Chapter 29
There’s no ABBA when I wake up the next morning. In fact, as I slowly open my eyes, I realize that it’s completely quiet. There’s no music, no noise from the street. All I can hear is steady breathing behind me, so close I can feel it warm against my ear.
I ignore how my bangs stick out at odd angles as I turn to see Ben over the edge of the flannel sheets.
The sun is only just coming up, casting his bedroom in watery gray light.
He’s lying next to me, this hulking thing who, even while asleep, manages to know how to arrange himself around my smaller frame.
His eyes are closed, and I let myself study the slope of his nose down to his full lips, the stubble covering his chin and jaw.
Then the corner of his mouth twitches with a smile.
“Good morning,” I whisper.
“It’s not morning until my alarm goes off.” His eyes are still closed, and his voice has that rough quality that I first noticed a few weeks ago when he answered the door. I feel it run down the entire length of my body.
“What time is your alarm set for?” I ask.
His arm wraps around me, pulling me closer to his chest. “It’s Sunday, so I didn’t set one.”
“Then what time do you get out of bed?”
His lips move a touch closer to my ear as he murmurs, “Exactly.”
I laugh softly, letting my legs intertwine with his as he kisses along my shoulder.
This doesn’t feel familiar, but it also doesn’t feel brand-new. It’s like I was always supposed to end up right here, that I knew it deep down even if the rest of my brain hadn’t caught up yet.
For the first time in weeks, maybe even years, everything just feels… right. Not the normal I expected, but a new version that I get to define. Maybe that’s why I love it all so much.
“Can I ask you a weird question?”
Ben doesn’t reply, just peeks through one eye, waiting for me to continue.
“When did I cut my hair?”
“A few weeks before the accident.”
“Do you know why?”
He reaches up, smoothing away a few stray strands from my cheek. “Because you wanted a change. And you wanted to make that decision without anyone else’s approval.”
My heart swells a bit, proud of the past version of myself. “Did I like it?”
“No. You wore a hat every day for two weeks.”
I laugh, loud enough that I should be embarrassed, but I’m not in the slightest. “Okay, that sounds familiar.”
“I had to speed through the end of Jane Eyre just to get you out of the apartment to talk to me.”
A warm glow fills my chest with the reminder. “That’s right. You read Jane Eyre for me. What did you think?”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s so bad, Marnie.”
I reel back. “What?”
“He kept his wife in the attic. The poor woman’s only escape was to burn the entire place to the ground—”
“Okay, but—”
“And then he starts pursuing Jane, who is his employee—”
“Fine, but—”
“Then he asks her to marry him, as if—”
I kiss him before he can finish. His mouth opens for mine, slow and languid, as his arms tighten around my body.
“We’ve already had this argument, haven’t we?” I whisper against his lips.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “We have.”
“I’m still right, though.”
“If you say so.”
I lean in to kiss him again, but stop. “Wait, if you read Jane Eyre, does that mean this is the second time I’ve read The Count of Monte Cristo?”
He nods. “You borrowed that same copy a few months ago.”
“Did I like it?”
“Well, there aren’t any wives in the attic or carpenters in sleeveless T-shirts, but you seemed to muddle through.”
I smile again, feeling tears forming in the corners of my eyes.
Ben’s brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”
I know I’m about to start crying, but for the first time in weeks, I don’t care. This man read Jane Eyre for me. He loved me and he helped me, without expecting anything in return. And on top of all of that, he remembers Kurt Russell’s wardrobe from Overboard.
“Nothing,” I say. “I just really love you, that’s all.”
I text Sara on my way to work a few hours later.
MARNIE
Hey you. I’m sorry about last night. I never meant to hurt you. Think we can talk before you leave? I’m working today but I’d love it if you could stop by xo
I add a link to Strange Brew’s address and press send.
She doesn’t reply, but I keep checking my phone, keeping it in the pocket of my apron as I clear tables, restock the sugars and creams, and even manage to help Bobbi make a cappuccino without going through an entire gallon of milk.
At two o’clock, the dining room has thinned out, and I’m checking my phone again when the bell above the door rings out.
“Hello, welcome to Strange Brew,” I call out.
“Hi,” Sara’s voice replies.
I look up and there she is, standing in the doorway. Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail, her clothes—a black turtleneck and skirt with a camel-colored coat—are immaculate. But her eyes are puffy and she’s not wearing any makeup. In fact, it doesn’t look like she slept at all last night.
“Hi,” I say.
“I got your text,” she says, lifting her chin a little. “Do you have a second to talk?”
“I’d like that,” I say, walking out from behind the counter and motioning to a table near the window.
“Do you want a coffee or tea or something?” I ask as we sit down.
“I’m fine,” she says stiffly.
I nod. “Listen, I’m sorry about last night.”
She rolls her eyes as she looks down at her lap. “No, you’re not.”
My brow furrows. “Of course I am, Sara. I never—”
“You never wanted to get back together with Matt,” she cuts me off, finally meeting my gaze. Except she doesn’t look angry or hurt. She looks remorseful.
“No, I don’t,” I reply.
She nods, not because she agrees, but because it looks like it might ward off her tears. “I think I knew that,” she says. “But I convinced myself that if I could just get you two together—if I could make you both see how well it all works when you’re together—”
“The four of us worked,” I gently cut her off. “But Matt and I couldn’t build a relationship around you and Garrett. Especially not on the other side of the country.”
“I know. I just miss you so much, Marn. I miss us.”
I can feel my own tears start to burn my eyes, too. “I know.”
“And I’m having a baby!” she exclaims, her tone suddenly indignant. “How am I supposed to have a baby without you?”
“With lots and lots of drugs,” I say.
She laughs, though it sends a few tears down her cheeks.
I reach across the table and squeeze her hand.
“You’re my best friend, Sara,” I say.
“But best friends are supposed to tell each other everything,” she mumbles. “Even the embarrassing stuff. They don’t keep secrets because the other one is a control freak who judges everybody.”
“You don’t judge everybody.”
“But I am a control freak.”
“Yeah, but ninety percent of the time, we’re grateful for it.” I shrug. “You planned my grandmother’s funeral when I could barely get out of bed. And helped coordinate my transfer to Boston. You keep us all going, Sara. Without you, we’d be lost. I’d be lost.”
“I feel lost without you now,” she says, her face finally crumpling with tears.
“I’m right here,” I say, offering her a smile.
“Okay.” She sniffles. “But no more secrets.”
I bring my hand to my heart. “No more secrets.”
She nods, then turns to look out the window. “You know, I thought if you and Matt got back together, you’d move back to California with him. You’d be close by when the baby came. It would be so perfect.”
“Maybe. It’s just not what I want,” I say.
“So what do you want?” she asks, offering me a small smile.
I sigh. “I don’t know.”
“No, really, I promise not to give advice or hijack your plan or—”
“I’m serious, Sara. I don’t know. I still don’t have my memories back, or any idea what I was doing in Boston besides making coffee,” I cut her off, barely curbing a smile. “But I’m enjoying figuring it out.”
“Good,” she replies. I can tell it’s taking all her willpower not to offer her two cents, and my smile broadens.
“But one thing I can tell you,” I say, “is that even though I’m not moving back to California, I promise I’ll be there for every milestone with this baby.”
Her bottom lip begins to wobble. “Really?”
“We’re family, Sara. You’re never getting rid of me.”
She nods, using a nearby napkin to wipe away her tears. “You know, it’s really annoying to have this conversation when I look like my face has been stung by a hundred bees and you’re glowing like you just had about a hundred orgasms.”
I laugh nervously. “Well…”
Her tears instantly stop as she perks up. “What?”
“I shouldn’t—”
She holds up her hand to shut me up. “No more secrets, remember?”
I smile. “Yes, I remember.”
“Good,” she says, leaning forward and arching an eyebrow at me. “Now shut up and tell me everything.”