Chapter 106
Macey
“So he loves you. And you sent him your book. And when he called, was Gigi with him?” Ginny asks when I wake her up at five-thirty.
“I’m sorry I called you so early,” I say again. “You need your rest right now. The second trimester is so important for rest and…”
“Shhh!” she says. “Do you know how mad I would have been with you if you hadn’t told me what’s going on? I’m actually a bit angry you didn’t tell me what happened at Brick’s right away. Logan said he loves you? I mean, are you kidding me?!”
“I know, and I’m just freaking out.”
“Okay. Tell me exactly what he said and how he said it. Or better yet, I’ll jump in the car and head over to your place.”
While I wait for Ginny to arrive, I try to calm myself with a cup of hot cocoa and a buttermilk biscuit from the batch I’d made this week, but comfort food isn’t enough to settle my nerves.
And something’s bugging me. What Skip said about Gigi’s mother—
Why does everyone keep bringing up Mrs. Phillips?
I gasp.
Daddy and Mrs. Phillips—he asked me about her twice. And then, they were chatting at the party…
They couldn’t have—
No.
They wouldn’t have.
But…
I know my father when he drinks. He would, and he has. With a multitude of women.
But what the fuck would that have to do with Logan and Gigi? Just a random coincidence?
I’m not sure I believe in random.
But I’m also completely stumped.
I need a distraction desperately, so I decide to work on my query letter. I’ll probably need to revise this one anyway after the rejections start coming in, but I need to do something right this second. I finish a decent draft and email it off to a few literary agents I find online.
Sunrise is still a little ways off as Ginny and I sit at my kitchen table, the plate of buttermilk biscuits between us.
“I seriously think I gained a few pounds just waiting for you to get here,” I say as I finish my third biscuit.
“I gained three pounds this week,” she offers.
“You’re eating for two. You should be gaining weight.”
She grabs a biscuit and chews. Then, she says, “Their private Florida wedding is scheduled for five o’clock tomorrow evening. Typical Logan to call and not say one word about that part of his trip.”
True.
I make a face. “The fact that I’m going to be here while reporters are stationed in front of The Cowherd jail cell to check whether or not Logan and Gigi are the soul mates…”
Ginny grimaces. “It sounds torturous, honestly.”
I sigh. “I know. Subject change—is anything new with you?”
Ginny smiles. “Nickel wants to date me.”
I hug her. “I would say I’m surprised, but you so clearly had him wrapped around your finger from the get-go.”
“And Mama’s just started to speak to me again in a normal voice,” she says. “I guess a week’s not bad considering how much pain she says I put her through.”
“Yeah, for your mother, a week’s pretty impressive.”
“Do you think maybe we’re afraid to be different than our mamas?” Ginny says.
I look over at her. “You think?”
She shrugs. “Maybe. I mean, they’re from a completely different generation, and they had totally different childhoods, yet…” she pauses. “And yet they both always say how much we’re like them. I don’t think I would’ve married Dave if I’d known how wrong they were.”
And maybe I wouldn’t have fought so hard to never let a man in.
“I spent this whole summer poring over my old diary entries, trying to make peace with my childhood,” I murmur.
“And what’d you find?” she asks me.
“I’m just realizing what I found. Nearly every entry had Logan all over it. My first kiss, my first everything.”
“It’s so romantic,” Ginny squeals. “Like a real love story written in your own hand!”
I swallow hard. “I read it from front to back, and all of it was there. And I couldn’t see it until he was already gone.”
After Ginny leaves, I paint my toenails, wash and dry my hair, and spend nearly forty-five minutes painstakingly separating and then pulling my entire head of unruly waves into a French braid.
I admire my work in the bathroom mirror and then order in a double cheeseburger, onion rings, and a vanilla milkshake for lunch.
After I eat, I half-heartedly pack, knowing that after tomorrow, I won’t have the heart to do much else besides try to get my ass to the airport on time.
I wish I could skip Logan’s wedding. God, I wish I could skip it. But I feel like that would be too mean. I call Ben and ask him to cover for me at The Cowherd tonight. When he asks why, I tell him I’m not feeling well.
I have a momentary happy distraction when, after four form rejections come in from agents, a fifth one emails and asks for the full manuscript. I’m so excited I send it off to her naively and then realize this probably won’t lead to anything momentous. But it’s a start.
Finally, around seven p.m., with the rain pouring down outside, I lie down on my couch and fall into a fitful sleep.
My cell phone is ringing. Over and over. I lift my head off the pillow and drag myself off the couch to go answer it. But I can’t find it anywhere. Every time it rings, I go in the direction I think I’m hearing it from, and it’s not there.
After forever, it stops, and I give up and head for my couch again.
I’m walking past the front door when my doorbell rings.
Sure it must be Ginny, I reach for the handle without looking out. “Did you forget something earlier?”
Logan’s standing on my steps.
I take a step backward and widen my eyes.
Logan Wild is standing on my steps.