Chapter 12
JOSH
Finding a free parking spot near the pier is a joke.
We end up on a side street three blocks inland, strolling toward the ocean with a crowd of other hopefuls.
The walk is quiet, but not the bad kind.
After the breakfast incident, I expected peak awkward: long silences and forced laughter.
Instead, Lily showed up at my door in a faded tank top and shorts, her hair twisted up in her usual ponytail, looking like she was born to saunter down a boardwalk.
She acted as if nothing had changed after the full-scale emotional meltdown she had in her kitchen.
Just flashed me a smile and asked if I was ready for maximum tourist exposure.
And she wasn’t wrong.
The Santa Monica Pier on a Sunday is a pinball machine of flashing lights, cotton candy clouds, and crowds thick enough to make a firefighter calculate evacuation routes.
Strollers with mini-humans in them—or dogs—block every path.
Sunburned couples in gym clothes stand three abreast as if the beach were their personal yoga mat.
Neon signs flash even in the sunlight. All this, framed by salt-weathered railings and wrapped in the yeasty aroma of funnel cake, sunscreen, and the wet-dog funk of the ocean at low tide.
The Ferris wheel spins lazily against the cloudless sky over a sea of people, gondolas packed with tourists and teenagers, all clutching phones and each other like they’re trying to bottle up the world’s famous view.
And how to blame them? It’s the same as every postcard of California.
I’d call it a cliché if it wasn’t so damn iconic.
Lily stops at the edge of the pier, grabbing the railing. She closes her eyes, inhaling the salty air.
“Isn’t this the most Californian you’ve felt since moving here?” she asks, squinting one eye at me.
I take in the arcade’s clatter, the ring of laughter from the midway games, a street performer painted head to toe in silver pantomiming a slow-motion moonwalk, and pretend to consider the question, scratching my chin.
“I don’t know. The other day I ordered a ten-dollar green smoothie and pretended to like it. That felt pretty peak California.”
Her chuckle is immediate and unguarded. It prompts a warm, liquid expansion in my chest. Making Lily Finnigan laugh has become my new favorite hobby.
“Mmm, I don’t know,” she teases. “If you didn’t say ‘superfood’ out loud it doesn’t count.”
“Pretty sure that’s a fancy word for pond scum.” I grimace at the memory. “The entire experience reaffirmed my commitment to coffee.”
She tilts her head toward me. “So what’s next, farmers market and goat yoga?”
“I draw the line at produce. Goat yoga is where I tap out.”
She snorts and pushes off the railing, gesturing for us to continue.
We join the stream of tourists and locals flowing down the wooden planks of the pier.
Children dart between adults, teenagers cluster in giggling groups, and couples walk hand in hand.
Lily eyes the latter with an expression I can’t read.
“So,” I say, nodding toward the massive Ferris wheel dominating the skyline, “should we hit the Pacific Wheel first or save it for last?”
Lily follows my gaze upward, squinting against the sun. Hesitation flickers across her face. She chews her bottom lip, a habit I’ve noticed kicks in when she’s overthinking.
She looks okay now. Her eyes are clear, her smiles come easily, and she’s lost that haunted expression from this morning.
But I’m not fooled anymore. I’ve seen what lies beneath the strong front she puts on for everyone.
The fragility she works so hard to hide, especially from her daughter.
I’m glad I was there when she let it out.
Even if witnessing her pain firsthand felt like having a battering ram smashed into my chest.
But it made me understand her and our situation better.
I could have the safest career on the planet—accountant, librarian, professional pillow tester—and she still wouldn’t be ready to date me or anyone else.
Her heart is trapped living in a plural past tense that hasn’t become quite past enough.
And as much as that realization stings, it’s also liberating to know the problem with us is not just my job.
“Afraid of heights?” I prompt when she still doesn’t answer.
She looks up at me, eyes unreadable, and deadpans, “No, I’m worried about being trapped in a tiny gondola with your bad jokes for a full rotation.”
“Ouch.” I clap my chest, wounded. “That stung. You should’ve read the waiver before agreeing to be friends with me. Section 3, paragraph 2 clearly states ‘Must endure terrible jokes without complaint.’”
She sighs with exaggerated resignation. “Ah, Collins, sorry, I’m pretty sure you got the short straw on the friendship waivers.”
So much is packed in that sentence. But I need her to understand it doesn’t matter how heavy her baggage is, I can shoulder the weight. “I don’t like smoothies anyway, remember? I’m fine drinking beer from the bottle. No straw needed.”
Her jaw works, and she swallows like she’s biting back a dozen replies, none of them safe to let loose. I wish I knew which one she wanted to say most.
“Let’s go,” she finally says. “We’re going to see the entire city from up there.”
I buy our tickets, and we join the short line behind a group of college kids taking turns chugging a transparent liquid out of a Gatorade bottle.
“It’s probably water,” Lily whispers, grinning.
“I admire your optimism,” I reply.
When our turn comes, the ride attendant looks at us like he hates his life and we’re part of the problem. He waves us through, and we climb into a gondola, settling next to each other on the same bench. He secures the gate, and with a gentle lurch, we begin our ascent.
The gondola rocks as we rise. Lily keeps to her side, hands folded in her lap.
As we climb higher, the view expands dramatically. The coastline stretches north and south while the city sprawls inland with mountains rising in the distance. It’s breathtaking. Below us, people become smaller, their movements those of ants following invisible trails.
Lily is so quiet I’m pretty sure she’s going to break up with me before we even start dating.
We’re halfway through the ride, stopped near the top while other passengers board below, when she finally talks.
“So what’s the real reason you moved to California?” she asks, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “Besides the death wish.”
I can’t tell if she’s joking or being serious.
“You mean besides my hero complex?” I correct with a smile, preferring to keep things light. “Why can’t that be enough?”
The wheel creaks as it moves again, the gondola swaying. “It’s never enough. Were you fleeing from something?”
“Not really.”
The look she gives me says she’s not buying the uncomplicated answer.
Lily pins me down with a stare. “I had a complete breakdown in front of you this morning,” she reminds me, shoving my shoulder lightly. “You can share your deepest, darkest secrets.”
The wheel stops again as we reach the summit, and I fess up.
“Okay, fine. I was escaping the loneliness. My parents moved to Florida when they retired five years ago. My grandma, who basically raised me, passed two years later. No one that mattered was left in Delaware City. It didn’t feel like home anymore. ”
A seagull glides past our gondola, riding the ocean breeze.
“Sure, I knew the people in town, but none were my people anymore. And nothing can make you lonelier than feeling alone in a crowd.” I shrug, downplaying the emotion behind the words.
“So, only three rejections and one accepted transfer request later, here I am.”
Lily quirks her lips, studying me like she’s reading between my lines. “I sense you’re leaving something out of that story.” She narrows her eyes. “Or should I say someone? No significant exes you share a tumultuous past with back home?”
“Ah.” Should’ve known the surface-level answer wouldn’t be enough. “You want all the dirt?”
She gives me a big, theatrical “Yes!”
I laugh and run a hand through my hair, feeling the wind tousle it back out of place. “It’s nothing dramatic. I’ve only ever had one serious relationship. Fell in love at sixteen, stayed together through our twenties.”
Our gondola begins moving again, descending as I continue. “Harper and I thought getting married was the next logical step. I proposed, she said yes. But when my grandmother passed, I realized I was doing it more to send Grandma off knowing I was settled.”
Lily’s watching me, all traces of teasing gone.
“As we got deeper into planning the wedding, we both admitted to each other and to ourselves that getting married wasn’t what we wanted.
” I look down at my hands, remembering those tough conversations.
Noting how the memory has become less painful than it once was.
“We parted ways amicably. We still talk. No big scandal, just two people who grew up together and eventually grew apart.”
“You’re still friends?” Lily asks, tone neutral.
“Mmm… not the share-every-detail-of-our-lives kind. We wish each other happy birthday, send the odd meme sometimes.” I turn to her. Is she jealous of my ex? “Anyway… After the breakup, everyone in my town felt part of a past where I no longer belonged…”
“And you wanted a fresh start,” Lily says, finishing my thought.
I nod, impressed by how easily she gets me. “Exactly.”
“And have you found it?” she whispers, voice so low it’s nearly lost in the wind.
I want to say yes, that she feels like my people already. But I can’t. She’s made that clear. “It’s been only two weeks. The jury’s still out.”
“Why didn’t you move to Florida to be close to your parents?” she asks just as our ride ends.
“Are you crazy? I was too scared of the gators.”