“But when he was Remington, he could just be himself,” I finish.
Daisy nods. “I think it was the first time he truly felt safe, felt seen and loved for himself. I think he was just scared to lose that, even if it was to reach for something more.”
My phone beeps an alert. I pick it up and look at the screen. My breath catches and my heartbeat races.
“What is it?” She leans over to look at my screen in curiosity.
“A text. It’s from him,” I say shakily.
She smiles. “About damn time. What does he say?”
Tears pool in my eyes. I can’t read it. I’m too scared of what it might say. What it might mean. I hand her the phone. “You read it.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, taking it.
I nod, running my hand over the bracelet that Remington gave me like a talisman. Every time I look at it, I think of him, but I still wear it.
She reads his text message in a soft, sure voice.
Remington:
Dear Typewriter Girl, You left, and you took all the light in my life. When I got too deep into the lies, I wanted to tell the truth, but you were right, I was scared. I told myself that if I kept up the Remington lie, I’d at least always have you as Typewriter Girl. I hadn’t had any luck keeping people around until I became Remington. I didn’t want to risk losing you as well. Forever yours, Chase
When she’s done, she looks at me.
“He signed it Chase,” I say around the lump in my throat. “I wanted to give him that gift. I wanted him to know that he can count on people. That he can be loved.” I wipe at the tears that fall. “But he didn’t want me.”
“Are you going to respond?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure there’s anything left to say. We can’t go back to being just friends, to texting, not after everything.”
Daisy reaches out and grabs one of my hands. She squeezes. “Don’t give up on him.”
I smile sadly. “I gave him my last risk.”
“Well, maybe it’s his turn to give you his,” she says.
CHAPTER 37
Olivia
It’s been seven days, and I’ve had seven messages from Chase. Unlike the first message, they haven’t been deep or serious. They are what Remington would have texted, but he signs each one with his own name, Chase.
On Monday, he messaged me an anecdote about a fight between his stylist and a photographer.
On Tuesday, he sent me a photo of a sign he’d seen. Typewriter Girl and Remington had always collected funny signs. He usually had the most because of his constant traveling.
On Wednesday, he said he missed me.
On Thursday, he told me he sent his script, the one he’d written years ago, to a director he admired.
On Friday, he sent me two messages. One wishing me a good morning, and another a good night. He said I was the first person he thought of in the morning, and the last person he thought of at night.
On Saturday, he said he’d gone to a park, sat under a big shade tree, and read a book. He said he had to wear a hoodie, hat, and shades, but no one bothered him for two hours. At the end, two giggling tweens came over and he signed their T-shirts, and then he went home.
And today is Sunday.
He hasn’t sent me a message, yet. Maybe he’s given up since I haven’t messaged him back.
I think the messages are his way of making amends, of getting back to being just friends, but I’m not sure my broken heart can handle being just friends with Chase. It hurts too much.
I stand in my kitchen, looking out the window at my little garden. There are herbs in the window box and roses beginning to bloom. Okay, the basil is a little wilty, but the rosemary is doing well. I even bought a tomato plant that has one tiny green tomato on it and a small planter with strawberries. I’m probably never going to be the gardener that Nanna was, but I don’t need to be. I can find my own way. I know that now. I can take the best of what was in the past and spin it for myself.
That’s what tonight is all about. Ella Fitzgerald plays in the background, and laughter filters in from the dining room. It’s my first dinner party. We’re celebrating the end of summer and the sale of the Adam Reynolds, what Daisy refers to as Naked Nanna. It collected a tidy sum, enough to pay the tax bill and make a dent in my student loans.
I don’t need to spend the money fixing up the house anymore, thanks to Chase. Daisy convinced me to accept the gift of the repairs, though I was tempted to send him a big check to pay him back. But in the end, I decided he didn’t deserve Nanna’s naked money, not after refusing to take a chance on us. The confusing messages, notwithstanding.