“I wasn’t asking.”
Tentatively, I move soI’mlying my head inherlap, and she runs her hands through my hair. For what feels like the first time in my life, I have the sensation of fully relaxing, muscles finally letting go of the slightly on-edge, always-prepared tension that holds me captive.
We sit like that for long enough that I keep thinking I’ll see the first blush of sunrise through the curtains. Time feels long and hazy, stretching out around us, and I focus on the smell and feel of her, breathing through the grief and heartache that has accompanied me, like a silent, heavy passenger, all these years.
“When something like that happens to you twice,” I say, whispering into the dark of the room, not even sure if Lacey is awake to hear it. “You start to think it’s a message from the universe. That you shouldn’t get close to anyone, or you’ll lose them. That you deserve to be alone.”
A beat passes, then her hand moves, sliding through my hair again and down, cupping the side of my face gently. Then, she leans down and kisses my forehead, her lips soft and warm.
“Yeah. But maybe I’m a message from the universe, too.”
CHAPTER 21
LACEY
Time keeps passing in Montana.
It gets colder and colder out here, the trees flaming into brilliant orange, then dropping down into a deep, subdued red. Every time Max and I drive down the mountain, I practically hang out the window to try and get pictures to send to Vanessa. Max, obviously, is not a fan of this tactic.
When the temperatures drop low enough, Max surprises me with my very own flannel to match his. I slide it on, admiring myself in the mirror, but don’t get to wear it for long before he’s tugging me toward the bedroom and pushing the shirt right back off of me again, calling me his mountain woman.
He takes me fishing. We see a herd of deer crossing through the forest and I can hardly breathe because of how beautiful it is. Dona starts sitting in my lap instead of his, and I can’t figure out whether or not Max is pleased about it.
On a chilly Sunday morning in October, I’m sitting on my porch with a cup of coffee steaming into the frigid air, my feet stuffed into warm socks and thick, leather slippers, waiting for Max.
He had to pull himself away last night to finish a set he promised Warren for the store, and when I tried to come with him down to his cabin, he said he’d never get anything done. But he’s coming this morning to teach me how to chop my own firewood.
“I’ll do it for you, of course,” he’d said, waving his hand, then shrugging, “but I figured— just in case. And, besides, you need to earn that flannel.”
“But you already gave it to me!”
“Yeah,” he said, raising his eyebrows at me and making a rare dirty joke. “Suppose I did.”
I’m wondering how hard it would be to skip the firewood lesson and drag Max into my place when I hear the faint buzzing of my phone. For a second, I think it’s an insect, but then I remember it’s too cold and they’re all in hibernation.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer, and something cold creeps up into my throat.
It’s not that I’ve been avoiding her. It’s that I’ve gotten used to the slower pace of conversation out here. The first week or two without constant connection slowed things down inside me, corrected something in my nervous system. And now the idea of being constantly available — or even constantly reaching out for connection — sounds like a horrible idea.
“Good morning, Lacey!”
Her voice is simultaneously warming and anxiety-inducing at the same time. I rub my hand down the length of my jeans and suck in a breath, trying not to let it show.
“Morning,” I say, trying right away to steer the conversation in her direction. “How did that showing go?”
“Oh, it was fine,” she says off-handedly. “You know how it is with those tech bros. I knew it was a sale before he even walked in the door. His girlfriend loved the place.”
“That’s great,” I say, knowing the huge, ultra-modern house on the outskirts of the city must have fetched my mom a pretty penny for the real estate commission. Before I can think of another question to ask, she’s plowing ahead.
“Amanda was disappointed not to have you as a speaker this year for San Fran Female Empowerment.”
“Oh, I’ll have to send a card.” I don’t mean for it to sound flippant, but I worry that it does, so I go on, “I’m just so swamped trying to finish Jasper’s place…”
The truth is that I’m not swamped at all. Being here, in the mountains just outside Low Pines, is the least swamped I have been in a long time. And the cabin is essentially finished. Max is working on a few more pieces to fill in some of the rooms, and we’re waiting on some custom cushions to place on his beautiful furniture.
Other than that, and some minor decorating, I could list the rental this weekend.
The thought makes my throat thick, especially since I’ve stopped thinking about it as a rental and started feeling at home here. Each night when I sink into bed, I wonder what it would be like if I never left.
