Chapter 23 Birdie
Birdie
Why do I always feel like I got hit by a truck or like I have just awoken from a coma when I wake up? Okay, the bottle of wine I drank last night at the concert is probably partially to blame. Yesterday me was very selfish and not looking out for future me whatsoever. That bitch.
I groggily drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom.
I reach into the shower and turn the handle all the way to the left, because if this shower isn’t scalding, I don’t want it.
I pick up my phone to look at the time and make a mental note that I’m probably going to be later than usual to the winery today, but that’s fine because there’s not a whole lot left to work on without that scaffolding, which is today’s mission.
Dawsen told me he had a few things to do today before we head out of town though, so I’m just going to take my time and try not to get overly excited and simultaneously anxious about a mini road trip with Dawsen Jones.
Shit. Maybe I should take a cold shower.
I hop in the shower and let the water relax my muscles and soothe the tension from this unfortunate hangover.
The concert last night was amazing. Matt Schuster is so good live, and Max was a perfect gentleman as well.
I really cannot rightfully be critical of him, and poor guy has put on Oscar winning performances every time I can sense that he wants to lean in for a kiss and I fumble my way around avoiding it, leaving him to pretend like his ego isn’t taking a hit every time.
I’m not usually someone who overthinks a kiss.
I’ve kissed plenty of guys, and I’ve even kissed guys casually before, not in a slutty type of way, just in a mutual understanding that this is a one time thing kind of way.
But with Max it’s different because I can tell he really likes me, and I like him too…
I think. But I also have a much larger, more prominent part of my brain that is absolutely thinking about someone else, and it just feels all wrong.
But maybe I should just kiss him and then maybe I’d be cured from this stupid, relentless crush that will absolutely not leave me alone.
Maybe it would distract me and I’d realize that this crush is merely just infatuation and some dumb fantasy that I’ve been trapped in since my youth.
Because how cliche is this anyways? Being in love with my brother’s best friend?
Pathetic, Birdie. I finish my shower and put a stop to my runaway thoughts on the matter.
I decide on my favorite pair of Levis, skinny, but not too tight, and a simple white tank top and my favorite cropped sweater that has embroidered strawberries all over it.
If there’s a clothing item with a cute version of food somewhere on it, I will absolutely buy it every single time.
I think it’s a condition. Undiagnosed, but feels clinical.
I check my bag and make sure I’ve got everything I need for the day, going down my mental checklist. Favorite chap stick, check. Sketchbook, check. Wallet, check. Extra set of panties, Check—hey, you just never know.
I head over to my desk and pull open the top drawer and snag a vintage postcard from my collection.
I’ve been collecting postcards and random photos from thrift shops since I was a kid.
When I moved to the city, I left my collection here but I started a collection there as well.
I guess old habits die hard. Or not at all.
I pick a card with a picture of some farm in Virginia.
Simple, plain, and blank. I love the way old postcards have changed color over time.
The yellowing of the paper, the worn edges.
I grab a pen from my purse and write the first thought that enters my brain and scrawl it across the back of the postcard.
I cheated on every typing test we took in grade school. To this day, I still don’t know how type with my fingers on the correct keys.
-Until next time.
Anytime I share a secret into the town’s post box, it feels so nostalgic.
All those Fridays, reading secret after secret as I scrolled the blog posts.
Every human emotion felt like it came through that screen, pulling directly on my heart strings.
They ranged from deeply personal, to the most tragic things I’ve ever read, some that even haunt me to this day.
That man no longer updates his blog, but the memory lives on in many published books containing pages and pages of secrets from people all over the world.
The postbox in town is emptied weekly and those secrets are displayed in our local bookstore—Nook )
Me: OMG. You’re BAD! I don’t know if he even wants to see me again. I haven’t heard from him since last night.
Casey: Keep me posted. About to get a horse nice and pregnant.
Me: Ew. Could have done without that image… Thanks.
Casey: HA! Welcome. Love you, bye.
If Casey wasn’t cool enough already, she had to go off and be one of the most esteemed horse veterinarians in the state. She’s ambitious, beautiful and intimidating as hell. I’m lucky to have her as my best friend, but I could have done without the key visuals.