43. Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Three
T he next several days blurred together. I barely moved from my computer except to eat, refill my coffee, pee, or snag an occasional few hours of sleep. When I had this kind of inspiration, I had to act on it. I wouldn’t have been able to stop even if I tried, because the chaos of it all was rather addictive. I hated to say it, but I kind of liked it.
I’d written 40,000 words in the last week. All of a sudden, the ending of my story that I’d struggled to find was staring back at me on my computer screen. The words somehow meshed together in a way that made sense, even sounded good, and with only a few words left to go before I typed The End , I needed to take a break and really soak in this feeling.
I put on a pot of coffee and turned the TV on.
It was probably for the best that I did a quick little catch-up given how many days had passed since I’d connected with the outside world. I plopped the remote on the couch, a local news station illuminating the TV as I returned to the kitchen to wait for my coffee to brew. I planned on ignoring the fact that it was three in the afternoon and I was on cup number three. No one needed to know about the copious amounts of coffee I had consumed to write this book.
“ Good evening, New York City .”
There it was again. That voice.
Grey.
I frantically searched for the remote so I could either change the channel or turn up the volume, and then I sat down and faced the screen.
“I want to thank you all for taking the news of me stepping away from my role in politics in stride. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to have the city of New York supporting me on my new ventures.”
My mouth dropped open. Did he just say he was stepping away? I sat forward on my couch, not wanting to miss a thing.
“While working with my father was something I’ve always pictured myself doing, I hope to get the chance to pursue another dream of mine now. One that I’ve held close to my heart for a long time. One that I wasn’t sure would ever come to fruition. That is, until last summer, when I met someone who encouraged me to give my dream a chance. So, over the last eight months, I’ve had the privilege of working on something pretty incredible.” I hung on to every single one of his words, desperately waiting for the next. “New York City, I’m excited to finally reveal our newest library, A Second Page, designed from the ground up by my new architecture firm, O.M. Architects.”
A large piece of material that had been draped over the front of the building dropped, exposing the new sign.
Grey was aglow, an aura around him seeming to shine. “I’d like to invite you all to the grand opening, this Saturday afternoon. Library doors open at nine o’clock.”
I fell back onto my couch, replaying his words over and over in my head. So, the news story at his apartment, the one I’d heard only the beginning of, wasn’t another political announcement at all.
The nausea boiled at the base of my stomach. What was I supposed to do now? An email pinged on my computer, drawing my attention away, and I was thankful for the distraction even though I had no intention of checking it.
Because I was going to finish this damn book.
I reread my last few sentences, a sense of pride anchoring me to the here and now.
One single heart had somehow brought me two of the most important people in my entire life. It was once hers, and now his. I loved her first, and now I’d love him forever.
My fingers stroked the keyboard in an entirely unfamiliar pattern, typing out The End.
Two words on a screen. Two words I never thought I’d see. The tears propelled down my face and a smile leaped onto my face as I read them over and over again. It wasn’t just the end that made me emotional. It was the realization that had come just before I typed those two words.
…and now I’d love him forever.
That was the truth.
Not just in my story, but in my life too .
My world was spinning. Holy shit. The doorbell rang.
“Coming!” I shouted. I was expecting a package today, but the delivery people should know to leave it at my doorstep.
Swinging the door open, I said, “Hi, do I need to sign—”
But the man on the other side of the door was not a delivery man. Well, I guess that wasn’t entirely true, but he wasn’t the delivery man I was expecting.
“Daniel?”
“Good afternoon, Ms. Morgan. I come bearing gifts, or rather an invitation from Mr. Prescott.” I looked down and saw the most elegant-looking black envelope resting in his hands. “Here you go. Have a lovely rest of your day,” he said, handing over the package. “I really hope you’ll be able to make it,” he whispered as though someone might hear him, even though my hallway was empty.
“Thank you, Daniel.” I smiled and shut the door.
I tore into the invitation as quick as I could. The black envelope was decorated in beautiful gold calligraphy that read Miller Jean Morgan . If I wasn’t so determined to see what was inside, I would’ve been able to enjoy the beauty of it a little more.
Scanning the invitation a second time, the date caught my attention. Thursday, January 11…? That was tonight. The man couldn’t have given me a little more warning than four hours?
In reality though, it didn’t matter. Between finishing my book and the realization that came with typing those final words, I’d already made up my mind. I was going.
And for the first time in my entire life, I knew what I was going to wear.