we’re standing all alone
The fire that flickers in your eyes
makes me burn up in the cold
You’ll laugh and say, “OhHall,”
but you
are softer than you know
My gaze lifts to the stars again, no longer wondering where Hall went.
He went, quite clearly, back into everything.
To where he’s always been. Standing by, giving cheer, twinkling in the streetlights, the snow, turning the mundane into the magical. Most of the sadness in my heart is for him, who can’t participate, who can only give and never take. Or he takes from what he gives, I suppose: deriving pleasure from pleasing.
I press a hand to my mouth, scanning for shadows, for wherever Hall might be, because I want him to see that I’m going to be all right, that I won’t fall apart. What if it breaks his heart to see me heartbroken? I couldn’t bear that.
He’s everywhere, though. When I trudge home and close the front door behind me, the noise sounds like his voice, urgent, quiet:Bettie.When I twist the tap of the bathroom sink to wet my toothbrush, the falling water sounds likeEven ten minutes. Which I am certainly imagining, becauseeven ten minutesdoesn’t make any sense.Ten minutes until what? But the water gurgles out that exact same sound again, just as I shut it off: It goes down the drain in a mystifyingeven ten minutes.
Even ten minutes.
When I lie down for the night, the sighs of the pillow feel like the kiss of heat you get from kneeling before a blazing hearth. I think I feel snowflakes landing softly in my hair, but when I reach up to touch the strands, I come away with nothing.
And when I fall asleep, I dream of places I’ve never been before, people I’ve never met, visions I’ve never fathomed—I see houses hundreds of miles from mine, the smiles of strangers from an aerial view. I feel a flame that will never go out in my tight, aching chest as I look down atmyselffrom someone else’s point of view, someone who loves me, as I sleep curled up in bed.
*
Chapter Twenty-One
IT’S DECEMBER THIRTY-FIRST,and I’m on my lunch break.
In the immediate aftermath of Hall’s departure, I tried to bring him back a hundred times. My record player can’t hold its liquor too well, so I’ve ruined my vinyl of Mariah Carey’sMerry Christmasby repeatedly playing it backward, doused with wine in an attempt to re-create that holiday miracle. In between attempts, however, I managed to get a few other things done.
First, I deleted all of my social media accounts except for Instagram, which I’m making private for now. External validation isn’t a viable substitute for self-esteem, according to my surprisingly wise parents. I don’t want to waste more of my life trying to look like someone I’m not. I’m hoping that if I keep my social media presence small, I’ll learn how to manage it more authentically, and have a healthier relationship with it. As Mom has reminded me and then reminded me again, taking care of myself isn’t weakness.
Second, I went back to the Watsons’ house to dig Felix’sLeon ofNaplesscreenplay back out of the tower, because I couldn’t stop thinking about whales and railings. As soon as I finished reading it, I called Felix and begged him to let me email any and all of my old Hollywood contacts because—My God.It’s the most ridiculous plot ever created. If I can’t watch Neoprene Bontpont in all of his anachronistic glory on the big screen at Moonlit Cinema, it will be a life half lived. He let me run with it, and we’re both excited about some positive reception we’ve already received from a heavy-hitting actor with comedic tastes that appreciate the weird and the over-the-top. Not to name names, but I might have once stolen his wife’s engagement ring.
Third:
“How’s the job going?” Kaia asks, waiting on the sidewalk for me to shuffle out of the store with my purse over my shoulder, ready for lunch.
“On the downside, I broke a scanner today, then cried when I couldn’t figure out coupons,” I report. “On the upside, I get a discount on merchandise.”
She flashes a smile, then tamps it down. “Have I ever told you that you have the prettiest smile?” I say. She shakes her head, ducking self-consciously, but I can tell she’s pleased. Mom, Dad, Athena, Felix, and their families have all gone home, but Kaia’s holding out, staying on an extended holiday at Grandma and Grandpa’s. She says the house has inspired her songwriting. I think she might also be gathering her bearings, working up to an act of bravery.
She flicks my nametag. “I’m proud of you.”
“Me, too. Did you know that evening gowns hand-sewn by Teller City’s own designer Samantha Tan are affordable and one of a kind? She never uses a design twice. Local legend has it thather pieces are enchanted to make the wearer’s romantic wishes come true. A Cupid, if you will.”
She gives me a playful shove to the side. “Didyoustart that local legend?”
I grin. “And you don’t wanna miss Jackson County Ironworks’s spring collection. So many cool pieces to choose from! Your sculptures will be the talk of the town.”
“Stop or I’m going to make a citizen’s arrest. I’m serious.”
“Personally,” I go on, doing a twirl, “I never leave the house without my trusty Through the Snow at Twilight candle, unless I’m feeling fun and flirty, in which case I use their environmentally conscious vanilla bean wax melts.”
