Chapter 2
One minute, I’m staring at the sign, the next, I’m in front of town hall.
I shouldn’t be here. This isn’t the kind of place someone like me belongs. But my feet keep moving, dragging me up the steps two at a time.
Inside, a woman in perfectly ironed clothes and a tight frown glances up from her desk. Her eyes flick over me, up and down.
I can feel the judgment without a word being said.
“Can I help you, miss?” She asks, raising a thin eyebrow at my dirty boots.
“I need to talk to Mayor Rose.” My voice comes out rough, concealing my feelings as much as I can.
Which is to say, not much.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Yeah,” I say, crossing my arms. “It’s called I’m going to see Mayor Rose whether you let me or not. Now.”
She picks up the phone, murmuring something into it before motioning toward the double doors at the end of the hall. “He can see you for a moment.”
My entire trailer could fit in Mayor Rose’s office. Sunlight spills through the tall windows, glinting off the gold frame of a large picture hanging above his desk. Diana grins front and center between her siblings.
“Lillian, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he says, like he’s surprised to see me. Like we didn’t sit at the same dinner table a thousand times. Like he doesn’t know what that garden meant to us.
“It’s Lily.” I pull the folded page out of the pocket I stuffed it into and toss it on his desk. “You can tell me why you’re doing this.”
He glances down at the paper like it’s nothing. “Ah. Yes. We’ve been discussing redevelopment for some time now and have decided to move forward.”
“It’s still ours,” I snap. “That garden’s been there since—”
“Since my family built it,” he interrupts, calm, like he’s explaining something to a child. “And it’s long overdue for a change. We’re bringing in new business. Jobs. Growth in our community.”
“You can’t just— it’s not yours to— to ruin. It’s an important part of this town!”
Mayor Rose’s lips twitching is the only reaction he gives. “I’m sure the town appreciates your concern, Lillian, but the council’s already voted.”
“So that’s it? You tear down something… something beautiful so you can make a few bucks off parking spaces?”
He chuckles softly, like I’ve said something cute. “You always did get worked up over the smallest things.”
“It’s not small,” I bite out. “You don’t get it, the garden is important. It’s where…” I stop myself, shutting my mouth before the words spill out.
Because what can I say? That I still see her there? Bare feet in the dirt, hair tied up with a ribbon, laughing, playing? That I still dream about those afternoons, that I’ve never felt happier than those days we spent together?
I have a feeling Mayor Rose wouldn’t be happy if he knew how much I feel for his daughter.
He smiles, slow and smug, like he’s won. “I thought so.”
Heat floods my face, anger and shame tangling inside of me. “Asshole,” I mutter.
“Language,” he says mildly, leaning back. “You’ve made your point, Lillian. I’ll take it under advisement.”
“You won’t.”
His eyes flicker up to mine, still amused. “No, probably not.”
And that does it. I grab the paper off his desk, crumple it in my fist, and start toward the door before I actually commit a crime against the mayor.
“Lillian,” he calls after me. “Try to keep your head down, hm? Find yourself a nice young man. Settle down. Leave town matters to those of us who understand them. You’ll find life’s easier that way.”
I clench my jaw so hard I’m surprised my teeth don’t crack. I don’t argue or fight back, there’s no point.
Behind me, the door slams hard enough to make the stupid golden picture of Diana and her stupid perfect family rattle.
The summer sun damn near blinds me when I step out of Town Hall. I blink hard as the mayor’s words still ring in my head.
Find yourself a nice young man. Fuck that.
And then, to make a bad day worse, I see her.
Diana, standing at the bottom like she’s waiting for me, like it wasn’t enough, having to talk to her asshole dad, I have to deal with her now. Her sundress looks expensive, soft yellow, her golden hair pulled back with a blue ribbon that matches her eyes.
She gives me the same pretty smile she always does when our eyes meet in the hallway. Friendly, but not real. I hate her for it.
“Did you know about this?” I shout, charging toward her. She startles at my tone.
“Lily? What—”
I shove the crumpled paper at her chest until she has to take it. “The garden. Your dad’s tearing it down to put in a goddamn strip mall.”
Her lips part, confusion written all over her rounded face as she stares down at the flyer. “What? No, I— I didn’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me.” My voice cracks. I haven’t said a word to Diana since that day. I shouldn’t be speaking to her now, but I can’t stop.
It feels like it’s all her fault. “
You think you can build over everything that’s not shiny enough for your family? You think because your name’s on half the damn signs in town, you get to decide what matters and what doesn’t?”
“I don’t… Lily, calm down, I didn’t—”
“You didn’t what? Didn’t care? Didn’t notice?” I laugh an ugly, heartbroken sound. “Of course you didn’t. You don’t give a damn about anything but yourself.”
She flinches.
“I care,” she says quietly. “You know I do.”
I bark out another laugh, stepping back. “Do I? Because from where I’m standing, you’re doing a real good impression of someone who doesn’t give a shit.”
She looks down again, her brows drawn together as she studies the page, reading the words over again. “My dad, he didn’t tell me—”
“Yeah, well, he told me. Told me it’s already done. That it’s ‘progress.’” I spit the word like it burns my tongue. “The garden meant something! It’s the only thing in this town that still feels like—”
I stop myself, but it’s too late. Her eyes lift to mine, soft and searching, like she wants me to break. And fuck her for that. “Feels like what?”
I look away, avoiding her stupid blue eyes. “Forget it.”
“Lily.” Her voice is gentle, and that only makes it worse. She steps closer, close enough that I can smell the faint hint of her perfume, bubblegum, the exact smell that makes me want to curl up into a ball and never come out.
She shouldn’t be standing this close. Not when I can feel my heart trying to crawl out of my throat. Not when she’s still so beautiful I could cry.
“I’ll talk to him,” she says, quiet and sweet in that way she somehow always is. “He’s my dad, he’ll listen.”
“No. I don’t want your help.”
“Lily—”
I take a shaky breath, forcing a mean smirk that doesn’t quite work. “We both know this doesn’t matter to you, Di. Go back to your life.”
She stares at me for so long it feels like she’s going to say something else, try to argue. But she never does. She nods once, letting me walk away.
I almost make it all the way home before my hands stop shaking from the range of emotions threatening to overtake my body.
Even after all this time, there’s still that small, stupid part of me that wishes Diana were here to make it go away. She’s the only one who ever could. And now, she’s the reason.
The phone cord’s wrapped around me, twisted up so I’ll have to spin in circles to get free. “I’m telling you, Pat, they can’t do this,” I say, pacing another line into the carpet. “He said it’s already decided. Like we don’t even matter.”
Pat’s voice crackles through the receiver. “Who did?”
“Diana’s dad.” I stop, the word Diana catching in my throat. “The mayor,” I correct, then keep going before Pat can bring it up. “He sat there in his big shiny office, looking at me like I was a kid throwing a tantrum. Said it’s progress. Said the town needs growth.”
On the couch, Mom groans softly, lounging in a skimpy nightgown even though it’s damn near evening, with a wet towel thrown over her eyes. “Honey, would you stop stomping around? You’re making my headache worse.”
“I’m not stomping.” The floor creaks under my bare feet.
“So what, they’re bulldozing it?”
“Not yet, but there’s a sign up. Says they’re gonna turn it into a strip mall of all places, can you believe that?”
He exhales into the phone. “Man, that sucks. Bunch of rich assholes, huh? Always wreckin’ shit.”
“Yeah,” I agree, getting fired up again. “Except it’s not shit. It’s the garden.”
“Right, right.” He pauses, then adds, “What’s the big deal about the garden again? It’s not like you hang out there.”
I wind the cord around my hand, knuckles white. “You don’t get it, Pat. It’s where me and Di…” I trail off, not wanting to say too much in front of my mom. “You wouldn’t get it.”
“Hey, I’m on your side,” Pat says quickly. “It’s just, I don’t know. I wouldn’t think you’d wanna be reminded of the bitch who broke your heart.”
I close my eyes with a sigh, turning to face the window. There’s an old truck driving along the gravel, but I don’t see it.
I see every moment I ever spent with her like a movie, playing over and over in my head. It’s not about her now. It’s about us back then. It was the only time I was ever truly happy, and I’m not ready to give that up.
“I know you are.” Mom shifts on the couch, muttering something about dinner, but I barely hear her. “It’s complicated, Pat.”
The cord’s a noose around my wrist, the air thick with memories I can’t let go of, making it hard to breathe, when there’s a knock at the door.
Mom sighs from her sprawl on the couch, cigarette burning low between two fingers. She waves it in the direction of the door. “If it’s Bill, tell him I’m dead.” I’m not busy or anything.
“I’ll call you back.”
When I tug open the door expecting to find whoever ‘Bill’ is, I almost let out an embarrassing gasp when I see Diana standing there. She looks uncomfortable, like she’s never actually been inside ‘the meadows’ before. And that’s probably true.
Once I moved here, her mother wouldn’t allow her to visit.
She drags her hands down her dress awkwardly with a look on her face that I can still read after all this time.
She’s nervous as hell.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, sharp as the blade she drove through my heart. Her brow creases, that same wide-eyed look she always gets when she doesn’t understand why I’m mad, which only makes me even more mad.
“I wanted to see if you were okay,” she says, glancing past me into my home, at the mess she must be fighting the urge to turn her nose up at. “And… to tell you, I talked to my dad.”
I scoff. “Oh, did you?”
“Can I come in?” I shake my head, not even having to think about it.
“No.” I step outside, pulling the door shut behind me with a hard click.
She shifts on the step, the hem of her dress brushing her thigh. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Yeah, you never do,” I cut in, crossing my arms tight, begging to whatever God is out there that she leaves soon.
Her eyes flick down to my chest before meeting mine with a new confidence.
“I talked to my dad. He said the vote was only preliminary. The real vote is happening once the council’s back in session for the fall and if we can show community support…
” she trails off lightly, like I’m supposed to be impressed.
I huff, shaking my head. “Right. Community support. What does that mean, exactly?”
“If we get enough signatures,” she says, full of so much naive hope. “He’ll bring it back to the council.”
I laugh. Sharp, mean, because it’s easier than letting her see how much being in her presence hurts. “There is no ‘we’. I don’t need you showing up here like some kind of savior.”
Her eyes flash with hurt, only for a second, before she takes a deep breath and continues in that annoyingly soft tone. “You really think you can do this on your own, Lily? How did that go last time you talked to my dad?”
My arms fall to my sides as my hands clench into fists, remembering my conversation with the mayor. “He’s an ass. You can’t reason with him.”
“But he listens to me.”
That makes me want to scream.
We both know she’s right, and I hate that. I hate that she has power here. That she always has the power when it comes to me.
“I don’t want your help,” I grumble, looking down at the old wood between our feet.
“I think you do,” she says, stepping closer, soft but certain. “You just don’t want to admit it.”
I take a step back in the door, warmth climbing my neck as my body betrays me against her proximity. “Get off my porch, Diana.”
At first, she stands there, like she’s waiting for me to take it back. To stop being angry and agree to her help right then and there.
When I don’t, she sighs, turning away. “Alright.” And I almost think she’s actually gonna listen to me for once, when halfway down the walk, she stops and glances back over her shoulder.
“Meet me at the garden tomorrow.”
She doesn’t say it like a question.
She says it like she already knows I will.
And then she’s gone, never looking back as she makes her way to the passenger side of an expensive blue car that sticks out against the grungy backdrop of the trailer park.
I stay where I am, arms still crossed over my pounding heart as I watch her leave, everything I can’t say threatening to crawl up my throat before I push it back down.
There is no we.
I don’t want her help.