17. Sawyer
Sawyer
Then it comes back to me. The motel. Wonder World.
Knox. My face heats, thinking about what we did.
But the more I lay here, playing it over in my mind, the more I’m proud that every moment was on my own terms. I wanted to replace some of the horrific memories there, and we did, if only for a short time.
It felt good and right to be there with Knox.
Or maybe it felt like something, which is better than the emptiness I’ve been carrying for too long.
Nothing will ever change the memories of that night. Nothing will ever take the pain away. Owen is gone. All those people, dead. As much as I tried to pretend and would love to hold onto the good feelings from last night, I know I won’t.
I reach for my phone, powering it on for the first time since I texted mom last night. As expected, I’m met with a minute worth of buzzing. All from her.
Not right now…she’ll understand.
I set it back down and scoot up the bed, tucking my knees into the ridiculous FINger foods shirt. It’s my birthday. I’ve lived to see another year. It’s the first one I’ve woken up to alone since forever. Even before Owen and I started dating, we were always here in Lake Mercer, always together.
He’s never not been the first person to wish me a happy birthday.
Of course, Owen had a whole thing he’d do.
A planned production. The first year we were together he showed up at my apartment at seven in the morning with a pan, a dozen eggs, and the strongest conviction that he knew how to make breakfast. He didn’t.
The eggs were runny, the toast came out charred, and he presented the whole thing on my nicest plate like he was in a cooking contest about to be judged.
Happy birthday, he said. I made you a feast.
There was a piece of shell in the eggs. I kept that to myself.
He did it every year after that, each time equally confident, each time worse, somehow.
Last year, he’d attempted hollandaise from a packet and the results were a gray lumpy muck, but he stood in my kitchen singing the wrong words to whatever song was playing and looking so pleased with himself that I sat down and ate every bite.
I would give anything to have to pick eggshell off my tongue right now.
It’s cruel, this grief. How it comes in waves, sometimes big enough to engulf me, other times, like right now, as a quiet understanding that nothing will ever be the same.
All the ordinary things I didn’t think twice about are over.
Runny eggs and lumpy pancakes. Wrong lyrics sung loudly.
His bright smile as he said happy birthday, and the warmth of his arms as he pulled me into them.
He always tried his best. It may have come out all wrong, but I loved him for it anyway.
I press the back of my hand to my mouth as the tears fall. Breathe. I repeat the word again and again, forcing air through my nose until the pain passes enough to move my limbs.
Then there’s a knock at the door.
It’s probably housekeeping. I stay put. Checkout’s not for a few hours.
They knock again.
“Coming!” I untuck my knees, wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, and cross the room, cracking the door so whoever it is can’t see all of me.
Knox is standing there a step away from the doorway wearing his aviators and that Trout of Office shirt that looks even more ridiculous in the light of a new day.
His hair is messy, the way I love it, and it momentarily distracts me from noticing what he’s holding.
A paper coffee cup and a white bakery box.
“Happy birthday, Thorne.”
He holds the drink up like an offering and I open the door another inch.
“You’re actually wearing it,” I say, tilting my chin at the shirt.
“Of course I am. It’s my new favorite.”
I take the coffee, unsure if I’m making the right move, but it smells so good. It’s warm and I know the caffeine is exactly what I need.
He holds up the box next. It’s tied with string, a little lopsided, like it slid around on the seat of his car. “From that new bakery, Shoreline Sweets.”
I take that too.
We stare at each other, his dark eyes taking in every detail he can. Intense as always. “Knox—”
“It’s okay, I wasn’t trying to come in.” He says exactly what I was thinking. Or at least that’s what I was planning to say—what could’ve actually come out of my mouth, I’ll never know. “I just wanted you to have these. Start your day off right.”
I glance at the box then back at him. He looks genuine, his eyes holding mine.
“Thank you,” I say. “This is really nice.”
Tears threaten to escape again so I quickly close the door. I stand there with my back against it, coffee in one hand and the box in the other, willing myself to accept this kindness and not analyze it too much. I peek through the peephole a few seconds later. He’s still out there.
My breathing picks up but this time for a different reason. Will he knock again? I don’t know if I have the strength to turn him away a second time. Not when I’m upset and lonely and he’s gone and done something so selfless this morning.
I crack the curtain and see him leaning against the hood of his Jeep, arms crossed, facing my door.
Shit.
What is he doing out there? I back away and set the box on the bed, opening it to find a chocolate layer cake and two forks tucked against the side.
It looks delicious, exactly what I would have picked for myself.
I dab a bit of frosting with my thumb, and bring it to my lips.
The sweetness helps to snap me out of my funk.
I move the box and get comfortable again, bringing my coffee to the nightstand. Somehow, I know Knox is still outside and the thought is comforting instead of infuriating like usual. What kind of memories does he hold from my birthday? Maybe they’re swimming to the surface for him too.
I’m not as alone as I thought.
I take my time getting ready for the day. It feels good to have no reason to rush. I brush my teeth with the cartoon crab toothbrush, smirking at the googly eyes, wash my face, and pull my hair back. At least I feel slightly cleaner, even though I have to wear the sundress from yesterday.
Does Knox have clean boxers? Shorts? My cheeks flush remembering how he came in his pants from a few quick strokes. I’ve never felt so powerful before.
I step back and look at myself in the smudged mirror. This is twenty-five. I look the same and feel drained already.
There’s not much to collect around the room. I can carry everything in both arms, cake included. I breathe in, preparing to see Knox again. Wanting him to be there, even if we don’t say a word to each other.
There he is, sitting in his Jeep, windows down, aviators on. He straightens when he sees me, but doesn’t make a move to get out. Two hours. That’s how long he’s been sitting here doing nothing. I don’t remember Knox ever having this much patience.
I walk to the office to drop my key on the counter and come back out to find my door already open, which is annoyingly helpful considering my full hands.
There are a dozen roses wrapped in cellophane, sitting on my passenger seat.
I have no clue when he had time to buy them, but I’m smiling again and fighting the urge to smell the fragrant petals.
He’s watching me from his Jeep, waiting for me to say something, just like last night when we almost kissed.
It’s a game I wasn’t sure I wanted to play. This back and forth, waiting to see who will break first. But as I take in the intensity of his gaze, my mind sets.
He wants to play. I’m in.
I set the cake box carefully on the passenger floor, load the rest into the backseat, and pull out of the lot without a glance in his direction. A few seconds later, his Jeep is in my rearview, a foot from my bumper. No more pretending to be subtle, I guess.
I take him on a little ride, driving slowly into town, passing every T-shirt shop and candy store at a snail’s pace. I have no plans for the day, and this is bringing me some joy…so why not?
I pass a clearing where the lake’s visible, flat and silver blue in the early afternoon sun. My mind is made up, but first, I’ll make a few stops.
An hour later, armed with sunscreen, the only bathing suit I could find that didn’t cost half my paycheck, and some bottled water, I pull into the secluded beach on the south shore.
It’s a hidden gem, one Knox, Owen, and I discovered one of the last years we all came together.
I’ve never seen more than a handful of people here, and never families with kids.
Not that I hate kids, but the popular beaches are just too crowded to be worth the trouble.
It’s empty today. Maybe the universe is throwing me a bone for my birthday.
Knox pulls in and parks a few spaces away, cuts his engine, and turns to look directly at me from the driver’s side window. I look away to hide my grin and reach for the bathing suit still in its plastic bag.
I know he’s watching. I can feel it, the way you can feel a change in air pressure before a storm.
I grab the hem of my dress and pull it over my head slowly. Did his breathing shift? Is he thinking about last night? I shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as I am.
I hook my thumbs into my underwear and slide them down, replacing them with the bikini bottoms, and feeling brave—or bad, I genuinely can’t tell which anymore—I turn to face him. I keep my eyes on my knees, but I know exactly where his are.
I reach back and unclip my bra, pull it down my arms, slow enough that he knows I’m toying with him, and toss it onto the passenger seat over the roses.
Cool air from the vents hits my bare skin and my nipples pull tight. I don’t know how much of that is the air conditioning and how much is knowing he hasn’t looked away once.
I wait. One second. Two. Then I lift my eyes to his.
He’s pushed his sunglasses up into his hair, and there’s nothing subtle about the way he’s eyeing me. His expression’s unguarded, no mask to be seen. He’s all heat and a little shock too.
I love that something so small can undo him this completely.