This Avery hates that every little thing she tells herself is in third person.
This Avery misses Ty.
My chest squeezes as I look at our text exchange. Well, exchange is a stretch. I’ve had enough restraint not to respond to him, but the whole losing-my-phone on aregular basis thing helps a little with that. I never thought I’d be grateful to be so absentminded. I open our chat and see that we haven’t spoken in nearly four weeks now. A month. It’s been one month since I’ve heard the rasp in his voice, the smile in his tone regardless of how much he tries to hide it. Since I’ve seen his beautiful face.
Ty was so unexpected, but falling in love blindsided me more than today’s torrential downpour pounding the highway in front of me as I navigate from the suburbs to Vista City. I was taken aback by him. In the best and worst ways. Our highs plummeted to lows almost immediately. I think more than anything, I’m mourning what we could have been. Maybe if circumstances had been different, we could have had a fighting chance. It physically pains me to consider it. Our relationship was stunted. We had a date in his house, flirted, kissed, had a stupid trivia night out in the public eye. And that’s it. The “proverbial us” died before it could even materialize. Ty was more a fabrication of my mind than anything else. And as a girl who lived her life waiting for that “what could be” moment, I’m not surprised. I’m not surprised that that’s as far as we got.
Even now as I tip this stupid little gooseneck can of water into each little sprouting dracaena genus plant, I’m chasing a vision. Because Sprout Sitting by Avery still hasn’t taken off in the way I’d hoped it would. And I’ve made peace with the fact that maybe it never will. As I trudge through McMurphy’s Home and Garden, I try to tell myself that I’m at peace. Mary’s shop may be closing, but it can shut down with some dignity. And I can be the reason for that. Sprout Sitting by Avery can shut down with dignity too, and I can move home to my parents withself-respect. Because it’s totally okay to live at home in your mid-twenties. These things are not independent of one another.
Dignity can exist within broken dreams, within letdowns, within changes of plans. It can exist in solo excursions, in singlehood-existences, in long, quiet, lonely nights. As I stand behind the peeling laminate counter, watching rain cascade down the front window, dignity is all around me. Despite the guy who tried to shortchange me moments ago or the lady who forgot to pay for her monstera that I had to chase out into the puddly street—regardless of how scrubby I might have looked—I’m holding onto the little respectability Mary’s shop has left. For her. For me. Because I have nothing left. After today, I have nothing.
Mary’s is closing. I have one more client contract to complete, and then so is Sprout Sitting by Avery. After being fired, I let Stacey know I can no longer house-sit for her neighbor. The thought of bumping into her on a walk around the block or seeing her grab her newspaper in the morning was too much to bear. So once my time at Mary’s shop is over, Dollyboy and I can finally pack up and drive all the way back to my parents’ house in Crestwood. Where I don’t even have a bedroom, apparently, because Ellie took mine.
I’ll kiss Vista City goodbye and leave it—and Ty—behind.
A knot forms in my chest as I take in the empty store, my footsteps echoing as I step over the cracked linoleum. This place is as hollow as my heart. I busy myself with dusting the shelves, picking up crumbling leaves andsweeping up potting soil, an attempt to distract myself. There’s no reason to bother with tidying. Mary’s son made it clear no one was biting when they tried to sell it, so he ceased all typical orders, and over the past month, both business and our stock dwindled. Any inventory that remained was marked down in an attempt to empty the place. There’s next to nothing left here.
Thunder bellows outside, and I head out to pick up our “going out of business” sign. Which is completely illegible now, considering it’s a foldable chalk sign.
“Avery!” An all-too-familiar voice shouts, and I freeze, seriously considering if this is it. I’ve finally gone over the edge.Geez Louise.My mind is lost. No trace of sanity remains because Ty Brewster definitely isn’t yelling my name, but when I turn around, he’s there. Standing outside the shop right now, hair soaked, shirt wet, fresh rain dripping down his face.
Despite my semi-bizarre day, Ty walking in is the biggest plot twist thus far. When his blue eyes lock with mine, I feel like I’m in a dream. Am I dreaming? In a way, I guess I’ve lived most of my life in some form of daydream. Avery Hinkley has always been full of “what could be.” She’s full of stupid little “what ifs” that live inside her head and never come to fruition, and for the past few months, that’s exactly what Ty has been. Until now. Because he’s here. In the rain. His chest heaving like he forgot how to drive and just ran all the way from Soleil Drive in the downpour.
I stand on the sidewalk, frozen with the chalkboard sign in hand, staring straight at him. He gives me a once-over, pulling me from my trance.
“You walk here or what?” I ask.
“No lot parking. Had to park on the street,” he says between gulps of air. “Down the block. Ran here.”
I know he’s a professional athlete, but apparently racing down the streets of Vista City really isn’t his strong suit. Making headway up a field is one thing, but a spontaneous rainy-sidewalk jog is a whole different beast. I follow his gaze, never finding his vehicle. Parking around here is always sparse, but how far away did he have to leave his car? Geez, no wonder he’s out of breath.
“Forget your umbrella?” I ask.
“I was hoping you’d invite me in.”
“What are you? Some type of vampire?” It’s probably the meanest thing I’ve done, but I walk in without inviting him. The good news is, he follows me anyway. I glance over my shoulder and see he’s smirking. It takes everything in me not to break down and tell him every desire of my heart—which is only one thing: him. I want him. I might even need him. He’s the balance I never knew I was missing, and I love him.
And it hurts that he doesn’t feel the same way. But then a stupid little seed of hope buries itself deep inside and begins to sprout, like the miserable rain outside is actually good for something. Like it’s watering something in me, coaxing it to life, and reminding me of why exactly I always hold out for hope regardless of how cloudy the circumstances. Because the storms are worth it. I may not know it in the moment, but they always are.
CHAPTER FORTY
TY
“Why are you here?”Avery’s voice is soft, like she’s afraid to ask. The worst part is, there’s something in her eyes. Something beneath the surface, and the longer I stare at her, it hits me what it is. It’s hurt. Am I the one who caused that?
I push ahead, desperate to recite what I came to say, regardless of how she’ll respond. I don’t care if she doesn’t want me. I need to get this off my chest. “First, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not, and I can tell.”
“Fine. I’m… surviving.”
Her admission tugs at my heart, and I step closer. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she asks breathlessly.
“For everything. For getting you kicked off the team?—”
