44. Blesk
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
blesk
“I inhale courage and exhale fear,” I write it down on my hand in the same place I once had the word stable.
After breakfast on the veranda—fruit and coffee made just right—Konnor goes to say goodbye to his family, and I sit with a piece of paper in front of me.
To my side, in the warm seat Konnor just left, the envelope waits, and it is slightly warped at the corners from being left on the floor all night. I might have stepped on it a few times as well. Totally by accident.
I glance at my note, the blue pen in my hand bouncing between my fingers. I read: the fucked-up bucket list. The list: Process… (ellipses are necessary). Visit my bio-dad. Ask Questions. Go to the locker. Open the envelope. Process…
Tell my Dad what Erik did.
I cross off each one until I get to Dad and Erik. The pen bounces a few more times, and I end up just putting a dot beside that line. A lingering dot. Just one. A full stop.
We pack our things, it doesn’t take long, and pile into the Prado—Elise, Jax, Konnor, and me, finding a rhythm and comfort without even speaking.
I get in the front beside Konnor with the envelope on my lap; its weight somehow less than I expected. The long driveway rolls out ahead of us, the gardens and tennis court disappearing, and then the road is ahead of us, and a green wheelie bin sitting out at the end of his drive.
It’s bin day. “Stop.”
“What?” Konnor glances at me from the road.
“Stop the car.”
The tires chew at the gravel as he brakes suddenly. I’m already out of the car—I’m out before it fully stops.
The fresh air moves my hair, my skirt, as I approach the bin. I flip the lid open and hold the envelope over the opening for just a moment, the smell of garbage rising, then let it fall. It disappears into the dark.
I drop the lid.
It snaps shut.
Back in the car, Konnor is watching me with a strange expression on his face.
He grabs my thigh and squeezes, and leaves his hand there.
Even as he has to reach across his body to drop the handbrake, even as he has to flick the indicator, and spin the wheel 180 degrees to pull onto the main road—with his one free hand.