26. Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
O pening my eyes, I quickly realized that I’d spent the night on the couch, one of my arms still dangling off the edge. I reached out, hoping to land on a familiar frame next to me, but came up empty-handed.
I perked up, hoping to see Grey somewhere. I scanned the room, but disappointment smacked me in the face when I found an empty apartment staring back at me. Throwing my feet to the side of the couch, I stood, sleepily walking into my bedroom.
A yellow sticky note stuck perfectly to the center of my computer screen caught my eye across the room. A coy smile snuck out.
In Grey’s surprisingly legible handwriting, it read,
Peeling the note from my computer screen, giddiness took over my body and I started uncontrollably flailing my arms and legs like a schoolgirl.
“Liv, you would absolutely lose your mind if you could see me now. I somehow managed to snag the most attractive—and maybe kindest?—man alive. He’s protective, supportive, and knows his way around the bedroom. A true gentleman in my eyes, and I have no doubt he would be in yours too.” I let out a gulp of excitement. “I would do anything to have you here with me, I miss you so fucking much.”
Sometimes I swore she was in the room, listening to me, and other times I spoke aloud as a way of coping with the harsh reality that she wasn’t.
Grief really was such a bitch. I was supposed to share these moments with her. We were supposed to be a part of each other’s lives forever. To celebrate each other’s highs and be there during the lows. Sometimes, I hated myself for being the one who survived. It felt wrong. It felt unfair. Why did I get to experience the rest of my life when Liv lost hers?
At times I found myself imagining what life might look like if she hadn’t died and we’d instead found ourselves living out our dreams in New York City. Me, a successful writer, spending my days falling in love with fictional characters; Liv a modern-day David Childs, spending her days buried in sketches of the next New York skyscraper. Both of us, spending our nights together, going to chic bars and indulging in overpriced cocktails.
It seemed silly now, unrealistic even. A life like that felt so far away, distant, almost as if it was a story I’d written before. One I could recite every line to but that would never be known.
The way grief manipulated its way back into your brain during the least opportune times was something I’d never get used to. Grief didn’t care if you were having a good day, it didn’t care if you were standing in line at the grocery store or sitting in the park having a picnic. It snuck up on you when you least expected it and did its best to pull you back under.
My phone pinged, bringing the grief spiral to a halt. In a way, I figured that was Liv’s way of making sure the grief didn’t get too far in.
A text from Sam illuminated my screen.
Sam:
How was your shift last night?
Me:
It was fine. I’ll have to fill you in when I see you next.
Sam:
Oh god, what happened?
Me:
We had some shitty customers that decided to wait around in the parking lot and try to fuck with me when I was closing down.
Sam:
What the fuck! What is wrong with people? Are you okay?
Me:
I ask myself that question on a daily basis. But yes, I’m fine.
Sam:
What are you doing tonight? Want to get an ungodly amount of junk food and lie on your couch?
Me:
Can’t. I have plans. I’m having dinner with Grey.
Sam:
MJ! WHAT!
Me:
I know, I know. Let’s get lunch this weekend and I’ll fill you in. I promise.
Sam:
Fine. Let’s chat later and we’ll figure out a day that works. I love you.
Me:
I love you too.
Setting my phone down, I moseyed to the fridge, only to decide a smoothie from down the street sounded better than anything I could make.
Plus, some fresh air would probably do me good.
Berry Good Smoothies was a staple in Montauk and had been around since before I started high school. The owners were sisters, Ashley and Niki, and they were the sweetest. They’d brought their tiny space to life in more ways than one.
The walls were splashed with a lime green paint that almost blinded you, especially in the mornings when the sun peered through the windows. Palm leaves, surfboards, and other exotic plants lined the interior, leaving little clearance to get to the counter, but I didn’t mind. It made it feel neighborly, cozy.
“Hey, Ashley, can I get one Green Goddess and two of your PB&J smoothies?” I asked, reaching into my bag to retrieve my wallet.
“Coming right up! How’s your mom and dad? I feel like I haven’t seen them for a bit.”
“They’re good. In fact, I’m headed their way after I get these smoothies.” I wanted to check in with Dad after last night, make sure there wasn’t any more trouble after I left, and he never said no to PB&J. “Things have been crazy at The Wharf lately, they don’t have time for much else.”
“It’s been crazy around here too! But I have to admit, there’s really nothing better than the buzz of this town during the summer,” Ashley said.
My grin grew. “I couldn’t agree more.”
The blender hummed alive, smoothing out all the ingredients into a delicious breakfast that I couldn’t wait for. Note to self: hot tea doesn’t suffice for dinner. Not that food was on my mind last night. I much preferred devouring the sight of Grey Prescott’s body tangled in mine. I’d choose that over dinner any night—
“MJ.” Ashley’s voice anchored me back to the present.
I grabbed the three smoothies, smiling at her. “Thank you, have the best day.”
“You too, sweet girl. Tell your parents I said hi.”
Mom and Dad’s house was only a couple of blocks from Berry Good, and thankfully so, because the morning sun was already uncomfortably hot. The sensation of tiny sweat beads rolling down my back confirmed it.
I strolled around the corner, and to no surprise, I spotted Mom tending to her garden out front. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetheart,” she responded, dropping her shears to the ground and taking her gloves off, one finger at a time. “Please say one of those is for me.”
I handed over the cold beverage, along with a straw. “I come bearing gifts.”
She took a long slurp of her smoothie before opening her mouth to talk. “The best way to start my morning. Your dad is out back fiddling with something on the house. It might be a good idea for you to go find him, maybe take his mind off whatever it is he thinks needs fixing.” She laughed. “Your dad and a ten-foot ladder should never be placed in the same sentence.”
“Oh jeez.” I laughed with her. “I’m on it.”
I thought I’d gotten away with no mention of last night as I aimed my body toward the back of the house, but I was wrong.
“Don’t think we aren’t going to chat about your night last night. The scumbags from the bar. Grey Prescott. All of it.”
With my back still facing away from her and my foot paused mid-step, I tossed my hand in the air. “I hear ya.”
Hearing Grey’s name leave my mom’s mouth made the dormant butterflies in my belly flutter to life.
“Dad?” I yelled. No response. “Dad!” I yelled louder this time.
“Back here.”
Luckily, he was only a few rungs up the ladder when I spotted him around the back. “Here you go. I brought breakfast.”
“What a heaven send you are.”
“My god. Do you and Mom not feed yourselves? You’re ravenous.”
“We both woke up raring to go. Or I should say, your mom woke up before me and was already out in her garden by the time I rolled out of bed, so I figured I should get to work too.” He smiled.
My parents were two peas in pod. They shared the kind of love that people wrote about in books. The fierce and loyal kind that everyone hoped to feel at some point in their lives.
“Well, I just wanted to come and check in after last night, make sure those shitheads didn’t cause any more trouble. But more importantly, I wanted to see if we were still on for our annual Fourth of August cookout? You guys haven’t mentioned it yet, and it’s not that far away.”
“Of course we are. We can figure out the details later, but I’ll plan on grilling steaks. Jess and John said they’d take care of the sides.”
We’d done this annual dinner for a few years now. Summer holidays were always a little tough for me, for all of us, really, so instead of a Fourth of July cookout, we did a “Fourth of August” one. The craziness of the holiday was gone, but we still got to enjoy all the best things about it.
“Mmm. My favorite. Just let me know what you want me to bring.”
“Maybe that boy from last night?” Mom’s voice got clearer as she stepped closer, a massive smirk painted on her face.
“Mom!” I squealed, taking a big gulp of my smoothie in an attempt to mask my smile.
“Speaking of, I liked him. When are you going to see him again?” Dad asked, entirely too interested in my dating life.
But with that comment came a rush at the realization that I was going to see him in a few short hours.
Playfully slapping my dad’s arm, I screeched, “Stop!”
“What? I saw you smirking behind the bar after those hydrangeas got delivered.”
Mom piped in. “He got you flowers and you haven’t even told me about him yet.”
“Mom, he got me flowers literally yesterday . Why do you think I came over here first thing this morning? Give me a chance,” I whined, defending myself.
“Okay, fair enough. I’ll let this one slide. But I want to know everything.”
“And I promise to tell you everything. However, I do need to get back home. I plan to do some writing before he picks me up for dinner.” I winked.
She gasped, her eyes widening. “Miller Jean Morgan, I cannot believe you. A new boy and possibly a new book?”
“You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, Mom. But I am happy to report that I’ve written more in the last couple of weeks than I have since I started writing again. Not saying there is any correlation between the two, just thought you’d both want to know.” I took another slurp of my smoothie.
“I’m proud of you.” Dad smiled. “I never doubted you for a second.”
“Me neither. Now go. Go write that story that we’re all waiting for,” Mom insisted.
“I love you big. Talk soon.” Pushing my palm to my lips, I sent a kiss in their direction.
“Love you bigger,” they said in unison.
The morning faded to afternoon and with it came a slight breeze, making it much more enjoyable than this morning. I decided to take my writing to the beach for a little change of scenery.
But instead of my usual overcrowded spot, I went somewhere new.
Luckily, I remembered how to find my way back to Grey’s secret hideaway fairly easily. Pushing my way through a number of overgrown but luscious bushes, I finally heard what I was after—the tranquil sound of rushing water, confirmation that the serene waterfall was waiting for me on the other side.
Finally stepping through the last bit of vegetation, I laid eyes on the spot Grey had taken me to. Instead of finding my way down the rocks and onto the sandy beach, I perched myself on the top of the dainty drop-off, slinging my feet over the side.
I dropped my bag on my way, some of the contents spilling out next to me.
Grabbing my laptop, I cracked it open and began writing. My process more or less looked like mindlessly scrolling on my phone for a while, returning to my computer and typing a few words, finding the perfect song to match the vibe, and then repeating the above steps for a few hours. Although vicious, this routine was the only way I managed to get any words out of my head and onto the screen in front of me.
Slow and steady.
My computer screen stared at me, the cursor blinking obnoxiously, waiting for me to do something productive. Despite the fact that I’d written more words in the past month than I had in a while, something still wasn’t quite there. The words were jumbled and randomly strung together. And while the story might be buried somewhere in all those letters, right now it was lost, and someone needed to tell it where to go.
I slammed my fingers down on the keyboard in frustration.
“Liv, what the fuck am I doing here?” My head flung back, forcing me to stare up at the clouds snailing their way through the sky. “I keep trying to write, but every time I do, I get stuck.” I threw my hands to my face, letting the weight of my head fall into my palms. “I keep finding myself going back to the same point in the story. The beginning of the end. I can’t figure out how to write it because it hurts too much, so I write around it. I fill in the darkness with lightness and fluff. But the problem is, eventually I have to write it. Even more than that, I need to write it if I’m ever going to bring this story to life, and I think for the first time ever, our story is the one I want to write.”
My phone pinged next to me. For a brief moment, I imagined the text being from Liv. Like she heard me talking to her.
The thought faded and my perception focused.
Grey:
Word count update?
Me:
Don’t you know you’re not supposed to interrupt the writer when they’re writing?
Grey:
Miller. Don’t change the subject. I’m holding you accountable, what’s the word count?
Me:
Okay, okay. Let’s just say it could be more. But now you’re distracting me. My goal is 1,000 words by the time you come pick me up.
Grey:
Hit your goal and I’ll make tonight worth your while…
The desire in the lower half of my body roared to life from a single text. This was bad, but I didn’t care. I was inspired.
Me:
I’m intrigued. I better get to work then. See you at 7!
Grey:
Can’t wait.
In need of some musical inspiration, I snagged my headphones from my bag. Pressing shuffle, I looked away, waiting for the first song to load.
And then, there it was, my sliver.
Liv.
Just across the cove, there was a single hydrangea bush swaying in the breeze. It wasn’t the familiar lilac color I loved so much, but it didn’t need to be for me to know that Liv was right here with me. A smile blossomed, straining my cheeks.
Then, almost like magic, the music caught my attention as “This Love” by Taylor Swift picked up. The tune floated into my ears, uncovering the story that’d been lost among all those words. This time, the lyrics represented something entirely different. This time, a depiction of an epic love story between two best friends that, while ending tragically, deserved to be heard.
In just under two hours, I clocked almost 3,000 words, and for the first time ever , my story began to take shape.