CHAPTER NINETEEN
CASEY
I've watched the view count refresh four times in the past ten minutes, which is evidence both that something insane is happening and that I have a problem.
Forty-seven thousand views.
I set my phone face down on the kitchen counter, pick up my coffee, and stare at the wall for a moment. Then I pick the phone back up.
Fifty-one thousand. Oh. My. God.
I set it face down again.
It's the video I almost didn't post. The one that I filmed on the back porch at seven in the morning, wearing Griffin's Crushers hoodie, my hair in a disaster bun and with absolutely no plan.
I talked for eleven minutes about a book that wrecked me so badly I cried in the Brews on the Bay bathroom on my break.
I didn't have the lighting right. I kept losing my train of thought.
I almost deleted it four separate times before I hit Post, mostly because Griffin had leaned over my shoulder, read the caption, and said "Post it" with such conviction that I felt like an idiot for not posting it.
And now fifty-one thousand people have watched me ugly cry about fictional characters in a hockey hoodie at seven in the morning.
This is me living my best life, apparently.
I pick up the phone again. Comments are rolling in.
“The way she described the FMC’s journey made me cry all over again.”
“CASEY. I ran so fast to read this book because of this review!!!”
Someone just wrote, “Please never stop doing these reviews.”
I put the phone down and pinch the bridge of my nose. Tears press at the corners of my eyes.
I am having an entire moment here in the kitchen, and the only thing that can make it better is if Griffin were here to share it with me.
Please never stop doing these reviews.
I repeat the words in my head carefully, as if I might startle them and they’ll scatter. Because somewhere in the back of my mind, past all the noise and the Chicago plans and the sensible corporate career and everything I'm supposed to be doing with my life, a very small thought is growing.
What if this is the thing?
The thing. The full-time thing, the thing I get up for, excited to do, the thing that fills me with creativity and passion and life.
I stare into space, imagining that reality for roughly thirty seconds before the naysaying self-talk begins.
Who builds a career talking about books on TikTok?
That's not a career. That's a hobby. You've had three high-performing videos in two weeks. Three is a coincidence. And what about the job in Chicago? You have an apartment. You made deposits. You have a plan, and the plan doesn’t include staying in Bayshore, Ohio.
I drain the rest of my coffee, feeling the spell break.
My plan didn’t include falling in love with my high school crush.
Nor did it include a potential ADHD diagnosis either, but here we are.
I’ve already managed to get an appointment with a therapist that Griffin hunted down and vetted.
He pored over hundreds of reviews on his own time to give me a consolidated report of his top five selections within an hour’s drive, all because I mentioned that the idea of tackling the research overwhelmed me.
Witnessing that level of time and attention made me want to marry him on the spot.
Instead of asking for his hand in marriage, I just cried into his shoulder and said “thank you.”
My first appointment was this week, and we’ve started the lengthy diagnosis process.
It’s been interesting to see how many of my personality traits line up with typical ADHD behavior.
I’m trying not to put the cart in front of the mental health horse, though, so I’m exercising all the patience I can muster as I go through the process.
My phone buzzes. I’m expecting another TikTok notification, but it’s Claire. Today is the day of our sister outing that Griffin insisted I set up.
CLAIRE: Hey, I need to reschedule for today. Something came up. Maybe next week?
My chest deflates. Even though I walk on eggshells around her, I very much want to make things better. And the fact that she’s dipping on this plan bothers me.
I start to type back No worries, but then I stop.
Delete.
There are, in fact, some worries. And maybe I should tell her about them instead of keeping them to myself.
CASEY: I know you're busy and I'm not trying to be difficult. I was really looking forward to today. I know your work is important to you, but is there any way we can still meet today? This is important to me.
A breath whooshes out of me when I hit send, and my entire body feels electrified.
Claire calls a moment later.
“Hey,” I say tentatively.
“Is everything okay?” She doesn’t sound annoyed like I expected. “I just saw your text.”
“Yeah, I-I just want to see you. One on one.”
She pauses, and I can hear soft voices in the background. I imagine she’s behind her fancy desk at her law office, several blocks away. “Since when is it so urgent to see me? You’ve spent most of the summer avoiding me.”
Her words land like a soft thud against my gut. She’s not wrong. “I wasn’t avoiding you. I’ve just been trying to get back on track.”
“Okaaay. So what about the past ten years? Just trying to get on track then, too?”
Oof. Another blow. I take a deep breath, trying to keep myself calm and neutral. “Well, I was living in Chicago for starters. Living my life. Just like you were living yours here.”
“Right. Well, I’m sorry if I seem surprised. I’ve just never seen you so intent on family time. You’ve always breezed through on your way to somewhere else. So when you texted that you want to meet up, I didn’t imagine you actually, you know, cared.”
I sit with that for a couple seconds. Griffin’s words return to me—she might not know she’s even doing it—and I can imagine him beside me, urging me to continue.
“I do care. A lot. Maybe you haven’t known that.
Maybe I haven’t shown it very well. Like with the maid of honor thing…
” I pause, waiting for her to interject, or sigh, or change the subject.
“Well, I won’t get into that now. I just want you to know that I care.
I want to see you. My big sister is getting married soon and I love you. So…let’s meet up.”
Claire is quiet for a moment and then she sniffs. “I’ll try to move the appointment. No guarantees. Give me ten, okay?”
We hang up, and I’m nibbling on my lip, staring into space. I should take a ten-minute break from checking my view counts, right? Well, I don’t.
Sixty thousand.
Is this what drugs feel like? Because I’m thinking this is what drugs feel like. A deep buzz of excitement travels through me. This feels big, but I can’t exactly say why. I just know that things are changing. In my favor. For potentially the first time in my adult life.
And that is fucking awesome.
My phone buzzes.
CLAIRE: Got it moved. See you at noon at Hi-5s.
Claire is already at our table for two along the wall of windows at Hi-5s. I mostly come here at night for an adult beverage or two—never for lunch.
“Well this is odd, being here in the daylight,” I crack as I approach the table. I give her a quick hug before I slide into the seat facing her.
Silence settles between us. Awkward. Pungent. Heavy.
What have I done?
“You look good,” Claire finally says, reaching for her glass of water. She sips demurely. “You’re, like, glowing.”
“I guess Bayshore agrees with me,” I say.
“Or maybe Griffin agrees with you,” she says with a sly smile.
I tip my head. “He might.” I don’t want to admit how much sex I’ve been having with my we’re-just-friends roommate. Even though that ship sailed the second he found me tangled up in his shower curtain. “It’s been so nice living with him. He’s…incredible, really.”
She smiles softly. “What does he think about you moving back to Chicago after the wedding?”
“Uh, he’s fine with it. We’re not serious. So. You know.” I don’t know what else to add that won’t betray my true feelings about the matter. “He doesn’t say much, and I don’t ask.”
“You’re not serious? Casey, you guys looked like you were two weeks out from your own wedding.”
The words land with a painful thud. Not because she’s wrong or being mean. But because she’s so right. When the entire world sees something, but the people involved reject it, what happens then?
“It’s seriously not-serious, I guess,” I say with a laugh.
Claire watches me for a moment, her eyes twinkling as she moves the straw in her glass back and forth. “You seem different.”
“Good different or bad?”
“Maybe I should say…settled, somehow?” She tips her head as she thinks. “Even though that doesn’t make sense, because you aren’t particularly physically settled right now.”
“Yeah. I think I get it, though.” I smile as the waiter comes up to take our orders, and I panic briefly as I realize I haven’t even looked at the menu, much less remembered that I’m here to eat. I quickly make a selection—veggie panini, side of chips—and focus on my sister again.
We haven’t done something like this in…god, I don’t even know how long. Potentially never. This might be the first deliberate adult meet-up of our lives. And I have no idea where to take things next. I open my mouth to speak without even knowing what’s going to come out.
“I’m sorry I said I wouldn’t be your maid of honor.” I swallow hard. Might as well get the worst over first. “I actually did want to, but I figured I wouldn’t meet your standards and you’d be disappointed in me. So I played it safe by saying no.”
Claire looks at me, stunned. She’s quiet for so long I feel the urge to either continue offering explanation just to fill the silence or crawl under the table and avoid this altogether.
I do neither.
“You thought I’d be disappointed in you as my maid of honor?” She sounds incredulous. “I mean…why do you think I asked you?”