Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
“Your uncle a prince?” I scoff. “Something like that, baby girl. You should go to sleep.”
“I’ll try. My belly still hurts though.”
I kiss her on the forehead and pull the comforter up over our bodies.
We lie quietly, the silence pierced by shouting from the street below.
I begin to hum a Maroon 5 song that we heard earlier to drown out the commotion. I hate that we’re living in this shitty apartment, but it was all I could afford since Gage’s death. I wish we could’ve stayed in the cute two-bedroom we bought in Cambridge, but with no life insurance to go on, it was impossible.
I never thought I’d be so attached to something materialistic, especially since I’ve never had anything in my life. But that quaint house was the one place that held our memories, a time capsule of our lives together. The house was the first thing we purchased together, the place we brought Everleigh home from the hospital. We shared kisses under the mistletoe in the hallway, Ramen dinners in the kitchen by tea-candlelight.
With every box I packed when we moved, I added a bucketful of tears. Would the memories fade as time went on? Would I forget the smell of his cologne in the bathroom? Would I forget the dip in the mattress on his side of the bed? Leaving that house felt like I was leaving Gage behind. The only thing that got me through that time was knowing I had two connections to him—Everleigh and my wedding ring. When I left the house on Impala Avenue for the last time, I left a piece of my soul there.
Ever’s breath evens out beside me. I should get up and clean the kitchen, but I don’t. I know the sink is full and dinner is still sitting out, but I don’t get up. My body is worn out and objects as soon as I even think about moving. Working all day at One Boston Place as a secretary and then a couple of weeknight shifts at Ficht’s Diner has left me drained. But draining my energy into those dead-end jobs is the only way we will continue to survive, even in this crappy apartment.
The softness of the bed cushions my weary body and my eyes flutter closed. I see Gage’s face immediately, as I always do. He’s laughing, the timbre of his laugh comforting me.
My body heats like it’s wrapped in a warm blanket. I breathe and enjoy the memories of a time when my life was exactly what I wanted it to be. It was a time when it was more than I ever imagined it could be. I felt safe. Loved. Prioritized. Gage made that possible.
The highlight reel begins—images of him swimming in the sea, cooking his favorite cheesecake recipe that he never shared with me, coming in from work in his suit and tie. It all flashes like fireworks.
I drift to sleep, my arms holding my precious daughter and my heart holding precious memories.
CREW
The door chimes as I open it. The interior of Shenanigan’s, my favorite bar in Boston, is poorly lit and I wait for a second to let my eyes focus. Jordyn, the redhead that works most nights, looks up as she pours a drink. She smiles and winks before turning her attention back to her job.
Green lights hang haphazardly along the glass behind the bar, Kings of Leon humming through the speakers. This place is laid-back and out of the way, a hole-in-the-wall as far as bars go in this city. My kind of place. I take a deep breath, letting the warm, thick air soothe my lungs. The handful of miles I ran before coming here really worked me over. Running five or six miles every day is an unshakable habit formed after years of training. It centers me and allows my mind to take a break from the fuckery typically streaming through my consciousness on autopilot. It takes me back to a better time, to a time when my future held endless possibilities.
The clink of pool balls cracks through the small brick building. Mixed with the salty smell, it strangely puts me at ease. I make my way through the patrons and spot Will at our usual table in the corner. It’s quieter back there and we have an unobstructed view of the television in the corner. I can still see the door and who’s coming in and out from that position.
Will brings a bottle of some Craft beer to his lips, his arm tucked around a girl I’ve never seen before. Adam and Dane, a couple of kids here all the time, are standing at the table, roaring with laughter at something Will said.
I nod at them. They’re two guys I can tolerate because we have a lot in common. I don’t know this because they told me. I know this because I can see it in their eyes. They have respect, the natural ability to know when to shut the fuck up.