Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
The other half
LILA
I used to long for the bravery of a barnacle goose.
The parents build their nests in rocky cliffs, perched so dang high that I get vertigo just imagining it.
And at only one day old, the goslings fling themselves out of their nests to whatever lies below without a moment’s hesitation.
They don’t know how to fly yet. Nature does the rest.
Can you imagine the confidence they must have to do that?
It’s where the phrase leap of faith comes from.
Even if they don’t understand the danger, it’s still impressive that they jump.
No doubt the mama barnacle goose knows the risk.
Yet she lets them jump without flinching. Perhaps even gives them a nudge.
After Zara’s death, envisioning myself with the inner strength to jump off a cliff was morbidly depressing, so I stopped wishing for their type of bravery. Over time, I accepted that I wasn’t born to be fearless. Other birds came to mind to fill the space I once had for the barnacle goose.
For example, the brown-headed nuthatch is extremely cautious because it’s tiny and at risk of many predators. They hide in dense pine forests in small groups, relying on their surroundings and each other for protection. That’s how they survive.
Then there’s the cardinal, a nonmigratory species. Not only are they beautiful, but they’re a masterclass in resilience. No matter how harsh the environment gets, they stay put and sing through the storms. Even the dead of winter doesn’t drive them away.
Goldfinches, robins, and canaries are known to sing beautifully, sprinkling their happiness over the world. I could go on all day.
The lessons we can learn from these magnificent creatures are virtually limitless if you care to look.
As I look back on my life, it’s entirely possible I put too much emphasis on the traits a bird employs to survive and not on what a human needs.
By latching onto Kenzie, I blended into the scenery to evade predators, much like a nuthatch would.
If that failed, at least she was stronger and willing to fight my battles.
I did this and more with the stubbornness of a cardinal, while pretending to be a singing robin who shines bright like a canary.
And look how that all turned out for me.
I’m thirty minutes deep into today’s courageous plan of attack: hiding in the shower. That’s a full thirty minutes after Reed wrapped himself in a room-temperature towel so he could get ready for the day. At least twenty-five minutes after I rinsed conditioner out of my hair.
I’m literally standing under the hot spray, thinking about birds rather than facing the music waiting for me in the other room.
I’m not resilient. I’m neither brave nor cautious. My happiness is superficial. And I’m not thriving. In fact, I’m barely surviving.
Despite the hours we spent wrapped up in ecstasy after those beautiful professions, I’m once again in shambles. Not even all the orgasms could keep the reality away for long. My consequences are waiting in the other room.
Unfortunately, I can’t hide in here forever.
Resigned to my fate, I exit the shower. Once again, the towel’s temperature makes me pout. I never knew I was such a diva. Which bird is that, I wonder? A flamingo, maybe?
“I put your clean clothes on the bed,” Reed announces as he passes by the bathroom door.
“Thanks,” I toss as I rise to my toes at the bathroom sink and reach toward the top of the mirror so I can retrace the half heart.
My hand freezes before my fingers make contact with the foggy glass. The air gets clogged in my throat.
The half heart I drew last night is still there, but it isn’t how I left it. And not because it’s faded, as I would’ve expected it to be.
This is a whole heart.
Two sides.
The right side is easier to see, as if it were freshly drawn this morning. It doesn’t quite match my half, so I know I didn’t do it while floating on the THC cloud last night. Someone else must have done it.
Zara?
“The ghosts are real,” I mumble under my breath as I shift back instinctively. I whip my head around the room, keeping my vision low to the ground as if I’ll be able to see her. Like a first-class idiot.
Of course, I can’t see her. I sigh and shake my head in self-recrimination.
Even if ghosts were real, Zara hasn’t been haunting Reed’s condo for over two decades, waiting for this precise moment to finally draw her half of the heart.
She’ll never do that again.
Which means . . .
Reed obliviously bounds into the room right as I realize what he did. Meanwhile, I’m a statue of emotion overload as the implications set in.
A tremble rocks through me. My heart—the one inside my chest—plummets to the floor. Unable to look away, I stay locked in on Zara’s side of the heart.
Reed stops behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling my back to his front. He kisses the curve of my neck and whispers, “Breakfast is ready.”
I don’t respond. I can’t. Heck, I still can’t even move.
All I’m able to do is stare at the mirror. It blurs as my vision fails. I force a blink, faintly noticing tears leaving damp paths down each cheek.
“What’s wrong, cookie?” Reed asks, shuffling around to face me.
Like before, no response materializes.
All I can do is cry while staring at something I never thought I’d see again.
I lose sight of the mirror entirely when he wraps me in his arms, cradling my head to his chest.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he coos, rubbing my shoulders lovingly. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it . . .“
His consoling words are drowned out by my growing wails.
I pick up more of his rambling words here and there, noticing the shift change from comforting to apologizing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought it was for me.”
He doesn’t need me to explain why I’m cracking up over something stupid drawn in the dispersing fog. Whether that’s because of his experience interpreting clues or because he just knows me, I don’t know. Nor do I care.
I withdraw from his embrace, peering up at him. He’s as blurry as the mirror.
Before I can formulate a response, he abruptly releases me and dashes a few steps away. An almost frenzied pain erases the velvet of his voice as he prattles on, “I’m so sorry, cookie. I’ll fix it. Don’t cry. I’m sorry. I can fix it.”
In full crisis mode, he scurries to the mirror with a towel he grabbed from the rack. “Don’t worry, baby. It was an accident. Almost gone. Don’t cry.”
Still stunned mute, I don’t stop him from wiping his half of the heart away. As it disappears, my anguish sharpens.
He faces me, optimism coating his features, and tosses the towel aside. “There. All fixed. Like it never happened.”
But it did happen.
Another dam breaks inside me, sobs shaking my chest.
Not only am I not any of the birds I’ve idolized, I’m a bellowing blue whale with a mournful song.
His mouth curves sharply downward as he returns to me, apprehension in each step.
This time, I’m ready for his comfort, and I fling my arms around his waist, securing him to me like a steel band.
He rests his chin on top of my damp head, and we sway together as he consoles me through my latest episode.
For a while, the only sounds are his mumbled apologies and my pathetic whimpers.
Eventually, I get my act together and stop impersonating a fragile flower. I loosen my death-grip on him, step out of his arms, and wipe my face.
I need to explain and assuage his guilt, but he starts back in with his needless apologies before I get a chance. “I won’t ever do it again. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
“Stop,” I utter, thrusting my palm out. “Please, just stop. I need to tell you why—”
He jumps back in, his defense case ready for the jury.
“You don’t need to say it. I figured it out when I realized where you were looking.
And I get it. I do. I just wish I had realized sooner what it was.
I thought you were trying to be cute and did it for me.
I know now that it wasn’t my heart to complete. ”
I stamp my foot and pout. “Reed, stop it. Let me talk.”
He looks contrite, head downcast and regret lining his eyes. “I didn’t want you to feel like you needed to explain.”
“Clearly, I do need to explain.” I gesture at him, swiping my hand from head to toe. “You’ve got it wrong.”
His shoulders sag, and his voice lowers to a whisper. “Go ahead. I’ll listen. Silently.”
It’s not the time to gloat, but I sort of like how fast I humbled him to silence.
Padding close to him, I trail my hands along the outsides of his arms to ease his apprehension. “Reed, I’m not mad at you. Not even a little.”
He narrows his eyes at me, quirking his head to the side with curiosity. But his mouth wisely remains closed.
“As you surmised, that’s something Zara and I used to do before she .
. . died.” Pausing, I swallow down the grief so I can continue.
“I’ve done it so long it’s an automatic ritual.
But I was crying because I never thought I’d see the other side of the heart again.
And it made me—” Even though I’m trying to hold it together, a scant whimper slips free. “It made me happy.”
His eyes scream at me that he has something to say, so I lower my head to encourage him to speak.
“Lila, are you sure you aren’t trying to make me feel better?
I mean, you were really . . .” His words trail off, probably because he doesn’t want to call it like it was—me, cracking up and falling to shambles in his arms.
Because of a childish heart drawn on a mirror.
My shoulders rise and fall with an indulgent sigh. “Yes, Reed. I’m sure. Believe it or not, I was hysterically bawling like an inconsolable toddler because I was happy. Overjoyed, actually. Not only for me, but for you too. We don’t have to be . . . brokenhearted anymore.”
Assuming he can keep me out of prison.