"Impressive," he notes.
"Yeah," I nod, planting my hands on my hips and looking around. "It used to just have one lightbulb in the middle of the steps and another one deep in the attic. It practically looked like one of those horror movies before we added this lighting. That wall over there wasn't actually there, either. I wanted to be able to use this space for more than just storage, so we added the wall to block off an area for boxes and things. When I was little, this whole room was a bedroom. They just kind of stacked things in the corners, but there was a bed and everything right in the middle."
"Why?" Dean asks.
I shrug. "Not sure. There were plenty of bedrooms downstairs. But it was nice to come up and play and read."
I start across the room toward the smaller room, but notice Dean isn't with me.
"You okay?" I ask, turning back around.
He's still standing where he was, looking around again, but this time as if he's trying to see what the room was before I made the changes.
"Do you think it was for my fa—Jonah?" he asks.
I draw in a breath and let it out slowly. It's the first time he's said his father's name since he's been here. It's been more than a year, and yet it still sucks the air out of the room when I hear him say it. I can talk about him. Sam can say his name, and I don't react. But there's something about hearing Dean mention him that hurts.
"Maybe," I nod. "It's possible they kept it set up for him when he was younger. You have to remember there were a lot of years there when everybody thought he was dead, so I doubt that was the reason then. I prefer to think that Gran just always wanted to fill the house with as many people as she could. Not that she ever did, at least not when my parents and I were here, but the option was there."
Dean finally smiles and comes the rest of the way into the attic. I bring him to the small room and open the door. It fits little more than a bed and a shelf, but it will give him privacy.
"This is great. Thanks again for letting me stay with you," he says.
"I'm not ‘letting you stay’," I insist. "That makes it sound as if I'm doing you a favor. You're my family. When you visit, you stay. That's just the way it is."
"Okay," he says with a smile as if he's relenting but still right on the edge of being unsure.
I can understand the sentiment. Growing up with his mother couldn’t have been easy. His life only got harder when she died. He saved himself through military service that turned into a career as a private investigator after he was injured, but even now, the past still haunts him. After not having a family throughout his life, he is still trying to get used to the idea of having one now.
To be honest, so am I. It's one of the greatest things I can imagine, but it's still hard to wrap my brain around it sometimes. Some mornings I wake up and call my father before the sun is even up. It jostles him out of sleep most of the time. I rarely actually have anything to say, but I know he's there. It's just that knowledge that makes all the difference.
"You go ahead and get settled in. I'm going to go attempt some baking magic to make this board game cake. Then in a bit, we'll go across the street to Janet and Paul's for the party," I tell him.
"Oh, I figured I'd just stay here while you go. I just kind of sprung my visit on you. I don't want to show up at a party with no one expecting me."
"It's a surprise party. She's not expecting anyone. But even if she was, she'd be thrilled to meet you. Sam and I do game night with Paul and Janet just about every week. They've heard everything about you. It would hurt her feelings if she found out you were here in town and didn't come over."
"Really?" Dean asks.
"Yes."
"Alright."
"Good. Now, I'm off. Ron Ben-Israel, don't fail me now."
I get downstairs to the kitchen and find Sam bending over, staring into the oven. I pause at the door to watch him for a few appreciative seconds. Appreciative for both the view and just for his being there. He stands up, and I cross the kitchen to him, gathering him up in a hug, old oven mitts and all.
"Chicken is almost ready," he tells me, his face pressed against my hair.
"Okay. The cake's not," I say.
"Well. One step at a time. If all else fails, we could always go unconventional and bring a different dessert. I think we still have some Girl Scout cookies in the freezer," he says.
My arms still wrapped around his waist, I lean back and look at him questioningly.
"Surprise, happy fiftieth birthday, here are your partially frozen Thin Mints?"
"We could grind them up into a milkshake."
“Seriously?”
“Actually, now that you mention it, I’m kinda craving them…”
He turns away toward the freezer, but before he does, I pull his shoulder back to me. I grin and rise up to kiss him, and he wraps his arms around me in a hug, leaning into my kiss. One thing among the many that I adore about this man is he's tall enough that I still get to bounce up on my toes just a little bit when I kiss him.
"I love you," I say.
He kisses me in return.
"I love you, too."
"Thank you," I say, thinking about the conversation Dean and I had at the grocery store.
"For what?" he asks.
"Just… thank you."
I've said that a lot to him over the last couple of years, and I'm sure my supply of the words won't be running out any time
