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I’ve wondered if I worked hard enough at my bruised and broken bits, if I could be shiny again, too. I’ve wondered if anyone might ever see me as something precious.
She feels . . .familiar. Like the edge of a memory I can’t quite grasp. Or an . . .impression, almost. A song I’ve heard before.
But there’s strength in picking your battles.
My biggest secret is I sometimes leave my clothes in the dryer for over a week, continuously restarting the machine to ease the wrinkles that never seem to fully come out. I’m hardly the monster he thinks I am. Except for one night. One mistake. And I’ve already paid the price for that misstep.
The last thing I see is her smile, subdued but still shining through, like the last slice of sunshine before it melts into the horizon. A flash of light and then— And then nothing.
I’m being ghosted by a literal ghost. My life is a joke.
Because not even the people who are supposed to love me can find a way to do it. Because I’m so fucking tired of trying, only to come up short. All the time.
I want to hold her hand so bad my bones ache with it. Would she let me hold her hand?
I don’t believe in her theory. There’s nothing she can do to move me forward. But if it makes her happy to try—if it chases some of the sadness off her pretty face—if I can be one person that doesn’t disappoint her or let her down— Then I can endure it.
This is familiar territory. I know how to hold myself up against disappointment. I’ve been left behind by every person who has ever mattered. A forgotten thing, just like the treasures I keep stocked on my shelves.
“Things are changing. I can feel them changing. It’s like—it’s like the sky, yeah? Right before it snows. When the night is holding its breath and everything feels heavy. When it’s not truly dark, but—something else. A lantern behind the clouds. That’s what I feel like. Like a lantern has been lit. I don’t know how else to describe it.”
“You’re the first thing in a hundred years to make me feel anything at all, Harriet York, and I don’t think that’s an accident.”
“You haven’t let me see a single dress,” I say. “No one said you’d get to see the dresses.” “It was implied.” “By who?” By me, I think wistfully, and this ache in my chest. This . . .longing I can’t seem to get rid of. I haven’t wanted anything in decades, but I think I want you.
“I could spend an eternity studying you and still not know what you might do next. You give so much of yourself, so freely. You’re . . .wild with your attentions. Miraculous. I’ve seen so many lives, Harriet, but I’ve never seen someone live like you.”
laugh. I feel like a flower. Something delicate, bending toward the light on my trembling stem. Always trying so damn hard to be seen. To grow. To build a bouquet and flourish within the group.
“Maybe I was always supposed to find you,” I rasp. Maybe, my heart adds, you were always supposed to be mine.
“Harriet,” he says, his lips moving against mine. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Our parents are people, too. They make mistakes and poor choices.
“I am of the understanding that we have a mutual acquaintance,” Matilda says. Her face softens. “How’s my girl?” I lean forward in my seat, my elbows resting on my knees. “She’s a mess,” I answer, voice breaking. “Color everywhere. A laugh that’s just a shade too loud. Painfully addicted to candy canes.” I pause. “As lovely on the inside as she is on the outside.” I miss her so much.
If ghosts were able to check in on their loved ones as soon as they departed, I’m not sure anyone would move on.”
