Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Her laugh is infectious. She pulls her arm away and manages to somehow stare down at me like I’m the smaller one in that back seat. “Are you more interested in Chuck Norris than me?”
“Man’s a legend, so absolutely one hundred percent yes. Sorry, we had a good run, but I’m gonna have to go check out my new best friend.” I start to get out of the car.
“Wow, and I thought things were going so well.” She sighs.
“Yes, I especially liked the part where you shook hands with my dick, super classy, might need to revisit that too,” I call over my shoulder.
She punches me in the arm lightly. “Seriously, don’t scare Bruno.”
“We don’t talk about Brunooooo.” I start singing as I hop out of the SUV and hold out my hand for her to come out the same side.
“Ha-ha, as if I haven’t heard that before, and Bruno was the name of Cinderella’s dog, so there.” She sticks out her pink tongue, licking her bottom lip, and reaches her hand for mine. I’m still focused on the way her tongue slides past her lips.
I’m so tempted to grab it between my fingers just to shock her, but instead, I take a few steps back, letting her follow. “Our destiny awaits.”
“Hmm, destiny?”
“Destiny,” I answer.
You ever wonder how much power one single word can hold?
I thought I knew. I’m an artist, after all; words are what I do. They’re what I wield; they may as well be my sword.
But I miscalculated the power just like I miscalculated every step that led me into her house.
Every laugh.
Every sigh.
Even the silence was grossly miscalculated.
The moments where two people know it’s right but wrong at the same time, where the kisses feel more urgent and passionate than they should, like you’ve struck the perfect chord with another only to know the song has to end—it must.
The world paused that night.
And like passing ships, we continued on.
And lived for ourselves rather than each other.
I still think about the times I stopped walking toward the SUV.
The number of times I reached into my pocket and touched one of the stupid coaster party favors I’d found on her table when I left in the darkness.
Some things mean something because they can’t help it.
Some things mean something because they must.
And some things you force yourself to look at as meaningless because if you truly acknowledged their truth—then destiny, for sure, would find you. And not all of us are ready for the truth.
Some of us look at truth as the end of the fake reality you’ve been living, tossing you into the rawness of your existence.
And some of us would rather live outside of that because it’s the only way we can survive.
CHAPTER FIVE
Scarlett
One Year Later
The mail feels heavier today. My parents both won’t stop calling me, my sister keeps trying to text me, snap me, ask if I’m on WeddingTok, whatever the hell that is.
And if one more person sends me an AARP membership ad via mail, I will set the building on fire.
All of it.
Gone.
Including the apartment PO boxes, which I know is technically a federal crime, because that’s the post office, which really, they’re to blame for delivering the mail in the first place!
I stare down at the box sitting on my coffee table.
Stare a bit harder.
It’s sturdy. Didn’t expect that from my sister. She’s more of an “oh look, a dove just flew out of my wedding invite, kissed you on your cheek, blessed the next generation, then sang Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah all before dying a very poetic death across the invitation just to prove their devotion,” kind of person.
Too far?
Maybe.
I don’t even care anymore.
I kick the box with my foot, shoving it nearly off the coffee table.
I’m curious.
That’s the problem. I want to know what’s in it, I mean I know it’s a wedding invite because her million messages reminded me along with the save the dates and my parents begging us to reconcile.
But still.
A box?
It’s in pretty white packaging, but when I open it, it’s brown and cedar planked.
Is this a new thing? Wooden boxes?
“Ugh…” I flop onto the couch and kick my feet against it before finally looking at it like Pandora put a curse on it, forcing me to stare it down.
Chuck Norris, my turtle, who is already out for a walk across the floor, gently steps up onto my foot. I smile and set him on my lap.
Anxiety completely gone. I’m totally fine.
Ha-ha. Nope, just kidding.
I look down and groan.
A small little poop stains my white jogger pants, because of course it does. He stretches his neck, I love on it with one finger as I look at the box. “We have no choice Chuck, we have to go in.”
He closes his eyes. I get up and walk across the living room and set him back in his tank, then wash my hands and spot clean my pants before facing the box again.