Chapter 12
It was such a perfect day, laughing with Millie at her store until the sun began to fall below the horizon, my hands cramping from holding the knitting needle and my cheeks aching from smiling.
When the time came for me to climb into bed, I did it knowing that for once, I wouldn’t have to fight to find sleep.
What a fool I was.
I look at my phone and watch the moment today ends and tomorrow begins.
Crickets chirp in the distance, and the gentle breeze rustling the leaves on the trees punctuates another silent Celestial night.
The melatonin I took two hours ago, hoping it would kick in despite months of experience telling me it won’t, has yet to elicit even a single yawn.
My legs itch as I grow restless in my bed.
I throw the comforter off me and shift on the bed, hoping for what feels like the millionth time tonight that changing positions is the key to unlocking the night’s sleep I so desperately need.
Shocker. It does not.
I reach for the Kindle on my nightstand and finish a chapter of my latest cowboy romance before unplugging my phone from the wall and typing out a quick “You up?” text to Gabby.
I stare at the screen, willing those three glorious dots to appear or, even better, for her picture to light up my screen and my phone to vibrate in my palm.
I must have used up all my good luck at the craft store, because after ten minutes of nothing, I’m forced to accept that while sleep eludes me, it has found my best friend.
I open my email for the first time in weeks, deleting without abandon until one familiar name catches my eye. Jack Brady, my jerk of an uncle.
Apparently, not answering his calls isn’t enough to deter him and he’s found another method. I guess tenacity that verges on the edge of obnoxious obsession is a family trait.
It’s unnerving to know I have anything in common with a man I’m determined to hate.
My finger hovers over the innocuous subject line. How much damage could come from an email titled Quick Question? Knowing him? A lot.
I hit delete.
My mom is gone. My grandma is gone. There is nothing tying me to him, and I’m under no obligation to hear what he has to say. It’s called boundaries…and not at all ignoring another one of my millions of problems.
I throw my phone to the side and toss and turn until resentment finally pushes me out of bed.
Most nights, I drag my comforter down to my couch and stare at the TV until my retinas burn and my eyelids are too heavy to hold open.
But tonight, my brain isn’t the only thing that won’t shut off.
My feet tingle and my muscles twitch with energy I know will elude me in the morning.
I use the flashlight on my phone to rummage through my drawers until I find a pair of shorts and a sports bra to throw on under the threadbare T-shirt I put on before bed.
I slip on my tennis shoes and skip down the stairs without so much as even thinking about running a brush through my hair.
The sun is nothing but a memory this late, yet the warmth of the day still clings to the night air. Millions of stars dance overhead and the light of the moon casts shadows across the still, dark world surrounding me. Sleep might evade me, but in this moment, peace doesn’t.
Gabby always calls me a grandma because I don’t usually like driving at night, but without the other cars out, the black roads don’t seem to faze me.
By the time I approach the football stadium at the edge of town, I’m almost disappointed to see the yellow streetlights dotting the parking lot and illuminating the empty sidewalks.
I park next to the front entrance, and the front gate I figured I’d have to climb over is wide open.
I can just add this to the ever-growing list of perks of living in a small town.
Even though the things that were never exactly easy breezy with Tate have grown significantly more awkward since our shared moment in my bathroom, I haven’t given up my morning workouts alongside the football team.
I hoped running this late would come with the added bonus of not accidentally catching his annoyed gaze and would be easier, but the stadium is eerily quiet without the sound of whistles blaring and teenage boys challenging me to a race.
Keeping my pace isn’t nearly as fun without someone jogging beside me and calling me Moon Girl.
My phone and headphones bounce inside the running fanny pack I found when I was unpacking my closet boxes.
I let my thoughts run through my head uninterrupted until they finally go quiet under the hypnotic rhythm of my feet hitting the ground.
Without the pressure of an audience, I have nobody to impress but myself and, unlike during my morning runs, I don’t lose count of how many times I make it around the track.
Tonight I listen to my body. I push through deep breaths as my heart rate speeds up and my lungs begin to burn.
I fight for every step. I don’t let myself quit even after it gets hard…
especially when it gets hard. I keep going until the anxiety that keeps me up at night drains from my body and my legs go heavy with fatigue.
I veer off the track and collapse onto the field.
Exhaustion weighs down my body as my breathing slows and I sink deeper into the turf.
The little rubber beads that always fill my shoes when I leave the stadium stick to my sweat-covered skin.
I stare up at the night sky and attempt to count the millions of stars winking above me.
When I was a kid, there was one weekend I looked forward to every single year.
For three days right after school started, my mom would clear her schedule—if she had a schedule to clear—and load up the trunk of her old Toyota with our sleeping bags and a tent that felt like the peak of luxury to my young brain, and we would go camping.
We’d spend the drive up to Great Sand Dunes National Park singing at the top of our lungs and eating our way through bags and bags of peanut M&M’S and sour cream and onion Pringles.
And when we finally arrived, I’d watch in awe as my strong, capable mom set up our campsite faster and more efficiently than any of the families around us.
Even the ones with dads.
We’d spend our days sledding down the sand dunes and playing in Medano Creek, splashing around and building sandcastles that were taller than me.
When we were at our campsite, all the kids would end up hanging at our tent and my mom would transform into the Scout leader of the year.
She’d pull out paint and glitter, showing everyone how to turn rocks into treasure and weeds into crowns.
After they left, I’d tell her all about the adventures Grandma had taken me on over the summer and how I was liking school so far.
She’d listen so intently—hanging on to my every word, laughing at all my jokes—that I’d be able to convince myself I was the most important person in the world.
Days were fun, but the nights were better.
The moment the sun began to set and dusk crept across the sky, the stars slowly coming out of hiding, my mom came alive.
She looked to the skies with a clarity in her eyes and a pureness to her smile that I only witnessed on these trips.
Some nights we’d stay at the campsite and look up at the stars over a blazing campfire, but if I was lucky, my mom would load up our backpacks earlier in the day and I’d know we were spending the night in the sand.
I trailed behind her, sand filling my shoes and sticking to my face, until she found the perfect spot to set up for the night deep in a valley of sand dunes.
She’d always put up our tent, giving me the task of filling up bags with sand to use in place of stakes that had no use in the sand, but when the time came, we’d drag our sleeping bags over the sand and spend the night with an uninterrupted view of the sky.
“Do you see the Milky Way?” She pointed to the river of stars flowing in the sky, whispering as if her voice could chase the galaxy away.
“Many cultures believe it connects Earth to the heavens. Your dad is on the other side, too far away to touch, close enough to feel, but always watching. Always sending signs. Whenever you see a shooting star, know that’s him.
Winking at you from where he sits just beyond the stars, telling you he’s still there and that you’re on the right path. ”
Those nights are carved so deeply in my soul that even though I’m lying on the plastic grass deep in Texas, I can see her lying beside me, pointing to the same stars I’m staring at now. It’s as if, through the stars, she’s right here.
Too far away to touch, but close enough to feel.
And I get so lost, searching for signs of my mom in the endless Celestial skies, that I don’t even realize I’m not alone until he’s right beside me.
My high-pitched scream slices through the peaceful quiet of the night.
I scramble to get up, but my heavy limbs are too tired to move as fast as I need them to.
Heat explodes in my bare legs as they scrape across the turf.
I kick and swing a wild punch, only hitting air before remembering what I learned in my old boxing classes.
I wind back and throw a loaded right cross followed by a mean left hook.
My shadowy assailant groans, and a shot of adrenaline flows through my veins.
If I can’t go out at a hundred and three playing bingo with my old-lady friends like I hoped, you better believe I’m not going down without a fight.
“Fuck! Luna!” a vaguely familiar voice shouts over the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears. “Chill, it’s me!”
I stop fighting when recognition breaks through my panic.
“Tate?” I squint until my eyes adjust to the darkness and I can make out his large frame and telltale locs. “What are you doing out here?”