Chapter Twenty-Two Lily
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lily
Everyone at the grocery store seemed very chill, considering the apocalypse was descending upon us.
I’d braced myself for empty bread aisles, no water to be found, yelling and fighting over supplies. A statewide shortage of nonperishables. I’d even pumped myself up to box someone out if I caught sight of some peanut butter. But there was no line. No fighting over the last can of beans.
They were acting normal.
What was wrong with these people? Did they just walk around ready for seventeen feet of snow at any given moment? I tucked my mouth against the zipped-up collar of my coat because, I swear, ever since I heard that shit was heading our way, I’d been unable to warm up.
“That everything, honey?” the cashier asked me, eyeing the items on the conveyor belt with visible confusion.
What? She’d never shopped for lake effect before?
“I think so.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “Do you think I need more?”
Her pencil-thin eyebrows arched, and she let out a quiet, “Uh, no?” Then she regrouped. “How many people are you feeding?”
My chin rose a notch. “Just me.”
Her eyes widened, her mouth quivering as she tried to stifle her laugh, and I wanted to chuck my shopping cart at her judgy little face.
“I think you’ll be fine,” she said carefully. “For the next month.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. I’ve never lived through a blizzard before.”
She scanned the items, shuffling them toward a bored-looking teen who bagged them unseeingly. He wasn’t judging me.
Then he blinked down at the items as he set them in the paper bags, clearly seeing a pattern. And he gave me a weird look.
I pursed my lips and mulishly set my jaw, staring him down until he relented, cheeks flushed pink.
Just before he started loading my items up on his little cart, set to bring them out to my car, I held up my hand. “Just put them back in my cart. I’ll do it.”
“You sure?” he asked, voice squeaky and high despite his tall, long-limbed body.
“Yeah. Thanks, though.”
He shrugged and pulled my cart around to the back of the counter to do as I’d asked.
I shifted restlessly, staring down at my boots before glancing at the next person in line.
The elderly woman behind me was watching my items too.
All she had in her basket was a couple of cans of soup and a bag of coffee.
Great. Even the old people weren’t panicking.
My cheeks were hot when the woman told me my total.
I handed my card over to the cashier with a tight smile as the teen bagged up the last of the groceries. Receipt in hand, I kept my head down and pushed the cart out to the car, slowing down when the slush accumulating on the parking lot surface impeded my speedy getaway.
“Ugh,” I said, pushing the button to open the hatch on the back of my SUV.
Groceries loaded up and safe, I decided to take pity on Mr. Squeaky Voice and bring the cart back inside.
The magic of the snow wasn’t quite as magical today, and I glared at every fucking flake that had landed on the car while I was shopping.
There was probably some fancy tool to remove it, but even if I’d owned one, I couldn’t have stood out in that shit for a moment longer, relying instead on the windshield wipers to give me enough visibility to drive the five minutes back home.
My phone buzzed and I yanked my gloves off to open the text from Patty.
Patty: Met someone at the pool today. She’s looking for a dog/cat sitter for about six months while they go on a world cruise.
They live in Florida, and if you’re interested, I can pass along your information.
My offer still stands, of course, if you don’t want to leave.
But if you do, there’s another option. She said she doesn’t even need to interview you, because she’s gotten rave reviews from the people who met you here last year.
There it was. The exit strategy I’d been missing. I should’ve been ecstatic. Should’ve sighed the biggest sigh of relief known to humankind—but it never came.
Neither did the urge to send an immediate yes in response. My fingers were stiff. Unable to type anything back. Probably the cold. It was definitely, 100 percent the cold that made my insides feel all empty and echoey and terrible.
My side itched, evidence of my errand before the grocery store making an absolute mockery of me.
I laid my hand over the spot on my ribs and let out a deep breath.
That itch turned into a burn. Pressing my hand down harder didn’t stop it, and my blood seemed to pulse under my skin, concentrated in one regrettable spot.
Damn, damn, damn my impulsive streak. One must never make big decisions in the throes of grief. I should’ve just cut some fucking bangs.
Then I sent a text.
Me: Tell her I’ll take it. Thank you.
As I shoved my phone into the center console, I struggled to take a deep breath.
A nasty little voice in the back of my head kindly pointed out that I was still being impulsive, but I really didn’t feel like hearing that shit, so I ignored it.
Just . . . ignored all the things that were making my insides feel tight and squeezy.
Rash.
Reckless.
Stubborn.
You can’t change someone who doesn’t want to change.
What if I did, though? What if I did and I just didn’t know how? What then? It was like taking a first step out into space when all you’d ever known was the familiarity of solid ground. Fear had a way of doing that, leashing you somewhere because it felt safe.
My hands trembled while I pressed them against my eye sockets.
But there was no forcibly removing Barrett’s voice from my head.
If the man ever found out, he’d be insufferable, knowing he’d laid anchor somewhere in my subconscious, like a hot Jiminy Cricket trying to teach me all sorts of life lessons.
While I waited for the car to warm up, and the defrost to kick in and remove the fog from the glass, I pressed my fists up to my mouth and blew warm air onto my fingers.
Barrett doing the same thing flashed in my head, and I had to pinch my eyes shut to ban the memory. My hands fumbled with the knobs on the dashboard, and I cued up some female rage music.
There.
I sat my head back on the seat and nodded along to the beat. After a few seconds, I opened my eyes, watching the fog dissipate and my view to the outside clear up.
The snow was still magical. Any other thought to the contrary was just my epically bad mood talking. If I closed my eyes again, I’d see him.
Flakes landing on his face. Catching on his hair.
Catching on mine. The warmth of his gloves when I slipped my fingers inside.
I pressed my hands to my face and let out a deep breath.
No. No, no, no.
We didn’t need happy, sweet thoughts about the way he looked at me while the snow fell soft from the sky. My heart was still too fucking broken for any of this.
It was all I could do to get out of bed that morning, and I’d stared blankly at Larry’s food and water bowls until my eyes turned all gritty and dry. I could pick that shit up later.
Larry should’ve given me a little heads-up, you know? Tapped something out in Morse code.
Ready for doggie heaven. I is tired and you talk too much.
Everything about this sudden life change really just pissed me off.
Anger was easier. I wasn’t actually mad at that little grouch, but if I didn’t stay firmly camped where I was, I’d start thinking other things.
Sad, heartbreaking things.
Crying things.
Soon I’d be waist deep in chocolate and eating cookie dough straight from the bowl and sobbing until my face puffed out.
Between the snow and Barrett and the dog, I was a lit keg ready to freaking blow.
I put the car in reverse and slowly made my way out of the slushy parking lot. The roads were slippery, and as my hands clutched the steering wheel, I cursed my past self for all sorts of things.
“Lying out in the snow,” I muttered, then squealed when I hit the brakes too hard approaching a red light and the back end of the car fishtailed a little. “Making cookies and standing under mistletoe. Ugh. Keeping the dog in the first place. What was I thinking?”
But there was no one to listen.
My stomach trembled, a slow reverberation that worked its way up to my chest. My throat. My hands, which would’ve shook if I wasn’t white-knuckling the wheel.
There was no one to listen.
Larry, for all his many faults, was a great listener. All these years on my own, he’d been the one to hear everything. The things I didn’t want anyone to hear.
Oh, but at the back of my head, something terrible happened. A voice whispered, prying through the dark webs of grief, until I had no choice but to listen.
Barrett would.
Barrett would listen.
I shook my head furiously, my breaths coming in sharp and fast through my nose.
How had he managed this? How had he weaseled his way into this position over such a short amount of time?
It was some mind-boggling man magic that I didn’t want to think on too deeply. That pissed me off too.
I eased down the street, glaring at his house like it had kicked me in the crotch, when the man himself walked through the front door and put a couple of suitcases into the back of a black SUV. Even with a glare already fixed on my face, my eyes narrowed even farther, until I could hardly see.
Didn’t even look over at me. No wave; no serious, restrained little nod like, Yeah, I see you. Yeah, we had some moments recently, and I just wanted to acknowledge your presence.
Even as I pulled into my driveway, he never glanced my way.
I scoffed. Loudly. Kinda sounded like I had a hair ball.
“Who the fuck does he think he is?” I hissed.
There was a moment just after I punched the button to turn the car off when blind anger, frustration, and grief coalesced into a screaming pile of wreckage. I shoved at the door, shouldering it open and marching between the yards before I could talk myself out of it.
Steam was probably shooting out my ears.
Displaced steam, but it was there nonetheless. Logic had no place. The sight of his indifference kicked that shit right out the fucking window.
Barrett’s head was covered by a ball cap, his broad shoulders in a black hooded sweatshirt as he set a suitcase on its side in the back of the vehicle.
“You have some nerve,” I said hotly. “You can’t even wave. Or look at me. After yesterday?”
Abort! Abort! another voice in my head screamed. Especially when he froze and turned in my direction, his eyes wide and his eyebrows lifted.
“Um—”
“No,” I cut in, my hand making a dramatic stabbing motion in the air.
“No, this isn’t fair. I don’t know what to do with you, Barrett.
You make no sense. I’m leaving, and you know that, but you keep doing these things and I don’t know why.
You give me a shovel. And sit in the snow and listen, and you carry the bag of horribleness for me, but you’re . . . you’re so . . .”
He winced, holding up a hand. “Wait, hang on, I don’t think you want to do this.”
I crossed my arms, hip jutting out as I pinned him with a lethal stare.
“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t want to do, you bossy asshole.
And that’s the other thing, you know. You are not in charge of whatever .
. . whatever this is! Whatever you think is happening here.
The gestures and the . . . conversations and the flirting, if you can even call it that—because honestly, I think you’re really bad at it, if it is. ”
He swiped a hand over his mouth and looked me up and down, but without the usual lingering heat. “Lily, right?”
Oh, okay. So that’s what it felt like to have someone stab you in the chest.
My mouth hung open, and I blinked. Repeatedly. “What?” I said in a horrified whisper. “Is this a fucking joke?”
He blew out a slow breath. “Trust me, I am not the one you want to be saying this to.”
Something wasn’t right.
In fact, something was very, very wrong.
“What do you mean?” I asked, arms tightening around my waist, an anchor in whatever insanity was about to explode in my cranium.
But before he could answer, the door to the house swung open. A pretty, petite woman with messy blond hair and big gray eyes stopped short at the sight of me.
“Hi,” she said, taking in my slightly aggressive posture warily. “What’s going on?”
“Who are you?” I asked, horror creeping up my spine like ice.
Her brows bent in. “I’m his fiancée, Ruby.”
“What?”
He held up his hands again. “You have me confused with someone else,” he said to me.
The woman’s mouth fell open. “Oh.”
“‘Oh’ what?” I snapped.
Someone else joined her in the doorway—and my fucking knees went weak, comprehension dawning like a kick to my face.
“Griffin, you forgot Maggie’s—”
Barrett froze at the sight of me, eyes swinging between me and . . . oh God, oh holy fuck me over the rails . . . he was a twin. He was a twin. “Lily,” he said cautiously. “Are you okay?”
My entire body slumped, and I covered my face while my heart turned out a slow, lethargic beat. Maybe I was having a nightmare. With snow and judgy cashiers and two Barretts to make my life a living hell. Or maybe I was stroking out. Yes, that was a great option. I was officially choosing that.
Unfortunately, it was all very, very real. And I could not pinch myself into waking up. I’d just go hide for the rest of my life. Heat crawled up my neck, into my cheeks, and when my hands dropped, I drew myself up to my full height and made scathing eye contact with the real Barrett.
Was I mad at him? No.
Was I embarrassed as all get-out? You bet your ass.
That embarrassment, to my dismay, came out looking a lot like rage.
“Of course there are fucking two of you,” I hissed. And without saying another word, I turned and marched right back through the yards, praying desperately that the ground would open up and swallow me whole.