Page 88

“Hey,” she began, motioning Lizzie closer. “I hope whoever you marry is the person you want to spend all your time with. I hope they do replace me in a way, even though I’m irreplaceable.”

“You can’t be replaced,” Lizzie murmured, moving to wrap her arms around her, squeezing tight. “But I do miss her when she’s not around. She’s… home.”

Charlotte let that settle then, dry as desert sand, said, “Woooooooow.”

“Oh, stop.” Lizzie fussed, plucking Charlotte’s phone off the counter and holding it out. “Call your wife.”

“She’s not even my girlfriend.”

“Quit being an idiot and fix that.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “I’m working on it.”

“Work faster.”

Charlotte scoffed, adding the last of the food to their plates and turning off the burners. As they ate in the breakfast nook, she let herself ponder Ali’s way of moving through the world like a dandelion seed on the wind… looser, more present, with every moment lived to the fullest. Her urge to force order and follow a plan didn’t grip her quite so hard. She still wanted order and control… but maybe she didn’t want it as much as she used to.

Cutlery scraped against their plates and one of the horses neighed. Lizzie’s gaze peeked up, her features soft. “Thanks for coming out here with me.”

Charlotte’s smile came easy. “Thanks for being my sister.”

Lizzie sighed dramatically. “Not like I had much choice.”

But the two socked feet laying over her own beneath the table told Charlotte the feeling and gratitude was mutual.

Through the window, the forests and fields sparkled with dew in morning soft light. She needed this trip. She needed the reassurance that Lizzie still needed her, just differently than before. Needed to see what it could be like if she didn’t hold so tight to the reins of control. There could be beauty and peace in simply following the current.

23

ALI

From the moment Leah Coleman took her leave, Ali went straight to work in her studio; days went by and she never left her apartment. So much to do, so much to plan, so much to panic about, and of course so many intrusive thoughts to battle.

October would be there in a blink, and she required fifteen good pieces minimum. Which meant she needed to create something closer to twenty and pick the best. To get those twenty… about a thousand thumbnails and a hundred detailed sketches.

But nothing was good enough.

The opportunity most artists dreamed of fell into her lap and she was going to fuck it up. There would be no one to blame but her stupid fucking brain.

Charlotte hadn’t visited in over a week, off on her getaway with Lizzie, and before that too busy with some kind of acquisition. Ali listened when Charlotte first explained, but her mind swarmed with endless shifting compositions, all too slippery to stick.

Wren took her shifts at the Blend & Brew. Handing in her resignation letter became a more viable option with every passing day. Wren was already doing the job, she should be paid for it.

Her insomnia flared, much to Willow’s displeasure; but as her thoughts continued to loop, Ali did her best to ground herself. She’d been taking care of herself for years now. That didn’t mean it was easy, but there was light at the end of the tunnel. And there was an end date to all this added stress. A plan was the only thing she needed to reach the finish line.

Her doorbell rang, grating against her sleep-deprived nerves.

Anxiety shot through her, needlepoints pricking her skin. An interruption now might only push her further off course. A layer of grime covered her like a second skin. With it, the realization she hadn’t showered in days, hair a greasy rat’s nest on top of her head. An odor emanated from her and the baggy t-shirt and sweatpants she’d been wearing.

Dammit.

She must have been hyperfocusing a little too much.

The doorbell rang again.

“I’m coming. I’m coming,” she grumbled, dropping her pencils and pushing off her stool. Her foot landed oddly as she stepped into the hall.

Wrong.