Chapter 16 #3
It feels like I’m living in one of those fantasy books where a sixteen-year-old girl is told she just became queen of an entire kingdom because her father died.
“Obviously I didn’t know that, Declan! I just graduated college, and my mother and I lived rent-free in Lottie’s house our entire lives.
How was I supposed to know this tiny cottage was worth over a million dollars!
?” I’m trying to whisper-yell so as to not further reveal how ignorant I am to Emily, who is hitting her phone screen so vehemently, I’m shocked her nails aren’t chipped.
My head spins with the possibilities of how that much money could change my life—not only mine but my mom’s, too.
We could be taken care of for… life? How fast can two people go through a million dollars?
Would I have to pay taxes on that? Also, why is Declan not shocked?
Why does he know so much about real estate?
“Was your house a million dollars?” I step toward him conspiratorially, voice hushed so that Emily doesn’t overhear.
The question seemed too ludicrous to be answered seriously, but when Declan’s face doesn’t change, I realize that it’s not too ludicrous.
At his silence, it dawns on me. “Oh my gosh. It was.”
“We have a lot of catching up to do,” he says near my ear, looking over my shoulder to make sure Emily is still busy texting.
“Yeah!” I hiss. “Ya think?”
I could say yes to selling the house right now and move to New York City within the month. This would change everything. But at the same time, if I had that much money, why would I move to New York City? I look at Declan, notice the glisten on his bottom lip, and then remember. Oh yeah. That’s why.
But if Declan wasn’t in the picture, I had still spent the past four years ignoring myself in order to achieve what I believed would bring me and my mom independence.
Could I still attain that autonomy here? In a house I didn’t earn, across the street from a boy I spent my whole life loving, in a city where Lottie’s absence was apparent on every street corner? It seemed so… painful. But it was painful either way.
Grief swirled in my stomach. I didn’t want to flippantly rush my way through this, but the decision felt like a confrontation. One that confirmed Lottie was really gone. I couldn’t just leave Seabrook knowing this house was here.
“How much do you think she could charge a month for rent here?” Declan asks Emily.
Without looking up from her phone, she says, “Oh, at least thirty-five hundred. And that’s on the low end.”
Declan looks at me to gauge my reaction. There’s concern pinching his eyebrows, and his bottom lip juts out slightly from the tension.
“And if she wanted to live here? Is it paid off? Property taxes?” He gestures with his hand like, “insert etcetera details.”
“The house is fully paid off. You’ll still be responsible for property taxes, but luckily for you, California is below the national rate.” She says it like I’m not that lucky.
Fully. Paid. Off.
I feel like I’m living in a multiverse. I imagine parts of my body getting stuck; my heart and lungs staying in this house, writing novels by the beach, while my brain and hands go to New York. I mentally glitch back to the present.
“Why don’t we discuss this over a meal. You’re gonna need some time to process all of this,” he says in a low voice by my ear.
I feel the heat of his breath brush the sensitive spot on my neck, a strand of hair bristles slightly.
In any other scenario, I’d find it suggestive, but I know he’s only doing it so Emily won’t hear.
I manage a nod.
“Thank you so much for your help, Emily. Blair’s going to take some time to weigh her options, but we’ll notify you as soon as we decide. Lovely meeting you.” He gives her one last dimpled smile. I look at her and nod like, “Yeah, what he said.”
“Oh! Okay,” Emily stutters. “I’ll lock up then. Good luck thinking.”
And with that, Declan throws his arm over my shoulder and ushers me out the door. I’m too dazed to notice that his arm is over my shoulders until much, much later.
He walks me through the front yard, which I would usually take a moment to marvel at, but I follow his lead all the way to my car, eyes unseeing.
“Actually”—he gestures for me to switch spots with him—“I’ll drive.”
“Huh?” I mumble, feeling far away from reality.
“I’ll drive. You need to think.”
I nod numbly and choose to crawl over the center console rather than get out like a normal person to reach the passenger seat.
I hear Declan’s deep, gravelly chuckle from behind me before he sinks into the driver’s seat and closes the door.
“Jeez,” he says, moving the seat back. “It can’t be safe to sit this close to the wheel.”
Despite the mix of panic and confusion swirling through me, I laugh. I laugh so hard that I have to place a hand over my stomach to recenter myself. He starts to drive, I’m not sure where, and I keep laughing. I can’t stop.
“Blair,” Declan says, starting to realize I’m no longer laughing at his comment.
I keep laughing. Tears form in the corners of my eyes.
“Blair,” he repeats in a stern voice, but nothing can stop the spiral of emotions I’m descending into.
“Whoo! I’m sorry,” I say, wiping the tears that threaten to fall. “This is just too good, isn’t it?”
“What’s too good?”
“All of this!” I gesture wildly to the houses we’re passing. “Look at that house.”
He looks to the right.
“One million dollars. Look at that house.” I point to the left. “Probably, hmm, let me guess: one million dollars. And guess what else? One of them is mine!” I throw my head back and cackle, the part of my brain that cares about social cues completely short-circuiting.
Declan is silent, his jaw muscles clenching as he lets me experience this weird stress response. First, laughing at the funeral, and now this? I was learning new things about myself.
“Oh, and even better. You own one of them too.” My voice takes on a quality I’ve never heard before. It’s biting, the way I knowingly remark on something unspoken between us, traces of anger peeking through.
“Blair.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “I know this is all really overwhelming.”
“Yeah!” I cut him off. “And you know what else is really overwhelming about the whole thing?” I don’t wait for him to respond.
“The fact that you were my best friend my entire life and now I don’t even know how you ended up in the house across from mine.
It’s actually kind of funny if you think about it.
I mean, what are the odds I don’t see you for four years and then suddenly my aunt dies and I live across the street from you?
It’s like the world’s practical joke on us.
You just can’t escape me even after stonewalling me out of your life like I was a disease you needed to avoid.
But you know what’s even worse? What’s worse is the fact that I still feel our…
” I can’t conjure words for the first time during my outburst. “I still feel our… our bond.” I wave my hands ironically like I’m describing something make-believe.
“I don’t know, Declan. I just want to know how we ended up like this. ”
I say it all. Everything I’ve been holding back since seeing him again for the first time. I say it to the side of his frustratingly perfect profile in one broken, garbled mess as he stares at the road.
Silence stretches on, the sound of tires bumping down the road our only song.
I’m so occupied with the tension that I don’t realize he’s slowed down until we’re pulling off the road and into a neon-lit drive-thru.
I recognize it as Murphy’s Drive-Thru. A local favorite.
Our local favorite. At least, it used to be.
We’d come here twice a week sometimes, ordering greasy burgers and thin fries, sharing a milk shake over the middle console, talking about our futures or making fun of the town’s famous hippies walking by.
“And that’s why we,” he says, pointing between him and me, “are going to talk.” He pulls into the line of cars waiting to place their order. “But not before getting some food in us.”
“I don’t need food right now.”
“Mm-hmm,” he hums drily.
I scoff.
“Hey, Jesse,” he says to the six-foot-three teenager dressed in a red apron and hat, black iPad in hand. “Can I get two cheeseburgers Murphy’s way with two sides of fries? And then one Oreo milk shake, please.”
When he finishes paying and pulls up to the next window I say, “How do you know my order is still the same?”
“Is it not?” he asks, looking at me sideways through thick lashes.
I look away. “No, it is,” I admit in defeat.
I swear I can feel him smile.
He collects our order and pulls into a parking spot. He unwraps our burgers and balances the fries on the dash, fitting two red straws into the Oreo milk shake.
He hands me my burger. “Here you go. Just like you like it.”
My angry confusion melts at the sight of the greasy burger, soft sesame bun enclosing a perfectly cooked patty and gooey cheese. Murphy’s way is their secret sauce (which is likely just a variation of Thousand Island) and french fries stuffed between the patty and cheese.
“Thank you,” I mumble before snatching the red-paper-wrapped burger from his hands like a grumpy tween. Turns out, you can’t snatch a burger from someone’s hand without looking dumb.
We eat in silence. The sun droops lower and lower in the sky, turning the dusty fence in front of us a thousand shades of brown.
When the sun makes its final performance before slipping beneath the sea, it casts its warm yellow rays over the entire town, enveloping the cozy cottages and sea-worn buildings in its golden embrace like a massive hug.
“Okay, Blair,” Declan starts, wiping his hands with a napkin and crinkling the wrapper. “Let’s talk.”