Chapter 29
The notebook sits open on the coffee table, my handwriting a mess of starts and stops full of half-formed thoughts and words that refuse to land right.
I’ve been at this for over an hour, busting my ass to write something that doesn’t sound like an apology to a ghost. I rake a hand through my hair and drop the pen to the table with a quiet clatter.
Mutt snores at my feet, completely unbothered by my restlessness. Lucky little bastard.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees and turn to the previous page, to the name I finally managed to write without scribbling it out.
Julie.
Her name. Nothing else. But it’s there, real and on the page in black permanent ink. Five letters. A name I still can’t say. But I wrote it. That’s got to count for something, right?
I flip back through the pages, days and days of rambling thoughts, past attempts at articulating emotions I can’t quite name. My handwriting gets messier the further back I go, a testament to how far I’ve come the last couple weeks.
While I’m nowhere close to okay, I’m not as fucked up as I was a month ago.
Closing the notebook, I relax my head on the back of the couch and blow out a breath.
Each day I think I feel closer to making that appointment.
But until then, I googled some techniques.
Box breathing, meditating, things like that.
I know, I know. Those things are not a replacement for the real thing.
But I gotta be honest, it’s helping. Slowly but surely, I’m seeing things for how they are.
Cracking the notebook open again, I flip until I reach what I’m looking for. The day Cassie left for Texas my mind was a mess, flip-flopping from Julie to Cassie. Julie to Cassie. Over and over again. Then the words came to me, pouring onto the page.
They say the heart has chambers—four to be exact.
But mine: No, mine has five.
Four to keep me breathing and one that died,
Yet keeps me only half alive.
I thought that chamber was a tomb.
I’d visit it at night,
Guilt pressing in on all sides,
No room for any light.
She’d never make me choose,
But I feel it anyway.
The pull back to the tomb
Instead of the woman I push away.
The heart has chambers—mine has five.
Four working, one that died.
But maybe, just maybe, half alive’s enough
To let her inside.
I read over it once, twice, then a third time. With each pass, my eyes hover on that last line. To let her inside.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text, and my heart kicks up, hoping it’s Cassie.
Ryan
Just got in. The roads are getting icy.
Ryan
Get ready to have your ass handed to you at Madden tomorrow.
Sure little brother. Prepare to pay up.
Don’t forget, I prefer payment in large bills.
Ryan
Smiling, I set my phone back down. A rare Alabama snow is predicted and it’s moving in quickly. Looks like we’ll have a white Christmas. My whole family is in town, but tonight I’m staying home, hoping to hear from Cassie. She said she had a busy day, but she’d try to FaceTime.
Her face is freshly scrubbed, her hair still back in one of those weird bubble headbands women wear these days.
On her temple there’s a star-shaped pimple patch, and I’m acutely aware of what the saying a face with a view now means.
Hers is a face I could look at every minute of every day and never grow tired of.
All I can think is I want to see her like this every night. Bare faced. Real. Mine.
“Hi,” she says, softly. Almost shy.
“Hey, angel.” I stretch out on my couch, one arm behind my head while I prop the phone on my chest. “How’s Texas treating you?”
One hand twists her gold hoop for a beat before she answers. “Better. Each day is better.”
Relief washes over me, but it’s tangled up with guilt. She’s there dealing with her mom, unpacking a lifetime of complicated shit, and I’m here journaling about my feelings. At least she’s doing the real work. Sitting with her mom, having hard conversations.
“I’m so glad to hear that” is all I can manage.
We fall into easy conversation, mostly about upcoming Christmas plans and family traditions.
She tells me Tyler stayed here to be with Josie and her kids, which causes my brows to rise up my forehead.
Josie has been closed off to men for years.
I’d occasionally try fixing her up and she shot that down real fast. I’ve been around Tyler a couple times now at the studio though, and he seems like a real standup guy.
Smart and reliable. Kinda on the quiet side.
“But listen, I need to tell you. Something weird is going on with Penny and Austin.”
Alarm bells sound, and my face must show it because Cassie quickly corrects herself.
“No, no. Not like that. We both know Penny sleeps like the dead, right?” I nod and she goes on.
“But I’ve noticed lately she’s slept even more.
Like, so much. Every chance she gets. And Austin’s hovered over her nonstop. ”
I’m not following where she’s going with this. “Do you think Penny’s sick?”
“No, Liam. I think Penny might be pregnant. That’s what I’m trying to say.”
Shit. Penny, who is like a sister to me, might be a mom?
“Pregnant?”
Cassie nods. “Yes. That’s the only explanation I can come up with for their behavior. I forgot to tell you, but Mom and I talked about it yesterday and she agreed. She took me to lunch for my birthday, and it was actually her who suggested it when I mentioned Penny sleeping all the time.”
She continues talking but my brain rewinds snagging on one word. Birthday. “What did you just say?”
“I said it was Mom who suggested it because Penny’s been sleeping a lot.”
“No, before that.”
Now Cassie won’t meet my eyes. “She took me to lunch for my birthday.”
Holy fuck. I shoot upright. She’s either had a birthday or about to have a birthday that I knew nothing about.
“Angel, what day is your birthday?”
She chews one corner of her lip, eyes looking anywhere but at mine through the screen.
“Today.”
That one word lands like a blow. All I can do is stare at her. Today is her birthday and I had no idea. I search through every conversation we’ve had for some mention, but I come up empty.
“I’m a Christmas Eve baby. So it just kind of blends in. I didn’t think to tell you. Birthdays are just another day when you’re our age. It’s fine. Aunt Ashley makes my favorite meal and cake. That’s plenty.”
But I can tell by the way she’s rambling she doesn’t mean it. By the way her voice goes higher, faster. How many birthdays has she had to pretend it didn’t matter? It’s just another day. She says it’s fine. But it’s not.
She deserves someone who knows her birthday and makes damn sure it’s the biggest party of the year.
Someone who makes sure she feels celebrated even if it does fall during the biggest holiday season.
And I can’t keep lying to myself much longer when an undeniable truth stares me straight in the face.
I want that person to be me.
“Cassie, listen to me.” I wait until her eyes finally meet mine through the screen. “We should celebrate every year we get. Your birthday matters to me because you matter to me. And I’m sorry I didn’t know.”
Her eyes go glassy and she blinks rapidly, looking away. “You couldn’t have known. I didn’t tell you.”
“I should have asked.” The words come out rougher than I intend.
“I should have—fuck. I know what tea you drink. I know you can cross your toes, which by the way I still can’t do.
I know the exact face you make when you’re trying not to cry.
” I point to the screen. “It’s the same face you’re making right now. ”
A wet laugh escapes her. “Liam—”
“What day do you get back?” My mind’s already working, pieces clicking into place.
She blinks at the sudden shift. “Day after New Year’s. Why?”
“And you’re coming to dinner at Mom’s that night?”
“I plan to. Penny said everyone will be there.”
Good. This makes planning easier.
“Hang out with me after. Just us.”
Her eyes narrow, suspicious now. “What are you planning?”
“Nothing.”
“Liam. You’re a terrible liar.”
“One of my very few flaws.” I give her my most innocent smile, and she rolls her eyes, but I catch the smallest upturn of her lips.
“Fine. If you’re planning something, don’t get too crazy with it.”
“When have I ever done something crazy?” I ask with a straight face.
“Liam.”
“Kidding.” Mostly.
She shakes her head but she’s still smiling.
We talk for a few more minutes about everything and nothing.
Things that don’t matter, except it’s her voice and I get to hear it.
I flip my camera so she can see the snow outside and when I flip it back, she yawns for the third time. It’s time to wrap this call up.
“It looks like someone needs some sleep.”
“Mm-hmm,” she agrees, dreamily. “Good night, Liam.”
“Night, angel.” I pause. “And happy birthday.”
Her smile softens. “Thanks.”
The screen goes black and I’m staring at my reflection in the dark glass. I sit for a minute, phone still warm in my hand, then I’m up grabbing the notebook. My eyes linger on the poem for a beat, but then I’m flipping to a blank page.
At the top I write:
Cassie’s Birthday is December 24.
Pen in hand, I start my list:
Favorite cake (ask Penny)
Music
Gifts: Something personal. Something only I would think to get her. But what?
I tap the pen against the page, thinking. What do I give this woman who means so much to me? Who I’ve pushed away for weeks, but I’ve now accepted I can’t keep doing that.
My truth. My story.
I’m on my feet so quickly I startle Mutt, and after a few head scratches I move to my bookcase where my poetry books are. My hands find my own leather-bound journal like muscle memory. I started writing poetry of my own after Julie died. It was the only way I knew to get my feelings out.
Cassie needs her own journal. A clean slate.
It’s been a while since I visited the bookstore, but if my memory is correct, I saw the most beautiful burgundy leather journal last time I was there. Tomorrow is Christmas, but surely they’ll be open the day after. That’ll give me time to sort what exactly goes in Cassie’s copy.
Nine days. That’s how long I have until I see her again.
Sinking back onto the couch, I flip through my current journal, years of words set to page.
Most are about Julie, about a grief so raw there were nights it brought me to my knees.
But scattered throughout are lighter ones.
A bird I saw on a hike. The river at sunset.
A night staring at the stars. And then slowly, the shift after I met Cassie.
I grin when I come to the one I wrote after we jumped at Whippoorwill.
Screaming like a banshee
She jumped.
Hand locked in mine
Like trust can be that simple.
Maybe it can?
Swallowing around the lumps that’s formed at the base of my throat, I close my eyes and say just two syllables. Out loud. For the first time in years.
“Julie.”
My eyes snap open. Oh my god. I did it.
Does her name hurt falling from my lips? Yes. But I did it. Heart pounding, I say it again, louder. But with my eyes wide open this time.
“Julie.”
The ache doesn’t disappear. Nowhere near. It may never go away completely. But something new rests alongside it for the very first time. Hope, springing up out of the darkness.