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“Holy shit,” Lily whispers. “That’s just… terrible. Like, I can’t even imagine.”
“I know you’re mad, Lily, and I totally think you’re allowed to be. But try to go easy on him. He really is a nice guy. He told me he never stopped thinking about you and loving you.”
She looks leery. “Do you really think that’s true? Or do you think he’s just saying it?”
“I think it’s true. I have no doubts.”
“It’s kinda weird that he told you so much about his personal life, isn’t it? Why would he do that?”
“Probably because I was an annoying little kid and asked him a ton of questions. And maybe it felt safe for him to talk to me, knowing he wouldn’t be judged.”
She’s quiet as she stares out the window with her face scrunched, absorbing everything. “I guess that makes sense. Thanks for telling me. I’ll work on not being so mad at him, but I’m not making any promises.”
Later, after me and Lily have primed the walls and then inhaled an entire veggie and ricotta pizza, I run into Alex in the living room as I’m leaving.
“Hey,” he says. “Thanks for being the mediator.”
“Maybe I’ve found my future calling.”
“I thought you wanted to be an artist or a poet?”
“I do…but that probably won’t pay the bills.”
He pulls back, mocking offense. “Not all artists are starving, little darlin’.”
“The good ones aren’t.” I grin. “Like you.”
“I think you’ll do great at anything you decide to do.”
I hope so. When I think of my future, it’s all a cloudy haze.
Lowering my voice so Lily can’t hear from upstairs, I say, “I have an idea; something I think Lily will love and could help get you on her good side.”
He puts his hands up. “Spill it.”
“Make her a canopy bed. Not from trash, though, because I think that’ll weird her out. But something Victorian or goth, maybe something made of metal… maybe decorative leaves and vines… Something that she can drape black sheer curtains and fairy lights over.”
He breaks out into a huge grin. “That would be wild. I can do that.”
“I know you can. But I think you should ask her to build it with you.”
The smile fades from his lips. “I don’t know if she’ll go for that. She wants a ten-foot radius around her when it comes to me.”
“Ask her. Nicely.”
He blows out a weary breath. “I’ll try. If she says no, I’m still gonna make it for her.”
Nodding, I head for the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow to help paint.”
“Wait up,” he says, rising from the couch. “Me and Cherry will walk you home. Her wagon is outside.”
He holds the screen door open for me, and my shoulder brushes against his chest as I glide through the doorway.
My heart shouldn’t flutter from an innocent, accidental touch, but suddenly, it’s beating wildly like a hummingbird in a gilded cage, desperate to be released.
Chapter 14
PENNY
It’s the last week of November. The air is chilly and the vibrant New England leaves have fallen from their branches. The comforting scent of burning wood fills the air at night. Colorful lights outline houses, and twinkling Christmas trees are already visible through some windows.
I’ve been friends with Lily for three months.
I’ve had lots of friends who have come and gone over the years. For some reason, we always seem to drift away from each other, much like how Heather, Ava, and Olivia have done since I met Lily. We all still talk, but it’s not the same. I’ve learned to accept it as part of life and growing up.
But I’ve never had a best friend. There’s a difference. A best friend will accept you in all the ways that you are you. They don’t judge you. They expect nothing from you. They don’t care about your looks, how much money you have, or how popular you are. They will laugh with you and cry with you. They will eat all the ice cream with you. They will look you in the eye and tell you you’re an idiot when you’re being an idiot, and you will love them for it. Unconditionally, you will mirror their love and loyalty.
Lily is my best friend. She’s unexpected. Sometimes difficult. But still, my best friend.
We even share the same birthday—born in the same hospital on the same night. It’s like we were destined to be friends from the start.
I hope we never drift away from each other.
“You have to keep your eyes closed,” Lily is saying as she hovers over my face.
“I’m trying to.”
“Your eyelids are twitching.”
I giggle, which only makes my eyelids twitch even more. “I’m not doing it on purpose.”
Lily wants to be a cosmetologist. To be more specific, she wants to be a mortuary cosmetologist—someone who puts makeup on the nonliving. When she first told me about this career goal, I thought it was creepy and macabre. And, I have to admit, very much her. Lily has a fascination for the dead. She loves to look at postmortem photos from the 1800s, when it was common to dress and pose the dead with their loved ones as if they were still alive. For many, it would be the only photograph their families would ever have of them. My obsessed-with-photos self found this heartbreaking.
