Chapter 29
I have yet to reenter the portal with this much direction. I know where I’m going. I know what I want. I think I know how I can find it.
Maybe, just maybe.
Please.
I quietly hope that the angel can sense the newfound growth and swagger in me—that through her guidance, this process, and God’s divine grace, my official desire may be recognized and fulfilled. And that is to return to my life as Sutton Lancaster Layne, as I’ve known it for the past forty years.
I want it all back—and I’ll keep going until this experience crowns me worthy.
I don’t want hot guys, Coachella, toned abs.
I just want my husband and kids. I’ll relearn Reid’s love language.
I’ll tell him it hurts me that he has let go of the birthdays—which symbolize so much more, obviously.
We can find our way back to each other. I’ll be more present with my incredible kids.
Heck, I’ll get a flip phone! I don’t even need the Colton Montana deal.
Give me my C-section scar and my old Suburban, please. I don’t want the illusion of freedom.
I want the real thing.
Her entire face is a smile, my angel. “How was the Matterhorn?” she asks. “And your mom?”
I feel so fantastic about my plan, I am borderline smug. I want to find Reid, but before I do, I need to find my grandmother. Both to get her advice and to seize full advantage of my final shot at ever seeing her lucid again, this side of heaven. Somehow, I know, she can help.
Somehow, I know she is next.
“It was fantastic, thank you!” I brag. “My favorite balloon yet.”
My smile feels extra wise.
Nice touch.
“Wonderful!” says the angel. “Did you learn anything?”
I nod, eyebrows tall. “Everything, actually.” I pause. “I think I know what I want.”
“You think?” She’s already holding the needle. “Or you know?”
Five balloons left.
Time running out.
I feel my future slipping through me like sugary sand in an hourglass. Somewhere out there, Reid is getting older too.
Tilting my face to the ceiling, I step toward the number twenty. “I know. I’m sure.”
Under the cookie jar—cream porcelain marked with COOKIES in black—I pierce the balloon like a doctor breaking somebody’s water, with just as much practice and hope.
Tell me what to do, Grandma.
Help me.