Pocketing my phone, I knelt down and gathered up an armful of old newspapers. I unlocked the front door and hurried inside to deliver them to the small blue receptacle in my pantry, then filled a watering can and returned to the porch. As I watered and rearranged the pots, I stopped and stared in confusion at the shiny item tucked beneath the leaf of the furthest plant.
“What…?” I said, reaching out a tentative hand. As soon as I touched it, I knew.
I smiled as I lifted the little metal Space Needle statue that had sat on Lior’s bookshelf, and then frowned when I noticed it seemed to be caught on some sort of string. But as I pulled it higher, I realized it wasn’t caught. It was tied. To one half of Lior’s favorite pair of sneakers. The half I’d once cleaned for her after she’d had the misfortune of stepping in B’s droppings and had yelled her pretty head off at me.
“Maybe it is that simple,” I said.
Chapter 38
Lior
I stood wrapped in my favorite cardigan, staring at the view outside the French doors leading to my balcony. Even with a sky full of clouds, it was a beautiful scene: the Puget Sound dark and moody, ferries making their journeys to one island or another.
My phone beeped with a text and I opened it to find a photo of Addie’s male cat.
“Gomez misses you,” the text that followed read.
A moment later another photo came through. It was the backside of Gomez’s wife as she walked away.
“Morticia does not,” Addie texted.
I sent a heart followed by a hand flipping the middle finger emoji.
“Dinner tonight?” she replied.
“It’s a date.”
I hurried to get dressed, determined to stay on the schedule I’d set for myself. I’d found keeping a routine helped me be more productive, more organized, and I felt better at the end of every day because I’d ticked things off a list. It had been my therapist’s idea, and Hestia was never wrong. I’d hated having to let her go, but she’d given me a referral to a great therapist in Seattle and we already had our first appointment scheduled. I still had work to do and I would not fail myself again.
After throwing my hair into a ponytail, I ran downstairs and slid my laptop into my messenger bag and headed for the front door, admiring my surroundings as I went.
It had taken the moving truck six days to arrive. I’d stayed with Addie until it did, busying myself with shopping trips to find new furniture and rugs to replace the things I’d donated or sold. By the time my belongings arrived, I knew where everything would go and stood and pointed while Addie sat at the kitchen island drinking the champagne she’d brought over to celebrate.
That was just over six weeks ago and I still couldn’t believe I was here. I woke every morning smiling at my surroundings, and got into bed each night tired in a way that felt peaceful, rather than anxious.
And while I thought about Graham every day still – wondering if he’d found what I’d left yet – I didn’t let it consume me. I didn’t check his socials to see what he was up to. I just let him be, because he’d made it clear that day, and every day since, that it was what he needed. Maybe one day he’d show up with my shoe and a bashful smile. Maybe one day it would arrive in the mail, having been sent by my agent, along with a note of confusion as to why she’d been asked to send a scuzzy old shoe to me.
Whatever happened, it was out of my control. It wasn’t something to have power over. And so I let it be.
A few minutes later, bundled against the wind in a white Burberry knee-length puffer coat with a coffee stain on the cuff, and a wonky knit cap made by Addie (a new hobby of hers I was not encouraging), I entered my new morning coffee spot, Ampersand.
“Hey Maya,” I said, greeting the dark-haired high school girl who only worked Saturdays.
“Hey Lior,” she said shyly, despite the fact that this was the fourth time she’d seen me and the last time I’d come in I’d told her I was a regular now and she was just going to have to resign herself to chatting with me. She’d blushed and rang me up for my usual cappuccino and veggie egg scramble without another word.
I set up shop on my favorite stool at the far end of the cafe that faced the main strip and the water beyond, pulling out my laptop and notebook, and opening the article I was currently working on. I was enjoying my new job immensely. It was more challenging than the odd article here and there that I’d written on a whim. I had to be prepared for this. I had to have more than one idea at a time to pitch in case Avery didn’t like the first one, two, or ten. There was research to be done and sometimes people to interview. But it was all about the fashion world, something I knew a lot about, and it was always highlighting a different side of it. A designer, the delicate balance of fame and normal life, and the mental health aspect of being in a job where people are constantly critical of your body, your face, your hair.
I’d even interviewed my agent for a piece, asking what she looks for in a client and what will get someone fired from her roster.
“Here you are,” Maya said, placing a coffee and the scramble next to my laptop.
“Thank you,” I said, turning to smile. But she was already hurrying away. I grinned and returned to my laptop. I’d get her to talk to me eventually.
As I’d done off and on for the past few weeks, I took a picture of my set-up with the cloudy skies beyond and posted it to my social media account with the comment, “No rest for the wicked”. And then I got to work.
An hour later I was still going and had switched to tea, poor Maya having to leave the safety of the counter to serve me again.
“Thank you,” I said as she set the steaming cup beside me. “Oh, I didn’t see any donut holes in the case today. Do you have them hiding somewhere?”
