18. Sawyer
Sawyer
I've been staring at the black dress hanging in my closet for twenty minutes, perched on the edge of my bed in nothing but my underwear and Owen's sweatshirt. I can’t do it. I can’t make myself stand up and put it on.
It’s the same dress I wore to my grandmother’s funeral three years ago. The same one I wore to my coworker’s father’s service. I never thought I’d be wearing it to bury my boyfriend at twenty-four years old.
The engagement ring box sits on my nightstand.
I left it there yesterday after Mom dropped me off at my apartment.
I haven’t opened it since the night I got it out of the locker.
I’m still deciding if I want to wear it today.
What’s the protocol for wearing your dead boyfriend’s engagement ring when he never actually got to propose?
When you never actually said yes? When you kissed his brother before he was even laid to rest?
My phone buzzes on the bed beside me, and I grab it right away, grateful for any distraction from my thoughts.
RESTRICTED flashes across the screen and my stomach twists. I know exactly who it is before I swipe to answer.
“Hello?”
“This call is from,” the automated voice begins, then cuts to my father’s recorded voice saying, “David Thorne,” before continuing, “an inmate at Otisville Federal Correctional Facility. This call is subject to monitoring and recording. To accept charges, press one. To refuse this call, press two. To block future calls from this inmate—”
I press one before the message finishes, my heart already racing.
There’s a click, then he’s on the other line. “Sawyer, sweetheart. I’m so glad you picked up.”
I close my eyes, pressing my palm against my forehead. “Dad.”
“I heard about Owen. Baby, I’m so sorry. I know how much he meant to you.”
He sounds truly sympathetic, which is not what I need right now. My throat tightens and tears threaten to fall. I haven’t cried yet this morning. I thought maybe I ran out of tears somewhere around 3 AM, but apparently I was wrong.
“Thanks,” I manage.
“Is the service today?”
“In a few hours.”
“I wish I could be there for you.” He pauses, the sound of voices in the background coming through the line. “It’s not fair…losing someone you love. So young too. A tragedy.”
I fist my comforter, biting back all the things I want to say.
You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to comfort me. You’re the reason the Aldrichs look at me like I’m trash. You’re the reason I’ll never really be part of that family, even if Owen had lived, even if I’d gotten the chance to say yes.
What actually comes out of my mouth is entirely different. “I’m getting by.”
“And you’re feeling okay? I only briefly talked to your aunt Linda and she said they kept you overnight at the hospital.”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Your mother taking care of you?”
“Uh, huh,” I say, already exhausted from this conversation.
“Good. That’s good.” He pauses again, releasing a long breath.
“Sweetheart, I want you to remember what happened with me and Richard, the business, all of that, it had nothing to do with you and Owen. You two kids, you were separate from all that ugliness. Don’t let anyone make you feel like you don’t belong there today, okay?
You loved him. You have every right to grieve him. ”
I should find comfort in his words, but instead, they only piss me off.
My grip on my phone tightens to the point of pain.
He has no idea what I went through. What I still go through every time I’m seen around Ashford.
How people don’t meet my eyes, or how they whisper my name along with “daughter of the embezzler.” He has no right to remind me of anything.
“I have to go get ready,” I say.
“Of course, of course. I just wanted to hear your voice. Let you know I’m thinking about you.”
“Okay.”
“I love you, sweetheart.”
The words get caught in the back of my throat. I haven’t said them back to him in a year…maybe more. Definitely not since his sentencing. “Bye, Dad.”
I end the call before he can respond and immediately delete it from my recent calls list. Swipe. Gone. I can make evidence disappear too. Like father, like daughter.
Mom doesn’t know I’ve been accepting his calls, and today is not the day for her to find out.
My phone buzzes again while I’m still holding it. A text this time, from a number I don’t recognize.
Hi Sawyer, this is Melissa from work. Just checking in to see when you think you’ll be back. No pressure, just trying to plan the schedule. So sorry for your loss.
I stare at the message until the words run together.
Go back to the hotel. Back to wearing blazers and making small talk with guests and pretending my entire world hasn’t imploded.
Back to barely scraping by on my shitty hourly wages, back to checking my bank account before buying groceries.
Back to reality. A reality where every plan for my future disappeared in the blink of an eye.
I open my banking app before I can stop myself. The numbers glare back at me. $847.23. Rent is due in two weeks and my paid vacation time has been up as of yesterday.
Fuck. I can’t breathe.
Owen was supposed to fix this. Not like I was using him, but...
his company had so much potential, room for growth.
We would have moved in together. Split expenses.
Maybe eventually I could have gone back to school and finished my degree since having to drop out when Dad’s legal fees drained what little savings my family had left.
The ring box glares at me from the nightstand, mocking me.
This was supposed to be my way out, I think, then immediately hate myself for it. Especially since my first instinct was to run as soon as Knox told me Owen’s plan.
Owen’s gone and I’m thinking about money. I’m a fucking monster.
A knock on my front door startles me. I pull the sweatshirt down so it’s covering my ass, and hurry across my small apartment to see who it is.
“Sawyer,” Mom says, knocking again. “Open up.”
Great. As if I wasn’t already overwhelmed. I open the door to let her in.
“You’re not ready?” She looks me up and down. “The services start at 11.”
I groan. “I know. I’m getting dressed.”
She drops a bag of groceries on my kitchen counter. “Did you eat this morning? I can make you some breakfast? Toast, maybe? Or I could scramble some eggs?”
My stomach churns at the thought. “I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat something. You barely touched dinner last night.”
I didn’t touch the pasta and meat sauce she made when she dropped me off at all actually. But I did finish off a box of frozen Thin Mints I found in my freezer at 2 AM.
“I’ll eat after. I promise.”
Cabinet doors open and close with a thud. “Fine, but I’m making you some tea. You’ll always drink a cup of tea.”
Jesus Christ.
“Okay, Mom.”
Pots and pans clang around, but I pay her no more mind. This dress isn’t going to put itself on.
I peel off Owen’s sweatshirt, feeling like I’ve lost a layer of skin. I’ve been sleeping in it every night, and it’s starting to lose his scent.
I grab the dress and step into it. The fabric is cool against my skin as I pull it up my chest and zip it up as much as I can reach. It fits the same as it did three years ago. I guess grief doesn’t change your dress size, even when it feels like it’s hollowing you out from the inside.
Okay, one thing done. Now makeup. I’m already exhausted, but I can’t face them without it, not when I look exactly how I feel. Bruised, empty, and barely hanging by a thread. All of Ashford will be there, I’m not going to give them another reason to whisper their gossip.
I stare at my reflection in my bedroom mirror. Circles line my eyes, thicker than ever before. I doubt concealer will hide them. My skin’s paler than usual. My lips are chapped from crying. The cut on my forehead is still pink and healing.
I look like a ghost. I don’t think I’ve been this pale since seventh grade, when I tried to be goth.
Reaching for my makeup bag, I work on autopilot. Foundation. Concealer. A little blush so I don’t look like I belong in a casket. Mascara. Waterproof, thank God. Owen always said I didn’t need a ton of makeup. He was sweet like that, and also completely wrong.
I grab my black heels from the bottom of my closet and slip them on. Time to cosplay as a woman who has her shit together. Shouldn’t be too hard, considering I’ve been doing exactly that for years now.
My phone is still on the bed, and as I grab it, the ring box catches my eye again.
Without thinking it through, I open it and slip the ring onto my left ring finger.
It fits perfectly. Owen must have somehow gotten my size.
Of course he did. He was a planner, even if he was oblivious to details sometimes.
I rub the tip of my finger over the smooth edges of the diamond, turning my hand from side to side to let the sunlight catch and sparkle. Tears clog my throat.
“Fuck.” I fan my palms over my face, trying to keep the tears at bay.
My phone buzzes again with another text. Melissa from work again.
Also we’re short-staffed this weekend if you happen to be available?
Again, totally understand if not!
This weekend…meaning tomorrow. They want me back literally twenty-four hours after burying my boyfriend.
I type back quickly, not giving her time to lay anymore guilt on my chest.
I’ll be back Monday.
Her response is almost immediate.
Perfect! Take care of yourself!
With one more look at the ring, I open the door and face Mom. She looks like she barely slept last night but she’s put herself together well. She’s wearing her own black dress, and her thick light hair is pulled back in a low bun. She’s still busy messing around in the kitchen.
“Oh good, your tea’s ready. We should leave in about ten minutes. I’d hate to be early or late. We’ll get there right in time to slip in with everyone else.” She finally sees me, and stops in place. “Oh, honey. You look beautiful.”
I don’t feel beautiful. But I nod and reach for the steaming mug. It’s chamomile, overly sweet—the way she always makes it—and it burns going down.
Mom comes closer, her eyes scanning my face like she’s going to find an actual mask fit snugly over my skin. Then her gaze drops to my left hand wrapped around the mug, and she gasps.
“Is that—” She reaches for my hand and I let her take it, turning it so the diamond catches the light. “Sawyer, is this an engagement ring?”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“When did Owen…” She stops, breathes, and starts over. “When did he give this to you?”
“He didn’t. I found it…after. In his things.”
Her face crumples, and for a second I think she’s going to cry, but she pulls it together. “Oh, baby. He was going to propose?”
I nod, not knowing what to say.
“Did you know?”
“No. I had no idea.” I pull my hand back, wrapping both around the mug for something to hold onto. It’s not the whole truth, but she doesn’t need to know about Knox telling me…about my initial reaction to the news.
Mom holds her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. That’s…just…I’m so sorry.” She shakes her head, not able to finish.
“I know.” I inhale the chamomile, willing it to calm my racing heart.
“Does Victoria know? Richard?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe? I haven’t told them, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Does Knox know?” She shoots me that look again, the same one from the other night when Knox came to the cottage for Owen’s keys.
“We should get going,” I say, ignoring her question.
“Wait.” She grabs my hand again, rolling her lip between her teeth. “Are you sure you should wear it today?”
I pull it away, focusing on dumping my mostly full mug of tea into the sink. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I just mean…” She chooses her words carefully. “You never said yes. He never got to ask. People might...They might think it’s strange.”
“Strange?” My tone is harsh and I know it immediately…
God, I don’t need this from her right now.
“What’s strange is that my boyfriend died before he could propose.
What’s strange is that I’m twenty-four and burying someone I loved.
This ring is the only piece of the future we were supposed to have, so yeah, Mom, I’m wearing it. ”
She holds up her hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. It’s beautiful. He had good taste.”
The fight drains out of me as quickly as it came. He had good taste. Past tense. Grief hits me all over again. “He did.”
We stand there in awkward silence for a few minutes. All things considered, she took the news better than I thought she would. No tears or hysterics. I don’t know what I would have done if she broke down too.
She checks her slim silver watch. “We should probably get going soon. Do you need help with anything? Your zipper?”
“Yeah, actually.” I turn around and she zips me up the rest of the way, her fingers gentle against my spine.
Her hands come up to my shoulders and she holds me there, her eyes damp. “You ready for this?”
No.
I swallow hard. “Yeah, I guess so.”
She takes my hand, brushing her thumb over the ring again. “He really loved you, you know. Whatever else happened, whatever mistakes were made...he loved you.”
I close my eyes, picturing Owen’s face the last time he told me he loved me. An ache fills the empty spaces in my chest. “I know.”
Mom doesn’t seem to notice how my voice breaks and I’m glad. She grabs her purse and opens the door. “Alright, let’s hit the road. I want to avoid traffic through Main Street.”
I take one last look around my tiny apartment. The unmade bed, Owen’s sweatshirt crumpled on my pillow, the dishes in the sink I haven’t had the energy to wash. This is my life now. This small, lonely space that I can barely afford, filled with reminders of everything I lost.
I grab my purse and follow Mom out the door.