“Jennifer Beckett,” Mom scolds, chasing after us. “That was mean! Sorry, Garrett! We love you!”
“I’ve called Carter much worse,” Olivia points out. “But Garrett’s a sweetheart.”
My nose wrinkles. “A sweetheart who was fucking my new neighbor.”
I don’t mind, but it might be a little awkward to see them together in the hallway. And what if the walls are thin? Do I want to know what he sounds like when he’s coming? Not particularly.
One of the reasons I avoided social media before Carter met Olivia, back when he was manwhore extraordinaire. No one needs to see evidence that someone else is getting laid.
“Maybe they’re dating,” I offer lamely.
“Nope.” Carter’s arm pushes between the elevator doors, making them spring back open. He shuffles inside. “Just fucking.”
I pin my arms over my chest. “I don’t need a babysitter, Carter.”
He hauls Olivia into him, pulling her scarf up until it’s damn near covering her whole face, despite her trying to swat him away. “Don’t think of Garrett as a babysitter. Think of him more like an extra set of eyes.”
“Carter!” I stomp twice. I’ve always been a bit of a drama queen. Like brother, like sister. “That’s even worse! It sounds like you’re spying on me!”
“I’m not spying!” he shouts back, arms waving. “I just wanna make sure you’re safe!”
The doors burst open, and I strut into the immaculate lobby. “You’re so annoying.”
“No, you’re annoying!”
“I know you are, but what am I?”
“Oh good God.” Olivia buries her face behind her hand.
“Children,” Mom warns. “Get along.”
“You’re lucky I love you,” Carter mutters when he opens the car door for us.
“You’re lucky I don’t kick your ass.”
His face shatters with a wide grin. “Get in the damn car.”
My finger glides along the edge of the old page in front of me, the plastic that protects the pictures that have lived there for years. It’s stiff and broken, sharp on the edges, and I hiss when my finger slides too quickly over a crack. A drop of blood pools on the tip of my finger, and I suck it into my mouth to stop both the pain and the bleeding as I stare down at the handsome face smiling up at me.
He’s wearing a pink birthday hat and has a newly six-year-old me on his shoulders, clutching the soft, pale pink bunny stuffie he surprised me with.
My bedroom door creaks, and Mom pops her head in, smiling when she spots me still awake. She shuffles in but pauses at the edge of the bed, and I watch as years worth of unending love and heartache flashes across her eyes as she spies the photo album open in my lap. I wish I could fix it, but I know I can’t.
“I miss him,” I whisper, tracing the shape of my dad’s face. “So much.”
“Me, too, sweetie.” Mom sinks down beside me, pressing a lingering kiss to my hair. “I know he’s looking down on you today, crying that his baby girl isn’t a baby anymore. He’s so proud of you and the woman you’re becoming, Jennie. I know that without a doubt.”
She touches the bunny little me is clutching, smooshed into my dad’s hair. Her gaze settles on the same bunny currently snuggled into my belly. “She’s always been your favorite.”
I pull the stuffie from my lap. Its coloring has faded, and one of the button eyes hangs by a loose thread. Years of cuddles, of towing it everywhere I went, refusing to let my mom wash it sometimes for months at a time, has made the once-soft fur coarse and dull.
“I always wanted a bunny, but you guys wouldn’t let me get one. Dad got me this bunny instead.” I stroke the long ears. “It was him who named her, you know. Princess Bubblegum.”
“He would’ve given you the entire world if I only let him. He bugged me for years about getting you a real bunny. You were his little princess, and he was a persistent little shit who didn’t like the word no.”
“Sounds like Carter.”
She chuckles. “Carter and your dad are too much alike. A dangerous duo when they got up to their shenanigans.” She threads her fingers through my hair with a tender smile. “I’m sorry he’s not here to celebrate your birthday with you.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I swipe a tear from my cheek, then catch the one rolling down hers. “I’m lucky to have had sixteen years to make memories with him.”
There’s a quiet sadness etched in her eyes as they sweep my dimly lit room. “I’m really going to miss having you here. I’d keep you forever if I could, but you deserve to have your own life. You need space to grow.”
With my face in her hands, she kisses my cheek. “Happy birthday, sweetheart. I love you, and I’m so proud of you.”
CHAPTER 3
MISSING: PRINCESS BUBBLEGUM & THE WILL TO LIVE
JENNIE
Ever have a nagging feeling you don’t belong?
It’s not my attire. Nowhere to be on Fridays, I prefer minimal layers and letting the girls hang free. So the lack of pants and bra feels perfectly acceptable. I’m not even bothered by the red-rimmed eyes and extra-knotted bun I’m sporting.
It’s the apartment, so pristine, so put together. It’s nothing like my life, or my head.
The early morning sunshine is bright, bathing my new space in a soft glow, warming the hardwood planks beneath my bare feet. For a moment, I close my eyes and bask in the feeling, soaking in the warmth. I imagine it’s how it feels to be so loved by someone, like their arms are wrapped around you, lighting you from the inside out. For a moment, the sunshine feels like love, and I live in it. For a moment, I crave it.
I’m treading water today, and the culprit is the damn photo album on my kitchen island, the one I haven’t torn my gaze off since my birthday last week.
My eyes fall to the laugh lines that form creases around his wide smile and brilliant eyes. The longer I look at him, the dad I lost eight years ago today, the good-bye I never got to say, the harder it gets to breathe. My throat burns, and my teeth sink into my lower lip to still the tremor.
My hands shake as I turn away from the only face I want to see and simultaneously can’t bear to look at, and I look to the boxes. There are too many, stacked in towers and lining my living room. All I want to do is bury myself in this, unpacking, making myself at home. Yet the mundane task paired with the complex waves of grief I still don’t understand after all these years mix into an ugly, muddled rainbow. I don’t want to go through boxes. I don’t want to look at pictures and wish for more memories we’ll never make. I want to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head, and wake up tomorrow when this is all over.
Honestly? I’d take a smile too. Something soft and genuine to remind me there’s good in this world.
Coffee might be the next best thing, and the only thing I can easily access. So I pull on one of my brother’s hockey hoodies, stuff my feet into my UGGs, and trudge down the hall and into the elevator.
“Hold the elevator,” a voice calls, and I hammer the Close Door button fifty times before a heeled bootie shoves its way inside. “Hi, neighbor,” the pretty blonde from across the hall says with a broad, sparkling grin. “Thanks for waiting.”