaches for two eggs, handing me one before he begins to descend the white shell of his own into the bright green water in front of him. I hesitate for a moment, glancing around the table and taking in the various shades of brightly lit liquid. The memories of dying eggs come flooding back. The laughter and joy of creating mixed colors, eggs with half blue and half pink, others splattered in color and creatively turned into a fine art, too pretty to actually eat.

I let the egg settle into my hand, rolling across my palm before it makes its way to my fingers. I start bright, dropping it into the yellow dish and letting the rays of sunshine stain its shell. Owen is already removing his, a soft green coating the outside before he pops it into blue. I continue to wait, letting the pale yellow deepen. My eyes take in the kids surrounding us, watching as their own memories begin to build. The laughter and playfulness being shared between them. The joy that radiates from their innocence forces a smile on my face.

I'm genuinely happy.

I haven't felt the relief of real happiness in so long. But being here, enjoying an activity built to light up the holiday just sends this serene flood of joy through my system. An undeniable feeling that everything is okay.

We spend the next half hour perfecting our eggs. Adding dashes of pinks and blues, mixing hues and creating masterpieces.

Once we stretch our legs out of the tiny table, Owen's hand finds its way back into mine. The notion is instinct, the feeling is warmth. I want to hold him for the rest of the day, I want to hold him forever. But running away from someone, leaving them without an explanation makes it nearly impossible to go back.

The announcement of the adult Easter egg hunt is shouted over the yard. Before I even have the chance to deny the activity, my hand is being pulled toward the gathering crowd.

"Owen," I nearly moan, attempting to pull back. He propels me forward, planting me on the edge of the crowd before pulling me in front of him, my back to his chest.

"We're playing, Mari. What's Easter without an egg hunt?"

That damn smile crawls across my face again. My mom used to say the same thing when my brother and I tried to tell her we were getting too old. She never backed down though, and in all honesty, we were never too old. Looking back now, I'm thankful she persisted, that she gave us those memories, memories that are beginning to hold a sense of light, a gleam of joy as I glance back at them.

"Alright, folks," Kendra speaks up, her husband by her side. "Game is simple. Find as many eggs as you can before the time is up. Of course, the contents of these eggs are filled to an adult taste so please make sure your kids don't open them."

My interest has officially peaked. Add to that the inner competitor and I'm now taking a step of my own away from Owen. He wants to play, let's play.

As soon as Kendra gives the okay, I take off. My legs take over, my instinct to win pushing me forward. The first few eggs are easy, lit up brightly against a stark background. But the adventure becomes harder as the easily spotted eggs are all picked from view. I settle in, narrowing my focus and taking a breath. It's at this moment that I feel him. I feel my brother's presence as though I'm right back in my mother's yard. My movements still, my eyes falling shut as I let him wrap himself around me. His laughter, his smile, those bright, challenging eyes always egging me on.

When I slowly open my eyes, the smile that's graced my face causes my heart to settle, to radiate throughout my chest. I haven't felt that in his absence. I haven't felt calm, like everything is okay. Another relief of a breath sails from my lips before I scan the yard, knowing exactly where to go next.

By the time Kendra calls the end to the shenanigans, my basket is full. Everyone is dumping out the contents of their winnings, counting each one.

"I think I won this one," Owen's voice falls beside me as I drop the last counted egg back into my basket.

"Not a chance," I smirk up at him.

"Feeling confident, are we?" He returns said smirk, sending a little flash of excitement through my stomach.

"Feeling like a winner is more accurate."

He laughs, shaking his head as he stands from the ground. "Why don't we make it interesting then?"

My brows raise as I meet his gaze. "What do you have in mind?"

He takes a small, challenging step forward. "I win," he begins. "You let me take you to dinner."

My heart jolts across my chest. The thought of continuing this day, of being alone with him lighting up a darkened piece of me. "And if I win?" My question falls out quietly, hesitantly awaiting an answer.

His smile widens, my worry relaxing. "You get to pick the place."

A small laugh escapes me, the weight of the moment already lifting as a familiar sense of comfort takes its place. "So," I challenge back, taking a step toward him, closing the already limited space. "You're saying we're going to dinner whether I win or not."

He nods his head once. "You have a problem with that?"

Not one bit.

I hold his eyes, letting the crystal blue sea wash over me. "Johnny's," I respond.

His brows pull together, his mouth falling more serious. "I'm sorry?"

"They have the best burgers in town. We're going to Johnny's."

"I'm sorry," he laughs now, shaking his head. "Are you prematurely claiming your victory?"

I bite my lip, an instinct of its own taking over as I slowly nod. "A deal is a deal," I shrug.

"You think you're so damn clever, don't you?" He lurches forward, sliding a hand up my side and causing a small scream to escape. He knows how ticklish I am, and he's currently using it to his advantage. I try to scramble away but it's a lost cause. I'm a puddle of mush when it comes to being tickled...when it comes to him.

Kendra approaches, all wide eyed and vastly interested in the scene in front of us when she asks for our count. We both eye each other, both hesitating to reveal our hand. She waits, eyes bouncing between the two of us before we finally share our coveted numbers.

🌷🐣🌷

"This Johnny's place better have a good burger," Owen states over his shoulder as I follow him out to the driveway.

Victory sure does feel good.

"They do, trust me. And it's right on the beach. You're going to love it."

He turns quickly, causing me to come to an abrupt stop in front of him. "Better than Louie's?" He questions, causing my mind to wonder back to Texas's famous barbecue.

Nothing compares to Louie's and my salivary glands are already watering.

"Didn't think so," he adds before I've actually had the chance to respond.

"Okay, it's not Louie's, but for here, it's pretty damn good."

He hesitates, stopping again at what I can only assume is his rental. A generic silver sedan that is nowhere near the lifted black truck he used to drive me around in. The very one we made out under the stars in, that we managed to make love in when the ride home was too far away. I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks at the memories, and I quickly shift my gaze to the gravel, regaining my composure.

"You could always come home, Mari," his voice drops, his hand reaching out for mine as he pulls me close. "Come home," he whispers, pulling me in.

My feet don't fight the closing space, my body aching to be against his. And as we collide, the heat of his body against my own sends a storm of butterflies across my gut.

I want to close my eyes and live in this moment. I want to ignore the pain that still stings my chest and the haunted memories of a place I used to love. I want to worship the feelings I felt today, the joy, the laughter, the glow of those very memories that lost their spark when I was back home.

Everything that made me run comes rushing back as my chest begins to rise and fall at a quickened rate.

Owen's hands are quickly around my face, pulling my dampened eyes to his. He holds me there, not saying anything, not offering an escape, but seeing me, letting me feel it all with the embrace of his presence.

I take another shaky breath, clinging to his strength before I let the guarded words fall from my lips. "It's scary," the tiny squeak expels itself as I add, "it's painful."

He holds me against him, keeping his eyes locked on mine as his lips part. "It's always going to be painful, Mari. That's never going to go away. But you laughed today. You had fun and you can't try to pretend that you didn't." His hand rests against my cheek as I fall into him. "The dimple right here," he rubs his thumb gently across my skin, "doesn't lie. Yes, it's painful moving forward without him, creating new memories that he's not a part of. But that doesn't mean you don't deserve them. That you don't deserve to keep living."

"He's gone," a tear slides down my cheek, quickly swiped away by his hand as he pulls me tighter to his chest. "He doesn't get to laugh on a holiday anymore. He doesn't get to sit at a kids' table dying eggs or run around a yard searching for plastic eggs full of booze and condoms. He doesn't get to build new memories."

"No," he shakes his head before resting it against mine. "But you didn't die that day, Mari. And as much as I know that plagues you, it should be your very reason to live. To experience everything. Everything he would have wanted you to see, to feel. To fulfill every dream and live life to its goddamn fullest because you can. Because you know how fragile life can be. And you know your brother would never want to see you hiding."

My eyes roll up to his, locked onto that icy abyss that I've always gotten lost in. My tears have stilled, the pain dissapaiting across my chest as my breaths tangle with his.

Running.

I've been running scared ever since I got the call that night. Ever since the image of his crumbled car burned its way across my head, etched a grueling spot against my heart.

I've been scared to live. Terrified and racked with guilt to enjoy a life that he was ripped from. And being with Owen, letting him hit rock bottom with me... The weight of that guilt tore every ounce of oxygen from my lungs. I couldn't bear the weight. I couldn't breathe.

But he's here.

The warmth of his embrace and the feel of his arms around me makes everything come to life. There's a light inside me again, a fire burning, blazing across my chest and waking me from a sleep I fell into.

"I want to live," I whisper against his lips, feeling every emotion flood my body. The love I've always had for him, the pain of losing my brother, the hope for a future that I still have.

All of it washes over me. And I feel...alive.

He smiles, sliding his hand from my cheek and running it through my hair. The motion is so familiar, so good.

"I want to come home," I add, my heart beginning to race, the fear of sharing words that aren't ready to be heard taking over. But I'm done hiding. I'm done refusing to live.

His smile widens as he steps even closer. "Mari," he hesitates, his hand sliding to grip the back of my neck. A small moan leaves my lips as my head tilts up toward his. "Come home with me."

I nod against him. I never thought I'd ache to go back. I never thought I'd have a second chance to feel Owen's heart beat against my own. But standing here, feeling his embrace, feeling the weightlessness of today, I want nothing more than to return to a life I once thrived in. A life that's void of a brother I still desperately need. But a life that has him. A life with Owen. A new version of what I was living. One I can fill with new memories while still reminiscing about the old ones.

"Always," I whisper as one small tear manages to escape.

When his lips graze mine, I realize I've never felt more at home. I've never ached so badly.

Maybe running was never the answer. Maybe turning away from the things that highlight the memories of our past doesn't actually make them disappear. Maybe we're meant to hold onto them, no matter how painful they may get.

And maybe the brightly lit joy of this Easter Sunday was meant to bring the light back to my life. It was meant to bring me home.