Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Molly
T he room is still dark when I wake up. Or maybe it’s dark again. My body is heavy with exhaustion and something else I can’t quite name, and I don’t know if I’ve been asleep for five minutes or five years. My head aches, and every muscle feels coiled tight. For one brief, panic-filled moment, I don’t know how I got here. Then last night comes back to me in flashes.
Running late.
Police outside the hospital.
A quiet ER.
I am so sorry for your loss .
An elevator ride.
Jordan’s cries.
Silence.
Gabe coming to get me.
Gabe driving me home.
Gabe taking care of me.
Gabe telling me he would love me the way I deserve to be loved.
Gabe.
His arm is a comforting weight around me, anchoring my body to his, and his hand is still holding mine. I asked him not to let go and he didn’t. Ever. Even in sleep, he kept his promise.
I could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve this man.
I want to crawl into his body and sink into his warmth. Let him keep me safe from a world where my evergreen embrace of chaos and clutter means I’m late to pick up my friend. Where being late means my friend is dead and my other friend has to live forever without his love. Where there were so many tear-soaked pillows last night and there will be for so many nights to come.
Because of me.
My fault.
My fault.
My fault.
With no chaos brain to protect me, the words circle and take root, and other, deeply buried memories start to surface.
Molly, why can’t you ever just keep your room clean?
Molly, I think you have the messiest desk in the whole fifth grade.
I’m switching dorm rooms, Molly. I’m really sorry, but I just can’t take the mess.
You can’t possibly need three purses. No one has that much stuff.
I thought lawyers were known for organization.
How do you find anything in here?
God, how do you live like this?
Don’t you think that’s enough pink?
Too much. Too loud. Too messy. Too extra. Too everything.
The memories slam into me like bullets, each one hitting its mark. My breath goes shallow, my head spins, and my stomach churns with nausea.
Slowly—so, so slowly—I unwrap my hand from Gabe’s. As carefully as I can, I slide out from under his arm. If he wakes up, he’ll ask what’s wrong. He’ll wrap me in his strong arms and kiss my head and tell me he loves me and that none of this is my fault.
But he’s wrong. Allie is dead because of me, and no hug in the world can fix that. Not even Gabe’s. I don’t even deserve to let him try.
As quietly as I can, I get out of bed and tiptoe out the door, leaving a still-sleeping Gabe behind. I freeze in the doorway to the guest room, taking it all in. Clothes strewn all over the bed. A folded pile of sweaters in the corner. Hangers on the floor. Accessories all over the dresser. My fingers itch to clean everything up. To give everything its place. To make some order in the chaos. But I don’t want to wake Gabe, so I grab the first sweatshirt and leggings I can find and close the door on the mess.
Downstairs, I pull on my clothes and whirl into action. I clean up the nail polish scattered over the coffee table. The pile of mail on the table by the front door. I hang jackets in the closet and pick up shoes from the floor, and consolidate three bags into one. I straighten cushions and fold blankets and find two lip balms, three earrings, a missing bracelet, and more hair ties than I can count.
How can Gabe possibly live like this?
No one should have to.
My breaths come in pants and sweat drips down my back, and when there’s nothing left to clean at Gabe’s house, I grab my car keys and shove my feet into the first pair of shoes I can find, walking out into darkness just being pierced by the early morning light.
I pull up at the office and unlock the door, taking the stairs up two at a time. My focus is on one thing and one thing only.
Make order in the chaos.
So, I do.
I straighten piles and throw away papers and file client documents. I clear off the top of my desk and organize all the drawers, and take five empty mugs down to the kitchen. I clean out the closet, alphabetize client files, and vacuum because no one is here to disturb.
My phone pings with text messages. Then it starts to ring. I ignore it all.
If I stop, I’ll think. If I think, I’ll drown.
And I don’t think anyone would be able to rescue me.
When everything is organized and there is nothing left to clean, I do the only other thing I can do to keep my busy brain quiet. I sit down at my desk, turn on my computer, and lose myself in work.