11. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
I ’m missing a necklace.
I was speaking with Lexie this morning about what I should be wearing as accessories for the wedding. When she asked me, her sister, and her sister-in-law to be her bridesmaids a few months ago, she only asked that we wear whichever green dress we wanted but didn’t mention anything about accessories. When I asked her about it, she said to wear something that meant something to us, and I immediately thought of the beautiful jade necklace Nan gave me from her jewelry collection when I graduated from high school. It’d look beautiful with the mint green dress I chose, elevating it while remaining modest. And right after thinking that, I realized I haven’t seen that necklace in a long, long time. I could obviously do without it for the wedding, but it’s a family heirloom, and I want to find it at some point.
I’ve spent my every waking moment since my call with Lex turning the house around to find it, but no such luck. The worst part is I don’t remember when or where I saw it last, so I don’t even have an inkling of where it could be. It can’t be in the basement since I emptied it of my stuff before He Who Shall Not Be Named moved in, so it has to be somewhere here.
There’s one part of the house I haven’t touched, and I was really, really hoping I wouldn’t have to. I don’t see why the necklace would be in Dad’s room, but there’s a chance he might have picked it up at some point after I’d left it in the bathroom or something and could’ve forgotten to give it back. It might even be in the laundry basket I know is still in his room, untouched for the past two years. I’d made my peace with never seeing the clothes in it again, but that necklace is too important for me to accept its loss forever.
There’s also a possibility I could’ve left it at Greg’s at some point, but there’s no way in hell I’m contacting him. So this is my second to last resort.
I stretch my fingers from where they’re balled into fists as I stand before the master bedroom. It’s been too long since I’ve walked in there. I’ve put it off as long as I could, and the more time passed, the harder it’s made it to open the door.
It’s just a room.
It almost feels as if someone else takes control of my body to take that final step and turn the doorknob.
After two years, the room smells a little stuffy, but mostly, I’m hit with the smell of Dad’s shampoo, like a punch to the gut, stealing my breath away.
God. It’s as if he’s still here.
The step inside feels like walking through a time machine to the day I found out he’d been in a car accident and had passed from his injuries. The moment the police officers had left my house after gifting me with their condolences, I’d closed the door to the room and never dared open it again. The bed has been quickly made, sheets hanging off one side under the duvet. A pair of jeans hangs over the back of the La-Z-Boy in the corner of the room. The laundry basket is indeed there, holding the outfit I wore to the dialysis ward Christmas party the week before he died. If I stayed in this room, I could pretend he’s just gone to pick up some milk from the grocery store down the street. He’ll be back in ten minutes, bellowing as he opens the door, “Hey, Bean, I’m back,” a pack of chocolate chip cookies in his bag because he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from grabbing it for me.
My breaths come in faster and faster as I continue looking around, finding him in every corner and yet knowing this is all I have left of his life.
Screw the necklace. I don’t need it.
My throat is dry as I step backward, almost tripping on a pair of shoes before I shut the door, breathing fast. Exhaustion pushes at my shoulders, feeling heavier than they were mere seconds ago. I let my forehead drop against the closed door, and when I feel the threat of tears, I squeeze my eyes shut.
Turns out two years wasn’t long enough for me to be ready.
I’m not sure I ever will be, and sometimes, that’s what scares me the most. The bright pain of losing him has dulled, of course, going from a burning, oozing wound to a scar that lances with certain movements. Still, sometimes I remember that I’ll never see him again, and the pain that rips through me could make me topple over, and what will happen if that feeling never goes away? What if I never get over this loss ?
I let out a shaky breath, then turn toward the living room, but I’m stopped in my tracks when I find a pair of hazel eyes staring me down.
“What’s wrong?” Carter asks, a small crease between his brows the only indication that he might be feeling something other than boredom.
I shake my head. I’m not handling him right now. I don’t know what he might find to say but don’t think I’m strong enough to want to find out. Not today.
Without acknowledging him, I walk over to grab my purse and shoes. I need to leave now anyway if I don’t want to be late for my shift.
“Where are you going?” Carter asks. Of course he picks the day I want to be left alone to decide to make conversation.
“Work,” I answer simply, not wanting to get into it with him right now.
“Do you need a lift?” he asks.
My hands curl. I forgot my car still isn’t back from the garage.
“I’m fine.” I’ll walk. Or run, rather, with ten minutes to spare and a few blocks to cross. I slip my feet into my sneakers.
“I—”
“Can you not?” I snipe before he can finish. Then I escape outside, and he thankfully doesn’t follow me.
Tonight’s shift makes me question my decision to keep this job instead of quitting and agreeing to do the collab with that company making weight loss pills that are actually laxatives. At the time, I felt like it was unethical to use my low BMI that’s due to my chronic illness to sell some magic weight loss pill, but after another night of Jayson groping me left and right, who pretended he needed to touch me to walk by or grab a glass, it makes me question if ethics are that important.
My feet are killing me as I lock the door behind me, and the twenty-minute walk to get back home makes me regret not asking Nan to borrow her car tonight. I crack my neck left and right, then bring the trash to the dumpster, and the moment I round the corner of the building and headlights blind me, I almost jump out of my skin.
There are two options that come to me: the first is that I’m about to be kidnapped or killed and thrown into a ditch. The second is that Jayson decided to wait for me to ask me to go home with him. I’m not sure which option I prefer.
But neither one happens to be true when the car pulls up beside me and I recognize it as the vintage Mustang that’s been sitting in my driveway for almost a month now.
I don’t move as Carter pulls the passenger windows down and says, “You coming?”
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“You’re not walking home alone at three a.m.,” he says like that’s an actual explanation.
“I’ve done it before. ”
“Well, not anymore.”
I lift my brows. “I’ll do whatever I want, thank you very much.” Then I start walking away. Who does this guy even think he is?
The car follows me. “Can you just get in?”
I continue walking. “Why do you even care?”
“Why are you so stubborn?” Of course he wasn’t about to pretend like he cares.
Still, I stop in my steps. I’m tired, especially after the breakdown I had today, and if I can get to my bed faster, it’s worth more than my ego.
Without another word, I open the door and get in.
Carter doesn’t drive away until I catch his look and put on my seat belt.
“Are you cold?” he asks, messing with the temperature controls.
“I’m fine,” I say, knees tucked close to the door to take the least amount of room in his space.
Hard rock plays from the speakers, but even so, the silence between us feels like a third person in the car, thick and pulsating. I should’ve walked home. Now I can’t help but think about how he found me earlier today and probably decided to come pick me up out of pity.
Two streets away from home, I feel Carter glance my way. I keep my gaze out the window.
“Are you going to talk to me at some point?” he asks, something I never would’ve guessed would come out of his mouth .
“Why would I?” I’m not usually this petty, but something about him, whether it’s his arrogance or his hot-and-cold moods, brings it out of me.
“You talk to everyone, always,” he says. “I’ve seen you.”
I grind my molars together, hating that he has a point. Hating that he’s seen enough of me to know that.
“I thought you didn’t like that.”
“I never said that.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
A deep sigh comes out of his mouth, and he turns the music off.
“Look, I’m sorry about that night. It’s not you. It’s never been about you.”
I let out a humorless laugh.
“It’s not,” he repeats, his face still devoid of expression but voice sounding determined. With his eyes on the road, he says, “I’m not big on the whole…extrovert stuff.”
“You mean being civil with someone else?”
He sends me a glare that’d make me smile if it were in any other context. “I mean getting to know others. I’m…used to being on my own.” His throat bobs, the only indicator that this might mean something to him. “And you caught me on a bad night, but again, not on you.”
I’m not sure what to say to all that, so after going over my options, I settle on, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, okay. I get it.” I look out the window. “I can be a bit much sometimes. ”
“That’s not it,” he says.
“It’s fine,” I say, forcing a small smile. I remember all the times Greg made me feel like I was asking too much. Being too much. If my own boyfriend thought that, I can see how it could be baffling to a stranger, especially one who seems to be the definition of antisocial.
“I really am sorry I hurt you,” Carter says, and I have to admit he sounds genuine.
“You didn’t,” I lie.
“Pretty sure I did.”
I give him a side-glance. “Fine. Maybe you did a little.”
I’d expect him to smile at my admission, but what was I thinking? This is Carter. Smiling doesn’t exist in his muscle memory.
“Are we gonna be good now?” he asks.
“Sure.” And I mean it. He might be asking for it out of pity, but at this point, I don’t care. It’s exhausting to avoid someone you live with, and the energy I’ve spent being mad would be better used elsewhere. We can coexist in neutrality. We don’t need to be friends, and I won’t ask for it again, but we also don’t need to be enemies.
“Good,” he says, then turns the music back on.
While the short rest of the drive home remains silent, it’s much, much lighter.