Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
But by the time four rolled around, I knew sleep wouldn’t come. So I hit the gym in my building. Cursed through a workout so intense I felt dizzy when it was done. Tried not to think about Greer while I showered.
Of course I remember.
Any interest in some company?
I wanted to text her again. Call her. To say what, I don’t know. Kinda felt like a lifeline she threw me, asking how I was doing after Dad didn’t. Offering to come skate with me.
Thankfully I had the sense to text my therapist instead. We’re meeting for an extra session next Monday.
In the meantime, I’m trying not to think about not one, but two women today.
Constantly policing my thoughts is exhausting. But it’s the only way I know how to cope.
“Let’s go. It’s fucking freezing.” I shove my hands in my pockets as I hustle toward the elevator bank. Greer has my jacket, so I had to go without it this morning.
George tucks his chin into the collar of his puffer coat. “No shit. Where the hell is spring? It was torture leaving bed this morning.”
“Because you weren’t the only one in it?”
“Pot, meet kettle.”
I hold open the door. “I actually have a date coming up.”
“No shit!”
I resist the temptation to roll my eyes. Then again, Porg isn’t out of line. I take women home, but I never take them out on dates. “Yeah. A real date.”
“With a real girl?”
“She was real back in high school. My dad’s setting us up.”
Porg hits the elevator button. “Does he know how much of a man rocket you are?”
“What the fuck is a man rocket?”
He gives a look. “Oh, you know what a man rocket is. And man rockets don’t ever change.”
“People can change.”
“Penises don’t.”
Together we make our way through the maze of tunnels that connect the buildings in uptown Charlotte. Part of me wants to be left alone. But a bigger part appreciates the company. George was by my side at the funeral, and he’s made it a point to be at my side on this day in the fifteen years since. By now, he knows I don’t want to talk. But he knows I still need help, and this is how he offers it. By being present.
I appreciate the gesture more than he’ll ever know.
I do my best to breathe around the constriction in my throat. I silently chant every throwaway line about grief I’ve been fed.
One breath, one step, one day at a time.
The only way out is through.
Feel your feelings.
Too bad I’m so fucking terrified of my feelings I can’t let them pierce my shell. Otherwise they’ll take me out. They’re so big and so overwhelming, I’ll be obliterated.
And where would that leave me? I need to survive. To keep pushing through, so I can live the life I know Lizzie would want for me.
I just need to muscle through this day. Then the pain, the worst of it anyway, will pass.
“Supposed to be nice this weekend,” George is saying. “Almost in the seventies on Saturday. Wanna head up to my parents’ lake house? Get some rowing in? I know my mom would love to see you.”
George’s parents own a big-ass house on Lake Norman, a large man-made lake about half an hour from uptown. “You sure you don’t have plans this weekend?”
He smirks. “I always have plans. But I’ll cancel them for you.”
“I’ll get a workout in, sure.” And then, because I’m an idiot: “Should we ask Greer to come?”
George shrugs. “Mom always asks Greer up to the lake, but she’s too busy working.”
“She works fucking hard, man. Maybe too hard.”
“Trust me, I know. I’m worried about her. But she’s dead set on my parents making money on their investment. I think she’s afraid of disappointing them. Being a burden.”
“No one would ever think she’s a disappointment. Or a burden.”
Porgeous just shakes his head. “Try telling her that.”
Greer is behind the counter of Drury Lane Bakery when George and I roll up a few minutes later. She’s moving so quickly she’s practically a blur. She grabs a tray of muffins, crouching to slide the tray onto her waiting cart. She stands back up and whirls around, lifting a gallon of what appears to be iced coffee and setting that on the cart too. She crouches again to open a lowboy, scoop out some ice, and toss that ice into the small cooler on the cart. She grabs a column of plastic cups and sets that next to the cooler. Then she’s turning around and looking up and our eyes meet.
Another kick to the chest.
Her eyes are a velvety shade of brown. Just light enough for the irises to be discernible from the pupils.
I frown at the dark circles beneath them. I notice her shoulders are hunched up around her ears.