31. Repentance
Three Months Later
Finn
Istroll through downtown Havenwood, USA, bundled in my many layers, I can barely feel the winter frost that wraps our corner of the troposphere this time of year. As I walk along the slick new sidewalk that surrounds the park I notice a family playing in the newly fallen snow. A mom and a young daughter frolicking about, attempting to catch the small snowflakes that fall lazily from the sky while the dad makes snow angels with their older daughter. All four of them wave excitedly with mitten-clad hands as I pass by. I recognize them as the Cardenas family, recent transplants from California. I return their wave, a content smile on my face as I witness a new wave of families enjoying the many gifts Havenwood has to offer. But something is missing from my smile, it’s been missing for a while.
Over these last few winter months, we’ve seen a considerable swell not only in tourism but also in transplants, along with dozens more parties interested in calling Havenwood home. Admittedly, the boost has nothing to do with Milo and I’s scheming. Milo had put Martha’s remains on display only days after Courtney left and, despite everything we sacrificed to keep the remains in Havenwood, hardly any tourists showed the slightest interest. It was a devastating blow that further proved the notion that there truly is no victory when lying is required to win. A sentiment I know all too well.
Havenwood had started to feel lost entirely. Many townsfolk saw the lackluster effect that our plan had had and began to take the final steps towards leaving Havenwood behind and I truly couldn’t blame them. I had run out of motivational words and well-intentioned promises to keep them here, I was fully prepared to let them go. However, at what felt like the final hour, people started rolling in in flocks.
At first, I had no idea what had caused the uptick in the public’s interest in Havenwood until Elsie interrupted my morning sulk over my oat milk latte, placing a small book into my hands. Havenwood: New England’s Nonpareil, Courtney had published her guidebook. I scoffed out a laugh of disbelief and pleasure as I shifted my gaze between the barista and the book.
“She did it!” I had said, excitement and pride swimming inside my chest.
“She did it.”
Courtney truly had saved Havenwood, not by signing over Martha’s remains as we had expected, but instead by releasing her guidebook that had convinced dozens of younger people and families to give our small town a chance. The bump in younger people moving here helped not only our economy and relatability but also helped to balance out the population’s age median. Courtney was the savior I knew she’d be just not in the way I’d expected, even if she’d never know it, I was eternally grateful for her and silently thanked her each time I said hello to a new face.
Six months ago I would’ve been content with our town’s progress, thrilled even. Havenwood was thriving, I was just reelected, and the town was even on an uphill trend financially. Havenwood was saved, that was my goal all along. Right? Then why did I feel so empty? I already knew the answer.
I look down at my gloved palm as I walk on, remembering what her hand felt like in mine, the electric current that passed between us anytime our skin touched. I exhale deeply as I reminisce on the way she would cuddle her cheek into my palm affectionately, I want to feel her again. I had spent the last three months wallowing in self-pity and I’m tired of it, I’m ready to take action. I’m ready to be a man that is worthy of Courtney Berrycloth.
As I continue my walk I pass by the newly erected memorial that I had commissioned in honor of Martha Berrycloth-Brant. A silhouette standing beside the memorial catches my eye, pausing me midstep. The person’s back is turned to me as they admire the marble obelisk and its matching placard that quotes Martha’s famous letter, exonerating her of any wrongdoing. I can’t see the admirer’s face or discern who they are due to their layers of winter clothing so I assume they are a tourist. Despite my somber mood I decide to do my mayoral duty and say hello, maybe provide them some insight into Martha’s story, and formally welcome them to Havenwood.
I take a few steps closer to the figure, as I do the fresh ice crunches below my boots. The noise startles the onlooker, causing them to whip around to face me. Deep chocolate eyes meet mine, and a surprised, tan face contrasts the white snow around her. Her hair is a few shades lighter since the last time I had seen her but there is no mistaking her.
“Courtney?”
Courtney
One week earlier
The second I had arrived in Los Angeles I put my guidebook in front of every publisher that gave me the chance. I wanted to put the guidebook in qualified hands and wash my own of all things Havenwood. I needed a fresh slate and a clear head so that I could think clearly about my next decisions, about myself and figure out what I really wanted. With a large publishing house handling the publication of the guidebook, I was free to do all those things.
In the meantime, I went back to screenwriting. The strike had ended days after I arrived back in California, something about the timing of it all seemed like too much of a coincidence, and with my newfound perspective on the supernatural, I knew I probably had a certain ancestor to thank.
I tried therapy for the first time and loved it, I worked on some big TV shows and a couple of movies but I didn’t stop writing for myself. In fact, I was able to complete the first draft of my manuscript during my time of deliberation. I had written a chick-lit book about a resilient witch named Martha and her sassy black cat, Olive, who was able to find her own happily ever after despite many obstacles and a particularly brutal curse. I wanted to give Martha the happy ending she deserved in this life and through my writing I had done just that.
I thought back to my own almost happily ever after often in therapy, late at night when I stared up at my popcorn ceiling when I reached out in my sleep searching for Finn’s warmth. Each time I was filled with regret.
Now, having been a few months removed from the situation and through several hours of therapy, I could see things a bit clearer. I know I should’ve communicated with Finn much more maturely on Halloween night, I should’ve told him I needed space to think. I should’ve told him I understood him but needed time to understand myself, time to improve myself to be the perfect person I thought I was. Instead, I ran and this time Finn didn’t chase me. I hadn’t had a single text or call from him since that night and I worried that I’d lost him forever.
“C’mon! We need to hurry up and get ready or we’ll be late!” Kashvi urges me as I fish my keys from my purse. I chuckle at her impatience as I insert my key into the lock of my apartment door.
I had agreed to go out for the first time since being back in L.A. and only after incessant groveling and guilt-tripping from Kashvi on an almost professional level. My favorite coworker knew I had returned home in a slump, I told her about everything that had transpired in Massachusetts and she had done her best to keep me company and support me any way she could. I’m forever grateful for her.
Tonight is her twenty-seventh birthday and despite not feeling like partying I know I’d be a terrible friend if I missed it.
“I only turn 21 once!” Kashvi cheekily jokes as she pushes into my apartment before me. Her smile drops along with her jaw as she enters, her almost black irises landing on me in surprise.
“Oh em eff gee, Courtney! Who did this to your place?!” I feel my heart sink to my ass, what’s wrong with my apartment?! Had someone broken in and trashed it looking for valuables? I pin her with a look of concern as I follow her in, taking in the sight of my apartment.
Every inch of every surface is covered with flowers. Roses, daisies, carnations, lilies, orchids, tulips, azaleas, marigolds. The entire 700-square-foot unit smells like a fresh, lush garden and is as colorful as the night sky on the fourth of July.
“Oh my god..” I breathe, taking in the sight in bewilderment.
“The mayor!” Kashvi exclaims excitedly, walking over to me, a small white card in her hand. I try to snatch it from her but she moves her hand away deftly, reading the scrawled message out loud.
“I was so caught up in trying to explain myself and justify my actions that I never told you what I truly needed to say. I am so sorry. Though words or flowers will never be enough I hope it’s a start. AWE!” Kashvi exclaims, stomping her heels as she gushes over Finn’s note. “You have to go get him, girl! Do it or I will.” She teases, resting a perfectly manicured hand on her hip. I’m finally able to snatch the card from her and I reread the note for myself, the scent of florals dizzying me as I do. I can’t help but attempt to hold back a smile as the decision I’ve been contemplating for days now finally solidifies inside of me.
“Let’s get ready,” I remind her, navigating around the flowers as I head for my closet.
“You’re not hopping on a plane right this INSTANT?!” Kashvi calls after me in confusion. I just giggle as I throw my closet doors open, planning my outfit for dinner.
“No way, we have dinner plans. I can’t miss my best friend’s 21st birthday!” I shoot her a smirk. A small grin crawls onto Kashvi’s plum-colored lips.
“Courtney’s back!” She declares, giving me an approving look.
* * *
Our Uber driver drops us right out front of the golden doors of the high-end restaurant Kashvi had selected for her birthday dinner. The restaurant is located in WeHo, or West Hollywood as the tourists refer to it, so there were often celebrities and big names dining here. Reservations proved nearly impossible to get but somehow I had been able to snag them a few weeks ago just by mentioning my literary agent’s name. If that isn’t Hollywood politics I didn’t know what is.
We are shown to our table by an extremely sterile yet professional waiter. Kashvi had insisted on being “fashionably late” as she called it, so we were the last two to arrive at our table of seven. We are greeted with excited applause from the other five guests as Kashvi steps into their view, we say our hello’s and hug each attendee, most of which are coworkers we both know.
As we sit down and scan the cocktail menu I become aware of a blond demon watching me from a few tables away. I almost freeze up entirely when I see him approaching from the corner of my eye, he descends upon me swiftly giving me no time to prepare.
“Courtney,” the voice is all too familiar as I lift my gaze to make eye contact with a gleaming Carter.
“Carter.” I greet curtly, a tight-lipped smile is the best I can manage despite the work I’d done in therapy to forgive the wannabe Ken doll.
“Crazy to see you here, I heard your guidebook did really well and now you’re signing with a big-name agent to release a fiction book? That’s incredible, you’re gonna be - like - famous.” He finishes his sentence with a small, astonished chuckle. He’s clearly done his research on me and now that I’m more renowned I’m magically deemed worthy of his attention once again.
“Yeah,” I confirm, dropping my eyes back down to the list of alcoholic beverages before me.
“I heard the movie you starred in flopped. 18% on Rotten Tomatoes, right?” I inhale through my teeth, offering him a look of faux sympathy. He wets his lips, attempting to let my comment roll off his back.
“I’m glad you’re back in town, I was thinking about you a lot while you were gone. I was thinking a lot about us. I’d love to buy you dinner sometime, we can reminisce on old times.” He gives me a flirtatious wink, running a hand through his blond mane. At this point, Kashvi has tuned into the conversation and I can see the fire in her hitting a raging point.
“Who do you think-” I gently place a hand on top of Kashvi’s, alerting my volatile friend that I have this situation handled. Although I appreciate her fierce defense of me, we’re in a nice restaurant, and Kashvi likes to get heated very fast. Besides, I’d rather hit Carter where it really hurts, his ego. She slumps back in her chair, nostrils flaring as she watches the scene play out.
“Carter,” I lean in closer to him, lowering my voice. He leans in closer to me, that arrogant grin still on his face.
“I can’t date a nobody.” I watch that smug smile melt off his lips as I turn his own words against him. Red flusters his cheeks as he searches for something to say in response to save face.
“BOOM. OWNED!” Kashvi cries out in her obnoxiously perfect way, laughing mockingly. Though the rest of the table didn’t hear Carter and I’s conversation they still break out in a wave of mocking “ooh’s”, adding to Carter’s embarrassment. He observes them all with blazing eyes then aims his red-hot gaze directly at me.
“You are an entitled and ornery little bitch with an attitude problem. No one is going to want you.” His voice is uneven and low as he speaks through clenched teeth, his attempt at keeping a low profile as he insults me. I simply shrug, finally deciding on a lemon drop martini as I say.
“Carter? Go fuck yourself.”
He gives me one more indignant huff before storming off, not to his table but out of the restaurant completely, leaving the group of men he was with confused. Kashvi grabs my arm and I turn to face her, a prideful grin evident on her round face.
“You are fucking phenomenal!” She belts out one of her hearty high-pitched laughs and pulls me close to her in a tight embrace. I return her hug, giggling in shock at myself and my ability to handle that situation.
Six months ago I would’ve caved and given Carter a second chance, I would’ve believed him when he told me no one would want me but I know better now. I know a handsome mayor back in Massachusetts who has shown me that no man is perfect but neither am I and that is okay—a man whom I’d been denying myself for far too long.
The rest of Kashvi’s birthday dinner goes amazing. We drink creatively crafted drinks and eat deliciously Instagramable food until we feel like we’re going to burst. We catch up with our incredible coworkers, reminiscing on good times and listening to their plans for the future. And when it comes time to leave we all say our goodbyes and get into separate Ubers and Lifts, in true Los Angeles fashion.
Before I hop into my Uber, Kashvi pulls me into another tight hug, the alcohol she consumed making her even more affectionate than usual. I laugh and hug her back, enjoying the way her curly hair tickles my nose as I hold my friend close.
“I’ll miss you,” her words are muffled against my shoulder but I still make them out.
“Miss me?” I question, scrunching my brow at her in confusion. She nods, pulling back from our embrace.
“I know you’ll be heading back to Havenwood soon, if not tonight.” She chuckles, her valley girl accent extra strong thanks to that last mojito.
“You belong there, Coco. I’ll come visit you. I heard really great things about it in this guidebook I read.” She gives me a bittersweet smile. It’s totally like Kashvi to know my next move before I’ve even thought of it myself. I laugh and hold her to me once again, her height of 5-foot-nothing making it convenient for me to rest my chin on top of her head. Do I belong in Havenwood?
“I know a single apothecarian who you’d love.”
“I only date Sikhs,” she teases, giving me a final squeeze.
“But for real, give him my number.” She blows me a kiss before I duck inside my Uber. I wave to her as I drive down the street back to my apartment. I locate my phone from deep inside my handbag, my slightly blurry vision making the task more difficult than necessary but I manage to scroll through my contacts. Selecting the appropriate one, I hold the phone up to my ear.
“Hey Elsie, I need a favor.”