Page 3 of Lost and Found

“You didn’t. And it is.”

I always picture us raising our kids together, even though I’m never totally sure I want them. Even though I never can quite picture the man I’d have them with. But you’re the Gilly to my Sally Owens, Bea (at least in the redhead-brunette respect, since we’re a little swapped when it comes to personality—you get what I’m saying). Even if it’s just you and me forever, we can inspire witchcraft rumors and live in one of the old Victorians on the back side of town. Our moms can cosplay the old aunts. We’ll have midnight margaritas and try not to wake our two perfect girls.

Shit. I’m talking like I’m still alive. Let me get back on track . . .

The thing is, when I was looking into the whole egg-freezing process, I just got one of those weird feelings I sometimes get, like it was important to slow down and take in the details instead of bull-rushing things like you and I both prefer. So, I read up on what would happen to my eggs if I should die, and when I learned about the option to leave them to someone, of course the only choice was you. If I get all the way through this and can’t carry a baby, I know you’ll do that for me, too. Isn’t that crazy? To justknowthat about someone? I can picture how that conversation would go so vividly. You’d say something like, “Give it here, I’ve got you. I’ll lord this over you forever.” You’d make it sound so easy.

But if I really am dead, then I know you’ll know what to do, either way. Maybe they’ll be a gift, somehow. Maybe this is how I’ll leave my mark on the world.

I’m planning on telling you about all of this, but, BB, I can tell you don’t want to hear it, because this scenario means I’m dead and you hate when I admit that possibility in any way. You’re a perfect friend, don’t get me wrong (I swear to god if you shave any bit of your head this time, I will haunt your ass)! I just know you’re scared. If I am currently fish food—

“Fuck’s sake, Merritt.”

—then I hope I thanked you often enough for trying to be brave. For those occasions when youhavelet me talk about dying, even though your whole jaw turns to stone and you won’t meet my eyes. And listen, if I ended up croaking and didn’t talk to you about this egg stuff, please know it was only out of pride. You have every right to say no, but I’m afraid you’d say yes to my face no matter what. If I’m already gone, you’ll know it won’t make a difference to me either way. You’ll know it’syourchoice.

BB, I’m too tired to try to put into words what you mean to me. You know it, though, yeah?

You’re my goddamn soulmate. Always.

CHAPTER 1

Now

Bea

My date is giving me the silent treatment. Bydate, I mean my plus-one to a wedding. I also mean my mom.

She turns the car down a winding road shaded under a canopy of evergreen trees, only specks of dove-gray clouds poking through. An outdoor wedding in April was risky for the Oregon coast.

“Looks like it might rain,” I try.

Nothing. I turn up the volume on the music, and she turns it back down.

“Mom,” I softly chide. “Would you rather just stay home? You don’t need to go to this with me.”

Her lips purse. “Well, I wasn’t actuallyinvited, so my only option is to go as a plus-one,” she huffs.

“It’s the second time Wren and Ellis have gotten married, Mom. I imagine they’re keeping it small. I was surprised I got an invite.” I suck my teeth in frustration. “You didn’t even like the Byrds.”

“I never said anything of the sort!” she lies, affronted. “I thought Ellis’s parents were a little irresponsible, that’s all.”

“Oh, yeah, howirresponsibleof them to die young and leave Ellis to raise his siblings.”

“When they werealive, Bea,” she says. “I said that they were sometimes a little irresponsible and a little careless when they were alive. Late to things. Forgot what time the kids were out of school. Let all four of those kids run wild. That is all I have ever said.”

Ah yes. The joys of small-town living. Even when you’re long gone, someone is still talking shit about you and acting like they’re not. I don’t need to let this fight dredge up the fragments of our last one, though. “Whatever you say.”

“Thatiswhat I say, dammit.” She takes a few calming breaths. “Besides all that, I show plenty of support to this generation of Byrds. I’m at Wren’s every Sunday.”

This garners her a few points and puts her back in my good graces. Wren’s bakery is actually called Savvy’s, since it previously belonged to her mom, Savannah, but I like that she’s fully embraced it as Wren’s.

I inhale deeply before I try a gentler approach. “I just mean that you don’t have any obligation to go with me to this, Mom. I’ll be okay. I’m fine.” As fine as I can be, at least, in spite of my mom’s verbose opposition to . . . everything I do as of late. Most notably my decision to rent out my house and move into her guesthouse while I get as financially sound as possible before I, hopefully, have a baby. Three months back at home and her frustration with me only seems to grow, rather than the support and acceptance I’d hoped for.

The sigh Mom lets out sounds a thousand years old. “I plan to make sure you have fun.”

Well. We’re off to a good start, aren’t we?

“Your well-being matters as a whole, not just your capacity to carry,”Dr. Neilson had said at our final consultation meeting to discuss the embryo transfer. It’d been abutted by other instructions for before and aftercare, of course. A schedule of shots and medications leading up to a target transfer date, plussome after. Birth control for the month prior to starting any of it.Rest up, stay distracted, just take care of yourself,too. I don’t know why that last remark keeps nagging at me the way it does, but Mom’s comment and everything it implies brings it right back to the surface.