16. Griffin #2
If there’s one thing Dean Lovinski is good at, it’s to manage a concussion and break all his bones just by hanging up a picture frame.
We all learned that the hard way.
Lily doesn’t even attempt to hide her victorious smile. She knows she’s got us real good now because there’s no way we’ll let Julie’s dad do anything by himself.
“How about rescheduling the meeting to another day?” I ask tentatively.
Lily shakes her head. “Nope, Jupiter is in the first house tomorrow and we can’t miss that kind of chance.” In what house?
Luke gives me a look that says don’t you dare ask any more .
“Um, okay. Jupiter, okay…” I scratch the back of my head. There’s no way we can get that storage set up for her today. Not with both Luke and me on shift.
I know I’ll most likely regret this, but I still say, “We can store your extra stuff at my place in the meantime. Would that work? I can get some time off to come help you move it all.”
“Really?” She arches her eyebrows. “Oh, how wonderful.” Lily jumps up. “I knew I could count on my favorite son.” She smiles and kisses my cheek.
“Hey, since when is he the favorite?” Luke pouts.
“Be jealous.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him, taunting him.
But when Lily responds, it’s Luke grinning wide. “Don’t worry, it’s a rotating schedule. But if you’d like to secure that spot, Griffin, all you have to do is finally ask my daughter to marry you.”
Nope, I’m not grinning at all. Instead, I’m standing there, my mouth gaping when Lily adds nonchalantly, “Come on, honey, there are just a few boxes.”
A few boxes…
I glance around at what used to be my living room, but I can no longer make out where my couch or TV are. Because it’s all covered with a few boxes.
I was too distracted by her small comment—yes, the one about asking her daughter to marry me—to realize how many trips I’ve made back and forth.
Damn it, I knew. I knew what I was getting myself into and yet, I still did it. I knew Lily was sentimental and kept every scrap of paper with Cal’s or Julie’s scribbles on it. I just didn’t think she also kept mine and Luke’s as well. And maybe half the town’s.
There are at least fifty boxes here. Maybe more.
Definitely more. And these are not all of them too. After I tell her I’m out of space, she looks around her attic and the remaining items in there, puckers her lips and says, “I guess I’ll make it work.”
And I’m wondering if I’ll ever find the way to my bed sometime this month but it’s a worry for another day, because right now I need to get back to work.
Speaking of which, my phone rings and Luke’s name flashes.
“So, did you have a nice time bonding with your future mother-in-law?” There is no mistaking the amusement in his voice.
“If you think I’ll rise to that bait, you’re sorely mistaken,” I tell him, pushing one of the boxes on my couch so I can find the jacket I left here earlier.
“Spoilsport,” he mutters, and I chuckle into the phone. “Fine, no fun for you. When are you getting back into the station?”
“I should be there in ten minutes. As soon as I find this damn jacket. ” I mutter that last part to myself, trying to move yet another box.
What are in these? Rocks?
Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s precisely what Lily has in there.
“Okay. Did you see if there’s too much damage left after Dean tried to build the shed today?” Luke asks, and I sigh. “Shit.” Luke interprets my sigh correctly. “How bad?”
“Let’s just say we’ll need all new material.” And that’s me putting it mildly. Somehow, Dean managed to screw up every piece and then some.
“Great,” Luke groans. “Remind me to murder Callum for leaving us to deal with this the next time we see him.”
I shift another box. Damn where is my stupid jacket? “Unless you plan to go out into the Pacific Ocean, I highly doubt he’ll ever show his face here.” I move to the kitchen. Maybe I left it in there.
Sure enough, I catch a glimpse of my sleeve under two huge boxes. “Finally,” I exclaim, tugging on the material.
“Finally, what?”
“Finally, I found my jacket. I’ll be there soo—” In hindsight, I should’ve just lifted the boxes off it, but I didn’t. I yank hard, and in the process send the top one to the floor, watching in slow motion as the contents freefall all. Over. The. Fucking. Floor. “Fuck!” I shout.
“What? What’s going on?” Luke inquires on the other side of the phone, which I’m now holding in between my shoulder and ear to try and gently pry my jacket after all this goddamn time and not trip the other box when I see what was in the top box.
Are those…?
My mind goes blank yet I’m faintly aware of Luke shouting something but I can’t concentrate on his theatrics right now. Not when my heart is hammering wildly in my chest.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you soon,” I mutter, absentmindedly.
“That wasn’t—” Luke starts, but I click to end the call before he has a chance to finish and crouch next to the spilled contents of the box I just tipped over.
Diaries…
There are diaries all over my floor. Many, many colorful, crafty looking diaries. My throat goes dry and my hands start to shake because I think I know who they belong to.
One of the crafty, dainty diaries has landed on an open page. One that has my name on it—my full name—surrounded by intricate design of hearts and swirly lines and underneath it is a plus sign and… Julie Birdy Owling .
Owling… I stare at the name for what feels like hours, unmoving with the whole universe put on hold.
Is this a joke?
A prank?
I wonder, but the deep ache in my chest doesn’t think it’s either.
Don’t. Do not reach down for it, Griffin.
But it’s as if my hands have a mind of their own.
One that’s connected to my hammering heart and is desperate to know it all.
Crouching down next to it, I carefully bring my fingers to it, tracing over the lines on the paper.
They are deep and bold and sure. Each letter carefully written in beautiful, cursive font.
The same font she still uses to write the names on the to-go cups in her shop. The same font I’ve been mesmerized with for most of my life.
When did she write this?
Why?
What does it mean?
What do you think it means, you idiot?
I don’t remember sitting down, but I am, my feet on the floor in front of me as I rest my hands on my knees and my eyes are locked on the mess in front of me.
The mess of memories, secrets, and honesty. The beautiful mess that is Julie Birdy Lovinski.
Owling …my mind automatically corrects itself when my eyes land on that same page again. Owling.
I can’t, I can’t touch them, I can’t betray her trust like that.
I swallow hard.
I’ll just check the date, I’m just curious to see when did she write this and how come I missed it.
Screw it, I can ponder over my actions and how wrong they are later, after I know the truth. And without thinking too much I grab the journal, flipping to the front and see the date and do the mental count.
Nine years old. Julie was nine years old when she wrote this?
On autopilot, my fingers slip under the first page and I flip it, finding the first entry.
Dear Diary,
I was hoping the other journal would last me through the year, but nope! I guess I had too much to say already, and we are not even halfway through the year.
I know, I know, I could’ve made less doodles about me and Griffin, but I like them. So, be prepared! I’ll make new ones here as well.
The entry goes on, but my mind catches on one thing. This is not the first journal.
I’m on my feet instantly, shuffling through the diaries and next thing I know, I’m gulping down each entry like a man starved. I read the first time she saw me as her hero, when I stopped Owen from bullying her, and I almost break down in hysterical laughter.
Funny how that didn’t help now.
I read through her plans for our marriage and the list of names she put together to name our kids.
My mind in such overdrive that I wouldn’t even mind to name them Kale, Ossian, Moss, and Meadow right now.
I’m flipping page over page that is filled with hearts and our initials. It’s filled with hopes and dreams.
Jesus Christ! How did I miss it all?
And then another thought hits me like a bucket of freezing water.
Years…I could’ve had years with her already. Decades!
I shut that diary and pick up another one at random, needing more and more and more. I have no clue for how long I’ve sat here, reading every word and memory. Taking it all in until there’s nothing but one last diary left from the spilled box.
Maybe there’s more somewhere?
But I decide to finish with these before I go searching for the others. I open it up and note it’s from years later than what I’ve been reading. Yeah, there’s definitely more somewhere here but I still open this one, feeling a strange tug in my chest and a moment later, I understand why.
Because the words on this page make my blood run cold.
Dear Diary,
I was a fool all these years.
He doesn’t see me…he really doesn’t. I’m just his best friend’s little sister. Worse…I think I might just be a nobody.
It’s time I put those stupid feelings away. Wait, no, they are not stupid. The feelings are beautiful!
Griffin is the stupid one. Wait, no, Griffin is not stupid either.
Is this dark, thundering feeling in my chest something people call hate? Hurt? I’ve never felt it before, didn’t think it was possible and never expected to taint my soul with it, but I think…I think…this is it.
I’ve convinced myself that I’m simply too young for him. That maybe he still saw me as his best friend’s little sister and so I’d have to wait a little longer for him to see me as a girl…but that’s not the case. He will never see me as someone he wants to kiss like he kisses Kimmy.
He’ll never want me in his life the way I want him in mine.
He’ll never want to feel how my red hair feels between his fingers because it’s wild and screaming and he’s into blondes. One blonde…