Beau finds me a minute later, and the whole thing is over an hour after that. Beau and Beck are married and for the first time in my life… I want that.
I want that core happiness that makes even the bad days good. That kind of happiness that only comes from being a half to a whole.
But Goldie, after what she’s been through, deserves more than being dragged outside in the snow and eaten to oblivion.
I never thought I needed to change myself. My Mom and Dad love me. I’m a fuckin’ stellar mechanic and the boys at the shop trust me implicitly.
But Mere taught me this; just because you’re good in one area of your life don’t mean you don’t have room to make improvements in others. And hiding from that need to change doesn’t end well for anyone.
After we leave the courthouse, Beck and Beau are headed to their cabin to celebrate. Goldie takes off, saying she’s got things to do before her first day of work next week. And when I leave, I make an important stop before I head home.
On my back, grass wetting my flannel and jeans, I stare up into the gauzy sky of clouds as I talk to my kid sister.
“I wish I could’ve been there for you more,” I admit, a tear sliding down my face into my hair. I don’t have to wipe it away because it’s just me and a few hundred other people beneath the soil.
“The hard part is knowing that failing you won’t be my last failure.” I remember her laugh as another tear falls. Her laugh was like mine, really, only more feminine and lighter. It was the best fuckin’ noise. We used to love laughing about nothing. “If I’m gonna live, I’m bound to fail. And stayin’ in my safe place avoiding failure and pain… it ain’t livin’.” I pause, considering how easily my truth comes to me now that I’ve got my sights on someone. “I’ll never forgive myself for failing you. But I can’t punish myself anymore.”
Then I just lie there and think about my sister, how good she was at cooking, the way she smiled when she was embarrassed, how she stacked her books top to bottom instead of side to side. Hell I can still remember the way the very last batch of cookies she ever made smelled. Sweet, warm, and perfect. Just like her.
I try to imagine what she’d say if she were here.
“It’s been almost twenty years, sure took you long enough to figure stuff out, loser.”She’d always call me a loser, and I’d call her things like dork and tag-along. But we loved each other and even though I’ll always hold onto the idea that I could’ve done more, I never torture myself by wondering if she knew how I felt.
I know she knew I loved her. And I’d like to believe she still knows, wherever she is, if anywhere.
“I love you too, but being obsessed with your dead sister is getting old, just like you, so move on already.”I smile at the thought of her saying those things to me. I laugh out loud when I realize she probably would. Then I cry because she can’t say those things. She can’t say anything because she’s gone.
And after a cathartic and probably pathetic five minutes, I sit up off the cemetery lawn a new man.
fifteen
goldie
I owe myselftimeandtruth.But also a little bit of dick, too
Life is weird.
One day I’m moving here looking like I’m allergic to bees, and the next, I’m getting dressed for my first day at a new job and swapping texts with a burly, filthy man whose dick I’m sure could work as a third leg and who could give a fuck less about baseball.
The times they are a changin’, and I hope it's all for the good.
After our kiss in the courthouse, Atticus and I started texting regularly.
I didn’t know what was happening between us. It felt a lot like,“I like you, but I don’t know how to like a girl because I’m an angry grandpa,” and while his passion and persistence are often misguided (sorry, Kurt), still, heispassionate and persistent.
When he texted me Saturday evening, I realized that grouchy, long-haired, stained hands and grunt-speaking Atticus…likes me.Until then, I really just thought it was a physical thing. Even pulling me from the restaurant. Even at the courthouse. I still couldn’t believe he wanted more than fucking.
Being liked by a man like him kind of feels like a fever dream.
I’ve never been with a man like Atticus, a man who eats my ass while I’m naked in front of a window, a man who proves his worth with his mouth instead of filling me with meaningless words. I’m waiting for the morning when I sit up in bed and realize he’s alive and real, that the thing between us isn’t just a fantasy of mine.
My phone chirps from the kitchen table, and I finish tucking in my blouse before reaching for it.
Atticus:You have more than coffee?
I smirk at his question because he remembers everything I’ve ever said to him. Seriously.
I text back.