Chapter 23
Clara presses the address into my hand with reluctance. “This is a bad idea, Di. I really don’t want to see you get hurt.”
I’m thankful for her concern, but I’ve already been hurt by my own family. I don’t believe that Lily could do much worse.
The GPS takes me down a long, winding road along the outskirts of Rosehill. I almost think Clara got it wrong. There are barely any houses out here, mostly falling apart barns and the occasional trailer.
When I finally reach the address, though… It’s the exact sort of place I would picture for Lily. Not the old trailers or the massive houses, but this. Small, brick, lots of grass. It’s very her.
But it looks like it hasn’t been loved in years.
The grass has grown too tall. The flowerbeds along the front porch are a graveyard full of weeds and remnants of old plants.
The railing, the shutters, the front door, they all look like they were painted vibrant colors at some point. Blues and yellows and a splash of green, but time has faded them into nothing.
Rusted windchimes hang from the porch, playing softly in the breeze.
This house feels like Lily. But how could she neglect something she clearly cared for at one point?
There’s shuffling behind the door when I knock. A muffled curse. Footsteps.
The door jerks open.
She’s in baggy jeans and a faded tank top with a band I don’t recognize printed on it, her hair shoved back into a messy bun that couldn’t possibly control all of it.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
I force a small smile. “Hey, Lil.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Lily.”
She leans one arm against the doorframe, blocking the entrance, but I’m too busy staring at her arms to consider trying to shove my way inside.
She’s grown stronger over the years. Her once skinny arms have subtle, but defined muscles. “Is there a newsletter I missed? A holiday? Harass Lily Price Week?”
“No,” I say, snapping my eyes up to her face before she sees me checking her out like some kind of creep. “I came because—”
“Stop,” she cuts me off. “Whatever this is. I don’t care why you came. You need to leave me alone.”
There’s exhaustion in her voice, tension carved into her shoulders, the faint glossiness to her eyes like she hasn’t slept through the night. And I want to know why.
“I just want to talk.”
“Well,” she replies, flat and mean in the way she’s mastered. “I don’t.”
She shifts, grabbing the door as if she might actually slam it in my face.
“Please,” I blurt out, desperate. “Listen for a second.”
She doesn’t close the door.
It suddenly feels much more important to say the right thing.
I take a deep breath. “I know you’re angry. I don’t understand why, because you won’t tell me. But I’m trying. I’m standing here, even though you clearly hate me, trying anyway because you matter to me.”
Her jaw clenches, and she looks down at our feet, but she doesn’t say anything, so I take that as my cue to keep going.
“I didn’t mean to do anything to hurt you,” I say, quieter now, because it’s so true. “And if I did, if I hurt you without realizing, I wish you’d tell me what I did. You can yell at me. Hate me. But don’t…” My voice falters.
“Don’t pretend I don’t exist. Not after all this time.”
“What are you even doing here, Diana?”
I glance behind me, at the overgrown grass. “I heard you needed help.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Did you now?”
“Tommy said you were having trouble. With weeds. And… well.” I gesture weakly toward the chaos behind us.
She stiffens with a glare. “I can do it myself.”
“I know.” Lily is very capable. “But you don’t have to.”
She looks away again. Pride saying she doesn’t need anyone’s help, especially mine. But then she sighs. “Fine.”
A relieved smile breaks across my face.
“But,” she adds sharply, pointing a finger at me, “no talking. No… nostalgia. No memories. You help me with the yard, and that’s it. You got that?”
I nod quickly. “I can do that.”
She rolls her eyes, already regretting her decision, I’m sure, but she still steps aside.
Letting me in.
“I’d offer you a drink,” she says as I cross the threshold, “but I don’t want you to make yourself at home.” But I barely even hear her.
The moment I step inside, I stop, right in the middle of the entryway.
If the outside is run down, the inside is chaos. It’s not charmingly messy. Cluttered from every day life.
This is the mess of someone who stopped caring a long time ago.
Canvases lean against the wall, most half-painted. Jars of brushes sit open on every available surface. Clothes are draped over chairs and crumpled on the floor.
Plates and coffee cups.
Unopened mail.
All scattered everywhere.
The hardwood floor that could be nice is freckled with paint splatters. A pillow and blanket rest on the couch in a pile. The curtain rod hangs down, half off the wall.
Lily walks past me, barefoot, kicking aside a stray shoe like this is normal. Like this is fine.
But it isn’t.
This isn’t the Lily I remember, who used to obsessively line up her paint by color, who once yelled at me for getting too close to a drying canvas, who took care of what little she had.
“Don’t start.” Lily snaps, instantly defensive. “If you’re here to judge how I live, you can go.”
“I’m not,” I say automatically, but my voice falters, because I can’t help it.
What happened to her?
I turn slowly to face her. She has her arms crossed tight over her chest, chin raised, waiting for it. Already bracing for me to hurt her.
“I…” I pause. Nothing I can say will make this better today. All it’ll do is make Lily upset. So I give her a smile I hope she thinks is real and follow her through the house.
“You know interior decorating is one of my specialities, don’t you?”
Thankfully, she rolls her eyes and slides the back door open with a hard yank. “I don’t think I want to see your idea of interior decorating.”
I open my mouth to argue, because really, anything is better than what she has going on right now.
But then I see the yard.
Oh.
The grass is nearly up to Lily’s knees. The flower pots lining the fence are buried. Fallen branches litter the ground, making the whole yard a safety hazard. The porch is peeling. A couple of rusted old lawn chairs sit half-buried near the corner.
It’s been completely abandoned.
Lily steps out ahead of me, scanning the mess with a scowl. “Regret offering to help yet?”
“No.”
She gives me a look that says she knows damn well I am, gesturing at the chaos with an annoyed huff, more emotion than I’ve seen from her so far.
“Do I look like I know how to mow?”
I let my eyes travel over her openly. She did ask.
Baggy jeans, scuffed boots, tank top tight enough that it clings to her toned torso. Strong arms. Capable hands.
“Honestly?” I say before I can stop myself. “Yeah. A little.” She scowls, but I know it’s fake this time.
“Shut up,” she mutters, turning away quickly to stomp toward the shed attached to the back of the house. She throws a rake into the grass, and when she comes back out, she’s carrying a pair of hedge clippers.
“Is this where you kill me?”
She pauses, looking down at the oversized scissors. “Don’t tempt me.”
I laugh, more relief than humor. Even like this, grumpy, sharp, she’s still Lily. It still feels easier than anything to fall into the rhythm of us.
Which makes all of this hurt even more.
“You know,” I begin as she tries to cut a dead bush out of the ground. “You could hire someone to get it under control. After that, it’d be easier to maintain.”
“No. I don’t need help.”
“You don’t have to do everything alone,” I try again, stepping into range in case she cuts herself with those ridiculous scissors.
“I always have,” she shoots back, not looking at me. “I don’t need to start looking for help now.”
I want to argue, but Lily has always been unmovable once she decides she has to be. So I don’t push. I pick up a fallen branch and toss it into a pile.
It’s dark by the time I get back to the house, but I’ve never been more awake. My clothes are covered in dirt, I’ve lost most of my makeup, and my back aches in a way that will absolutely punish me tomorrow.
But I feel good.
Better than I have in a long time.
I know it’s ridiculous. Lily barely spoke to me all afternoon. The few times she actually looked at me, it was with that closed-off expression that still makes my heart ache. We worked side by side in silence, and every so often, she’d sigh as if being in my presence was exhausting to her.
But still.
There were moments.
An almost laugh. The ghost of a smile when I complimented her. A quiet thanks when I handed her the clippers without her having to ask.
The reluctant way she let me exist beside her.
That summer comes back to me in flashes. Heat. Grass-stained knees. Lily snapping at me for doing something wrong, but showing me how to do it right anyway. Even when she hated me, she never truly did.
She let me help her.
That has to mean something.
I stumble into the garage through the side door, following the hammer and low hum of the radio. Tommy is crouched beside some taken-apart machine, grease on his hands, a contentment on his face.
“Hey, stranger,” he says, digging through his toolbox, not even looking up. “Figured Lil might’ve buried you in the yard.”
“She considered it,” I say, laughing so bright it startles me.
He glances up, eyebrows lifting. “Well, would you look at that. You’ve got that goofy look.”
“What goofy look?”
“You always looked like that back in the day when y’all would hang out.” He wipes his hands on a rag, studying me with that gentle calmness of his. “How’d it go today?”
“She barely talked to me. And when she did, she was… Lily.” I shrug with a breathless laugh.
“And you loved it,” he says a little bit too knowingly than I would like, but I don’t even try to deny it.
“I forgot what it felt like to be around her. It’s wonderful, Tommy. I missed her so much.” Even if she never looks at me like she used to. Even if I mean nothing to her.
“I might still have a chance. To at least be her friend again.”
He smiles, standing up to come closer. “That’d be good for both of you.”
I nod, thinking back to the state of her house. Her life. “I think she might need me, Tommy. Not that she’ll admit it. So, I need a favor.”
He bounces back on his heels, amused already. “That’s usually Clara’s line.”
“I’m serious.” I clasp my hands together. “I want you to sneak over there and—”
He holds up a hand. “Hang on now, I can’t—”
“She’s trying to fix up her place, but she doesn’t want to hire help, even though she really needs it.” I interrupt. He has to listen. “But you’re not help. You’re my bored, but very handy brother-in-law.”
He considers it, rubbing his scruffy chin. “She’s gonna hate it.”
“I know.”
“She might yell at me.”
“She probably will.”
He grins, rubbing his hands together. “Sounds fun.”
Lily’s voice cuts through the hum of the push mower. “What the hell are you two doing?!” I turn back toward the house in time to see her storming down the stairs, eyes blazing.
“Morning, Lil!” Tommy calls with a cheerful wave. “Figured I’d help out!”
She glares at him, then me, and I feel that old flutter in my chest that tells me to kiss her frown away.
I don’t think she would let me this time.
“Hi,” I say softly, pushing down the mix of relief and panic that floods me every time I see her. “We thought it might be easier to get more done if—”
“Are you kidding me?!” Her voice cracks with incredulity. “I told you I didn’t want any help!”
I follow close behind as she starts back toward the house. “Why are you so against this? Tommy was bored. He doesn’t mind.”
She stops in the kitchen, but her body stays tense. Her gaze moves to the window, back to Tommy, still pushing the mower over the long, unkempt grass.
“That’s not the point,” she snaps, the words not quite as sharp as they were.
“Do you want to tell me what is?”
She stops by the counter, gripping the edge with both hands, staring out the window. And then… she sighs.
“No.”
I drop my shoulders, forcing a small smile that I hope looks casual. “Okay.”
It’s not okay. Not by a long shot. I can’t shake the feeling that something is going on with her. And I can’t let it go fully, but I can for now.
“Why don’t we have some coffee and let Tommy do his thing?” I suggest heading toward the cabinets to look for a cup. “Oh! I got some seeds at the farmers’ market. Maybe we can plant them out back.”
Lily frowns, folding her arms across her chest. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?” I ask, looking back at her, closing the cabinet door to the plates and bowls.
“Are you trying to recreate our last summer?” Her eyes flash with anger and something closer to pain. “You think we’ll plant some shit and I’ll forgive you? That’s not gonna happen, Di.”
She called me Di. It lingers in the air, between us, a small hope that everything is not lost.
“I don’t have a hidden agenda, Lily.” My hands clench at my sides, the tremor I’ve tried to hide suddenly obvious. “I just thought it would be nice to reconnect.”
Her eyes narrow, studying me. There’s suspicion in them, but I don’t know of what.
I meet her gaze, hoping she’ll see the real me. Not the Diana who always has the perfect words. The perfect life. Only her best friend who loves her, even after all these years.
She doesn’t say anything at first, but I see the way she relaxes. And with her next words, I think she surprises both of us.
“What seeds did you get?”