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.”
“No problem.” My gaze coasts down, taking in her lavish trench coat, the red on the bottom of her booties.
Louboutins? You’ve got to be shitting me.
She peels off a red leather glove and offers her hand, revealing impeccably polished, glossy nails. “Emily.”
I slip my hand into hers, trying to hide the three-week-old DIY mani. “Jennie.”
“You’re Garrett’s friend.”
Nope. “And you’re his fuck buddy.”
She winks. “Only on days that end in Y.” The elevator stops, and Emily gives my forearm a tender squeeze. “I’m heading down to the parking garage, so I think this is where we say good-bye. So fun to meet you, Jennie. See you around.”
“Bye, Emma.”
She holds my gaze, sugary smile in place. “Emily. On the off chance you find yourself feeling forgetful again, you’ll likely hear Garrett calling it in the middle of the night.”
I stick my tongue out as she begins to disappear behind the closing doors, and she sticks hers out right back.
I mean, ew. Haven’t I already said I don’t want to know what that man sounds like when he comes? I fully plan on acting like I don’t know him when I see him around.
Like right now. Fuck.
“Jennie?”
My eyes lock with Garrett’s, and my body moves faster than it ever has, darting behind a wall. Forget about not wanting to see him exiting my new neighbor’s apartment, I don’t want him to see me when I look like this. I’ve already been on the phone with Carter once this morning, feeding him some bullshit about how fine I am. He didn’t buy it, and reluctantly agreed to pick me up later tonight for dinner instead of coming right over. I don’t need my appointed babysitter running and blabbing to my big brother that his little sister is a mess.
“Jennie?” Garrett calls again, closer. “Are you hiding? You know I saw you already, right?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, plastering myself to the wall. When a throat clears, I crack one lid.
The blond giant of a man stands in front of me, wearing the exact same hoodie as me, messy hair tucked beneath a ball cap, and a tray of hot drinks in his hands from the very café I’m heading to. As his gaze rakes over me, his concerned expression amplifies.
“Oh hey, Garrett. Didn’t see you there.” I straighten, tugging at the hem of my hoodie, and his eyes fall to my pajama pants. I gesture at the drinks and force a chuckle. “Did you get one for me?”
His stare holds mine, brows knitting, and I can hear the question on the tip of his tongue: Are you okay? He rethinks his words, probably because he’s terrified of me most days. “Uh, yeah, actually.” He tucks one drink into his elbow and holds out the remaining two. “These are for you.”
I stare at the drinks, then him. “What?”
“For you.”
“I don’t…I don’t understand.”
Garrett clears his throat into his arm. “I know last night was your first night, and I know today…” His eyes flicker as I swallow. “I know today might be a hard day, so I thought…maybe you could use some caffeine. But then I didn’t know if you even like coffee, so I got you a hot chocolate, too, just in case.” He places the tray in my hands and palms his nape. “There’s whipped cream on it.”
“That’s, um…”
“It’s no big deal. I was there, and I just thought…coffee.”
“I like coffee. And hot chocolate.” Damnit, I’ve got a lump in my throat. “Thank you, Garrett.”
His cheeks split with an explosive grin, lighting his whole face. It’s so addicting, I almost smile too. “Cool. Yeah, cool.” He flicks a hand through the air. “Yeah, no problem.”
Garrett ambles back to the lobby. With nowhere else to go, I trail along beside him.
“So, uh, where were you going?”
I hold up the drinks. “To get coffee.”
“In your pajamas?”
“Yeah, in my pajamas. You got a problem with that, buddy?”
Eyes wide, he wags his head. He hesitates in front of the elevator. “So now that you have your coffee, are you…?”