Chapter 36 Gwen - Karma is a cat
TWO WEEKS LATER
“I’m gonna go put this box of shit out for free on the sidewalk!” I call to Miller from the front door.
I throw my old UGG boots on and grab one of my black puffy coats from the rack to throw my arms into before stepping into the freezing February air. I drag the box of old plates and bowls from the entryway to the porch outside and hoist it up to carry down the walkway.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Merrymount and have every plan to live here forever but fuck, why does Massachusetts have to be so Goddamn cold like, nine months out of the year?
Two weeks ago, after Miller and I finally found ourselves on the same page.
We sat down and planned out combining our lives for real and not just this kind of weird in between.
We’ve successfully moved him, Penelope, and Ladybug into the bungalow and cleaned out the little apartment above the cafe.
It’s empty and ready for whoever is lucky enough to call it home next.
I’m obsessed with how space in the house is filled now.
The first thing Miller did was update the picture frames throughout, no more stock images or old school pictures of me that held no meaning.
Penelope has her own bedroom, and we set up another one of the rooms as a play and reading room for her, with bookshelves and a desk for art and writing.
Her toys are scattered throughout in a way that shows this is a home that’s lived in.
We’ve left the last bedroom empty, in case we ever need a nursery down the road.
I really hope we’ll need a nursery down the road.
I’ve never been happier dashing from the bedroom to the kitchen, making breakfasts and packing lunches in the mornings before zooming to make it to school drop off in time and then heading into the cafe. We’re busy in the best kind of way.
We brought back that idea of family pizza night with Margot and Sawyer, adding Daisy and Gus to the mix, even if the two of them pretend the other doesn’t exist. There’s no fighting, so it works.
My parents haven’t called. Or texted. Or emailed. And I haven’t put an effort in either, so I guess I can’t fault them. But it doesn’t hurt as much when there’s so much love coursing through every other part of my life day in and day out.
I reach the curb and pull the permanent marker out of my pocket to write FREE on the front of the box when I set it down. I turn to run back into the warmth of the inside, but I stop dead in my tracks before crashing into a wall of annoying ass fucking caveman.
“What do you want, Dean?”
He ignores my question. “You let them move into our house?”
I bite back a snort and straighten my shoulders. “It’s my house. Mine. Always has been. You live there.” I point to Mrs. Johnson’s old place. “We’ve gone over this too many times to keep having the same conversation.”
“I want to know what changed. Where’s the Red I knew?” His hand comes up like he’s going to try to move my hair, and I flinch away.
“She died, Dean. I truly, and I really mean this, don’t care what you do from here on out, but you need to leave me alone.”
He looks like I slapped him across the face, as if I haven’t said a variation of the same words hundreds, if not thousands, of times over the last couple of years. It’s insane how dense he is, and I’m sick of catering to it.
“Do you remember back in November when I told you I hated you?” I ask.
Dean scoffs, and I know he’s not ready to hear how truly insignificant he is. But for once, I don’t care about how someone else feels about what I have to say.
“Sure, yeah.” He tries to sound absentminded, but it doesn’t land the way he intended.
“I don’t hate you.” I wait for the tiny speck of hope to dawn on his face. “But it isn’t love either, it’s just indifference.”
“You’re such a—”
“Bitch? Cool. Good one.” I stand with my arms across my chest.
I watch him struggle to come up with a response, anything to tear me down. But he comes up short, because he always will. He backs up one step. Then two. Followed by a third.
I should walk away now. There really isn’t anything left to be said except—
“There is one thing I have thought about a time or two, you know. I do hope you get everything you ever wanted. Really.” Dean’s eyes practically bulge out of his head. “I hope it’s never enough.”
I stand here in front of my house, and he stands in front of his, the line of the sidewalk at our feet, a physical reminder of the permanent divide between us.
I look at Dean Fitzgerald and see him for everything he is, and I can’t help it—I laugh.
A big, ugly bark of a laugh that would have earned myself a stern talking-to later behind closed doors if I was still legally attached to this miserable loser staring with his mouth agape at me.
I manage to pull myself together as I step back to head inside my house to my little family.
“Can we frame it?” Margot asks. She’s holding a copy of the Merrymount Daily. It got dropped off this morning like any other day, but this one was something special.
“We don’t want to scare customers away with that face.” I laugh and click my tongue.
I don’t know who he pissed off at the town’s local newspaper, but they sure as shit wasted no time plastering Dean’s mugshot on the front fucking page.
The article outlines his arrest after he wrapped his cruiser around a tree a couple nights ago, the arrest that his old boss, Mark, called in when he found him passed out in the driver’s seat, still holding a bottle of whiskey.
I’m just beyond thankful no one else was involved or injured.
The article goes into detail on how this fuck up of his has shed light on every little and big thing that the department has covered up to keep Dean’s hands clean the last however many years.
I’ve never seen karma work quite like this.
This was all after I watched déjà vu play out in real time when Katie piled all of his shit on their front lawn.
I thought about offering her words of support or something, but I'm busy keeping my side of the street clean.
Will it be the wake-up call he needs to be a better person for himself and his son? Probably not, seeing as his parents blew into town to bail him out and ripped him out of Merrymount immediately after. But hey, good luck or whatever.
“This isn’t even a good mugshot. Like, he didn’t even pose,” Margot continues to inspect and judge, the way a best friend should.
“I don’t want to look at that,” Miller says as he approaches the counter.
“Then go somewhere else. You know, you don’t have to work from the cafe every day.” Margot rolls her eyes and snaps the newspaper to hold it up in front of her face.
“I don’t,” he argues. “Sometimes I stay home with Ladybug.”
“Lovesick idiot,” Margot mutters.
I swat the paper into her face. “Takes one to know one, bitch. It’s dead, you can take off for the day if you want. You have a shoot later, right?”
Margot drops the newspaper, and I get the honor of watching her face light up at the mention of her passion. But of course, she tries to downplay it. “Don’t make it sound like it’s legit or whatever, it’s just like…pictures of some kids like, to help out.”
“Some kids,” I mock with air quotes. “The karate studio is literally paying you. Be proud! The rest of us are!”
“Yeah, Marge. Seriously, it’s cool as hell.” Miller bites into a muffin.
“Thanks, guys. Sawyer tried to hype me up this morning, too. I don’t know. I don’t want to get my hopes up that this is the thing that sticks.”
“If the last year in Merrymount taught you anything, Margot, it’s that you’ve found plenty of things that stick.”
“True that.” Margot shoots her dorky finger guns at me before grabbing her bag, saying her goodbyes, and taking off.
“So, what are we feeling for dinner tonight?” Miller asks with an elbow resting on the bartop.
“Sushi, please. I don’t feel like cooking.”
“I can—”
I cut him off before he offers to pick up the slack. “I don’t want you cooking either,” I lower my voice. “I have plans for you, baby.”
Miller’s eyes widen. I love how he gets flustered when I get flirty like this. Which is funny, seeing as how I’m ready to pounce on him at just about every chance I get.
“God, I love you,” he says before pulling me into his orbit to kiss me in the empty cafe. I taste my odd but favorite combination of his mango chapstick and coffee, mixed perfectly with sparks and butterflies.