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The statement seems to appease her, and she nods, digging into one of the drawers for a spoon. My mom turns back to the fridge and grabs the bag of food.
“I’m just going to have this now,” she says. “Also, if it’s on her bucket list, then the bar is very thoughtful, Griffin.” She pops the lid off the container and throws it into the microwave. “It shouldbe somewhere in that bin in the basement. No telling what you’ll find down there. Do you want to stay and split this with me?”
“Sure, Mom.” I smile, rounding the island to look at the bag of food I delivered. I’m not sure what anything is, but every time I’ve gone to Noah’s parents’ house, I’ve enjoyed everything I ate. “Don’t let me forget the cowboy hat,” I add. “It’s important.”
She smiles, a knowing expression etched into her features. “Of course.”
We stand around the island eating when I notice the air shift, my mom’s brows furrowing.
“Skylar called,” she starts, and a knot forms in my stomach.
“Is something wrong?” I ask on instinct.
She shakes her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “No, no. Nothing like that. She’s really enjoying New York.” There’s a pause, one weighted like lead, and I can’t help but wonder where the conversation is going.
“You used to want to leave once,” she starts. I can’t help but poke at my food, the icy wall around the idea forming in my heart. That dream is long gone. I couldn’t bear to move from family–from home.
“I was a kid.”
“Well,” she says, “most dreams start when you’re a kid. It’s not often they just disappear.” My mom reaches out a hand, covering mine on the counter. “I’m not trying to pester you. I just love you, Griffin. If you want to pursue seeing the world, I think you should. You don’t have to stay here. While I talked to your sister, I realized how happy she sounded.” Her hand warms mine as something tugs in my chest.
Maybe she isn’t wrong. Itwasa dream. Some of the ice thaws, but I still keep the idea locked away. There haven’t been any touring opportunities falling in my lap. I like my stable job. I like my life.
“You know,” she adds after a moment of silence, “I just want to see you happy.”
I smirk, trying to reassure her. The past few days I have been happy, so it’s not like I’m lying. I’ve been inexplicably happy. “I appreciate that.”
She grabs her bowl and sets it in the sink, returning to her spot at the island after rinsing it. “Let’s go grab that cowboy hat.”
My smile is genuine as I cock an eyebrow in her direction.
“Yee-haw.”
Eighteen
Ellis
Finn showed up at my house around ten in the morning with a cup of coffee and a breakfast sandwich ready and waiting inside his Jeep.
We drove to his apartment where we sat close together watching the Broadway version ofThe Lion Kingon his television. Unfortunately, my cricket business didn’t make enough for me to afford a private plane to New York. Even so, I think the show I got was far superior, anyway.
He took me out for lunch, where I learned more about his family, his favorite television shows, and the music he enjoys listening to. Despite all his answers, he still refused to tell me why I was wearing cowboy boots and why he had a cowboy hat resting in the back seat of his car.
The endless road stretches out in front of us as Finn steers his car through backroads. He turns down the radio and reaches behind the passenger seat to pull out a small purple gift bag filled with tissue paper.
When I catch the crooked smirk on his face, my heart nearly stops.
“I got you something,” he says as he places the bag on my lap, his eyes flicking between the road and my face. “It’s a birthday gift.”
I chuckle, running my fingers over the delicate tissue paper and listening to his frustrated grunt.
“Well, open it, Ellie.”
I laugh, tossing tissue paper into his otherwise pristine car. I dig into the bag, my fingers brushing against a book, and I immediately know what it is before I pull it out.
“A new sketchbook?” I say, turning toward him, and I can tell he’s pleased with himself.
Finn’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel, and for a moment I see the doubt flicker in his eyes. It’s silly because my chest feels so warm it could burst, and I can’t believe I ever thought about buying more popsicles. At this rate, I can’t imagine experiencing pitiful sorrow ever again.
