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“Actually, I am.” She sighs, shoulders turning slack as she subtly swings her canvas bag of books with each step. “I still need to buy my plane ticket for Phoenix, and more than likely I’ll be catching a red eye … which means I need to pack as soon as possible …”
Brie tilts her attention my way, offering an apologetic squint.
“No worries,” I say, hands sliding into my pockets, alive with the dissatisfaction of never knowing what her hair will feel like between my fingers.
I walk her home.
And I intentionally take us the long way.
When we get to her building, we linger outside near the front stoop.
“Are you always so quiet?” she asks.
“Would you rather me be an obnoxious loudmouth?” I tease.
Brie laughs under her breath. “I just feel like I do all the talking when we’re together. I hope you don’t think it’s annoying or anything …”
Annoying is the last thing I would ever call her.
But I don’t tell her that.
I also don’t tell her I’m going to miss her.
I don’t tell her good luck with Grant—because I want to leave him out of this moment.
And I don’t tell her that while no one’s ever accused me of talking too much, the reason I’m particularly quiet around her … is because my head is full of all the things I want to say to her—but can’t.
“It’s weird, actually. I’m usually pretty quiet around most people. And then when I get around you, I can’t shut up for two seconds.” She rolls her eyes and brushes a strand of hair off her forehead.
“You worry too much,” I tell her.
Brie snorts. “You’ve clearly been talking to my sister, Carly.”
My gaze narrows.
“She’s always on my case about how I worry about everything and how I always play things safe and gravitate toward the familiar …” Brie’s words scatter into the autumn breeze that encircles us.
Does she feel it too?
The otherworldly familiarity that draws us together like an invisible thread?
“I had this dream.” The sentence leaves my mouth before I can stop it. “After my accident, I had this dream. There was this woman in it. She looked just like you, and—”
“—I’m so sorry.” Brie digs into the bottom of her bag, and I realize now her phone is ringing. “It’s my mom. It’s probably about my sister. I’m so, so sorry to cut you off … give me one sec.”
She takes the call by a park bench several feet away, one finger pressed into her free ear as a firetruck blares a few blocks over.
My heart ricochets and my skin is hot.
The sidewalk slopes.
Or maybe it’s just the world, tilting on its axis.
What if I tell her about the dream and she thinks I’m crazy? What if she looks at me the way Claire and Luke did? What if she chalks it up to the accident and brushes it off as a meaningless coincidence?
Mental gibberish.
“Okay, I really hate to do this, but my sister is officially in labor, and I really need to book that flight, so I’m going to head in,” Brie says when she returns. Climbing the front steps, she turns back. “I want to hear all about that dream when I get back though.”
She leaves me to bask in the remains of her soft voice, exuberant smile, and lively emerald eyes before disappearing inside her building.
I walk home with a single thought looping through my mind—if I tell her about the dream, it won’t change the fact that we can never be together.
So maybe I’m better off keeping it to myself.
Why make things more complicated?
35
Brie
“Oh, my goodness, Alana … he’s adorable!” I cradle my sister’s newborn son, Bodhi Cassius, in my arms, soaking in how perfect he looks, from his pink skin to the tufts of blond hair on top of his head, to his button nose. “I don’t know where all this blond hair came from.”
Alana and her exhausted husband, Tucker, exchange weary-eyed yet proud grins.
Their first four came out with full heads of thick, dark hair, pointy noses, and triple chins.
But not this guy.
“The last ones always like to surprise us, don’t they?” My mother winks at me from across the room.
My mother had no idea she was pregnant with twins until Kari came out and the doctor told her there was one more behind her …
My chest tightens when I think of Kari missing this moment.
She was there for all of Carly’s births. The first three of Alana’s. But she never met Alana’s fourth and she’ll never meet little Bodhi.
Without waking the baby, I slide my phone from my pocket, snap a picture, and send it to a group of girlfriends. When I’m done, I also send it to Cainan, because even now, in this moment thousands of miles from New York, this moment that has absolutely nothing to do with him … I can’t help but wish he were here.
