The place Staceylinked me up with is nice. The owner plans to be gone for at least four months, which works out perfectly for me. For the time being, I’m saved from moving in with some complete stranger just to save on rent. That’s always a little awkward. Unless that stranger is Ty. The hollow place in my heart I’ve been trying to ignore twinges. It won’t let me forget it's there, and how could I? Ty is gone. Of course he is, because who in their right mind throws a dependable career—and years of work—away for some girl they found sleeping in the backseat of their car with a cat? Not a lot. And I don’t blame them.
The corners of the cardboard box I’m carrying bite into my arms, grounding me in the moment as I haul the cargo of my meager life into my new house-sitting job in the suburbs. I’m here. This is real. I’m shuffling my stupid little flat feet into a stranger’s house. Someone is willing to pay meandprovide a place to stay. It’s a best case scenario. Ananswered prayer. With McMurphy’s Home and Garden facing a permanent closure—according to Mary’s son—I need a job to supplement my income.
I know it’s completely unrealistic, but I wish I could be the one who steps up and saves McMurphy’s. That would take time, energy, someone business savvy who maybe enjoys administrative tasks. On top of all that, I certainly don’t have the cash to purchase an already-established business, even a declining one. All odds are against me. The case seems pretty open and shut. As unfair as it is, McMurphy’s will fail without Mary, and that’s something I have to accept. But the guilt eats at me.
I should have been there.
Winding through the house, my phone vibrates in my back pocket, but my arms are too full to answer. As I survey the space, I tell myself every little mistake, injury, and heartbreak will somehow work together for good. Because it has to, right? I can’t bear the thought of all this being for nothing.
The suburbs are exactly what I need. A fresh start somewhere new. As I weave a path through this creaky, quaint house, I focus on the positive. Dollyboy trails behind me, rubbing against the wooden legs of a matching set of antique chairs. He hops onto the green velvet cushion of one and then springs atop a settee, zeroing in on the hefty fishtank atop an antique buffet. Rubbing between his ears, I watch him enjoy the finned entertainment and rack my brain for a bright spot to focus on. Which I can’t find in all the doom and gloom storming my mind. Am I broken? My eyes trail from the dusty baseboards up the curtains until they land on a bookshelf in the far corner,and my first thought is “I wonder if any of the books Ty gushed about are on this shelf.”I am broken.My mind is a series of spins that always bring me right back to the same spot.
Grabbing a suitcase, Dolly and I roll into the guestroom. I plunk onto the edge of the bed, sinking into the quilted comforter. It’s cute in here. Cottagey. Like I’m some lost little lady who has disappeared down a rabbit hole into some cream-colored frill and flower-splattered fairy realm. In a way, I suppose that’s a little how I feel. Andthat’sthe bright spot. This room isn’t some sterile, detached space. It’s cute.Cozy. It doesn’t feel like a hospital ward.
But it also doesn’t feel like home.
Snap out of it, Avery. You just got here! You have Dolly. You have a squishy, pillowy bed. This place is temporary, just like Ty’s.
Because nothing lasts forever, but I wish some things did. I wish we could.
An image flashes of the night of our first kiss, how excited he was as he started up that book-inspired sci-fi movie. Then it bounces to the masquerade. The way he held me and then defended me. The way he agreed to go full-on vampire for me. As I lock Ol’ Harriet and carry in my last box, it’s not even our stolen kisses that occupy my mind. It's the way he made me feel. Accepted. Validated. Cared for. Disappointment casts shadows over my memories. Not to be dramatic, but Ty is one of a kind. It’s cheesy and very hopeless romantic of me, but it’s true. Never in my life have I ever felt so seen, heard, or safe.
No matter how much I yearned for Ty to be the one, he’s not. It’s the unrealistic optimism betraying me again.
The one.
The one what? The one who folds my clothes for me when I forget? The one who knows Dollyboy’s morning treat routine? The one who reminds me to drink water when my cup’s been untouched on the counter too long?
Of all the people in my life who have said they care about me, Ty is the one who hasshownme. He listens when I ramble. Actually listens. He doesn’t brush me off if I get wrapped up in a frenzy of emotions. He fixed my car without asking, for crying out loud. Ty makes me feel genuinely cared for, like it’s okay to just be me—exactly as I am in all my forms. As foolish as our dicey living situation may seem, I wouldn’t want to risk it with anyone else.
All air vacates my lungs like a grand jeté to the gut. Is that why I can’t let him go? Ty is the one I’d risk it for.
Heisthe one.
The one I love.
“Cheese on freaking rice, Avery,” I mumble to myself. No one is around to hear how delusional I sound, which is both relieving and disheartening.
But can I even trust myself? Isn’t this what I always do? I get too fixated too quickly and ruin everything. Ty was being nice by inviting me in. Sure, maybe we shared a few intimate moments, but we served our purpose in one another’s lives, and now it’s time to move on. It was a blink in time, and now it’s over. My feeble, bleeding heart needs to accept that. Ty has been a safe place—a refuge—these past few months when I needed it most and didn’t even realize it. As much as I yearn for him to say he feels thesame, that getting to know me has changed him in some monumental way and now something long-term feels possible, I just want him around. Even as a friend, I’d rather have him in my life assomethingthan nothing at all.
I pick up my phone, desperation taking charge of my actions as I unlock it, determined to at least thank him for everything he’s done for me over our time together. Because that’s totally normal, right? That’s the polite thing to do?
Put it down, Avery. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Don’t make it weird.
And that’s when I remember. Someone tried to get a hold of me earlier. My phone vibrated. I have a missed call from Judith Sumpter, the director of the Kings cheerleaders. My pulse picks up, but before I can think better of it, I’m clicking her name and calling her back.
The call doesn’t take long, only a few seconds. She wants me to stop by her office tomorrow before practice. Which is fine. I’m fine. This is totally normal. So why does my stomach twist and knot like I’m about to hurl?
“Avery, do you understand how serious these implications are?” Stacey asks. Judith sits beside her, her expression indecipherable, but painfully serious.
I nod, blinking back tears, my teeth still on display. Why am I so dang emotional lately?
She rubs her temple and continues on. “Avery, you’re smiling like we’re back at tryouts, and I’ve just told you that you’ve been accused of fraternizing with a player.”
The guy from HR clears his throat, shifting in his seat, and I snap back to the present.
“Yes, well.” I think about all the times I’ve folded under pressure, of all the times I’ve been more concerned about other people’s feelings than my own. I weigh my words, and impulse wins out. “How would you like me to respond?”
It used to be something I’d genuinely wonder while formulating a reply to someone, but this time, there’s bite to it, and everyone sitting across from me can sense it.
