Last Call at the Local (Love, Lists & Fancy Ships, #3)

by Sarah Grunder Ruiz

“Mm . . . but do you feel serious about him?” “I . . . don’t know.” I adjust in my seat, pulling both feet up under myself. “I don’t think it matters.” “Of course it matters.”

“I was anxious all the time. I had a thousand things to do, a thousand thoughts swirling in my head. And yeah, I know med school is hard for everyone, but it wasn’t just med school that was hard. It was everything. Laundry, and bills, and, yes, school. I was going, going, going until I hit a wall. I couldn’t do it anymore. I’d take out my books but couldn’t make myself study. I’d wake up for class but couldn’t make myself get dressed. And then I found out you were starting in the fall, and I couldn’t do that again. I had to get away from my life and find a new one.” “You couldn’t do what again?” “Be the disappointment!”

God, it sounds so stupid, but I just wanted to be someone’s favorite for once.” Clara laughs. Tears slip down her cheeks, and when she turns to me, there’s anger in her face. “You wanted to be someone’s favorite? You were my favorite.”

“I wanted to know how you did it.” “Did what?” “How you moved on. How you let go of everyone else’s expectations and just . . . did what you wanted to do.” I laugh. “Clara, I didn’t let go of everyone else’s expectations. I just ran away from them. If I really didn’t care what other people thought, I’d be putting out my own music.”

What if I keep trying and all that happens is I keep failing?” “Then you’ll fail knowing you gave it your all. You won’t wonder what could’ve been if you’d just been a little braver. Don’t give up something you love just because it’s difficult.

“But you’ll be cold,” she says. “And I’ve already stolen your hoodie.” “You said I could do whatever I want with you. And what I want is to give you my gloves without you complaining about it.” She smiles up at me. “Is that all you want to do with me?” “That’s a ridiculous question,” I say. “Why?” “I think you know why.” I put my arm around her shoulders and pull her to my side as we walk.

I expected Raine’s music to be good. I knew she could sing. I knew she could play well. But I didn’t expect this. I didn’t know she could take everything she is and turn it into music. Because that’s exactly what her music sounds like. There’s no other way to describe it. It’s everything I think of when I think of her. Full and energetic and warm and a little unexpected.

“It’s okay,” I say. “It’s not personal or anything. I know who I am. I’m a mess. I overreact, even to good things. I’m too sensitive.” “You feel a lot. Why is that a bad thing?” “I don’t know,” I say. “I just know that it is. I just know I’m too much.”

His eyes roam my face before meeting mine again, and the way he looks at me makes my chest ache. He wipes the tears from beneath my eyes, then cradles my face in his hands. “How can you think you’re too much, when I can’t get enough of you?”

“You’re sure—” “I am explicitly giving you my enthusiastic consent to do unspeakable things to me, provided they are sexual in nature, of course.”

“You make it feel okay.” “Because it is okay.” “It is, but . . .” He sighs. “Not everyone makes it feel that way. Nina and Ollie . . . if they knew how bad things were, they’d badger me about therapy until I give in, whether I’m actually ready for it or not. They’d make my relapse this big thing. And yeah, it’s a big thing, I guess, but it’s my big thing. It’s also just . . . part of my life. It’s not normal, but it’s normal for me. And you make it feel completely normal.” “It is normal.”

And me . . . the horrible things I think. How am I supposed to believe Ed is safe and trustworthy, when I can’t even trust myself?

“If you leave, you’re walking away from everything you wanted. Did you see it out there?” “It’s busy, sure, but—” “It’s not busy, Jackie. It’s alive. There’s a difference. I know I wasn’t here for a long time, but I grew up in this pub too. I remember what it was like when Da was running the place, and yeah, it was busy at times, but it was never alive. It was a place to go, but not a place to belong. You’ve turned this into a place to belong, Jackie. You and Raine both.” Raine. “Shite, she should be playing now, shouldn’t she?” Ollie smiles. “And you’ll miss seeing your girl perform. That was gonna be reason number two you ought to stay.” “Oh, shut your fecking gob, Ollie Wollie.” “I don’t think I will.”

“Bullshit.” A flash of anger courses through me, and I look away. I don’t know why he does this. Why he denies everything he deserves, why he thinks he can’t be happy.

But, Jack, please don’t forget to take care of yourself. I can already feel you rolling your eyes, and I haven’t even finished writing this yet. And I’m not talking about your OCD. I’m talking about you. Go be selfish. Buy a dozen poppyseed bagels and share them with absolutely no one. Waste a few hours making a cat tent out of a T-shirt. Take a day off work to read a trashy book you’ll forget as soon as you finish the last page. Make art that is useless and silly and important. You deserve every good thing, even when you’re having dark thoughts. You deserve to be happy, even when you aren’t well. And love—you deserve that too.

But Ireland feels like a destination. If my life is a song, then the places I’ve been are the verses, new and varied. But Ireland—Ireland is a chorus, something to return to again and again, a place to land. Or maybe it isn’t Ireland. Maybe it’s Jack.

“What about what I want? What about what you want? What about what you deserve? Stop thinking about what you can’t do. Stop thinking about what we can’t be.