“Fitted clothes, or at least more tailored.” He crosses his arms, assessing. “Expand your mind outside of the hoodies and baggy jeans you’ve defaulted to. You can be comfortable and stylish.”
“Your haircut needs an upgrade too,” Mom adds, “try a salon rather than a ten-dollar barber.”
I run a hand through my hair on instinct. “You really think changing things up might help.”
“It will,” she assures me. “You’ll feel so much better about yourself.”
“Then what?” I finish dinner and push my plate away.
Dad shrugs. “Try again with no agenda other than to tell her you love her music. Nothing more.”
“Keep it simple?” I let out a short laugh.
“Absolutely. Go with the flow.” He smiles. “You’re not pitching a product.”
“What if she doesn’t want to talk to me?”
He holds my gaze. “You try again another time or you don’t. It’ll be up to you.”
“If it’s any consolation,” Mom reaches for his hand, “I said yes to your dad, and look at us now.”
He brings her fingers to his lips. “Swallowing my fear and asking you out was easily the best decision I ever made.”
I watch them for a second and my ribs feel like they’ve got room again.
“Alright.” I push my chair back.
Dad raises a brow. “Alright?”
“I’ll try it.”
Mom smiles. “Good.”
Later, I stand on the ferry, wind cutting through my jacket, Seattle glowing across the water. My phone sits in my hand. Nordstrom, appointment booked with a stylist. Salon, booked. I stare at the confirmations, thumb hovering over the screen before I lock it and slide it into my pocket.
I lean against the railing, watching the city get closer.
Next time I see Hope, I’ll gather my courage and talk to her instead of standing there waiting for something to happen. I’ll say something. Anything. Even if it comes out wrong.
Something shifts inside me. Not big or dramatic, but enough.
Next time won’t look like last time.
Not if I have anything to do with it.
six
Present Day
Whattheeffjusthappened?
Cold presses through my coat into my spine, the pavement unyielding beneath me. I try to shift and a sharp burst of pain cuts through my head. A literal vortex of pain. My breath is shallow and uneven. My body’s forgotten how to do anything right.
A sharp wail of a siren drills into my skull, swinging away and coming back louder. Threading through voices, footsteps, and a car door slamming. I force my eyes open. Light smears across my vision, settling long enough for me to realize a shape is moving toward me. When he gets closer, I realize it’s the man from the market. Quilted jacket. Dark hair. His face looksdifferent now, tight with focus, eyes scanning past me before dropping back.
He calls out to someone, one arm raised, then drops beside me so quickly the movement jolts my vision again.
“Hope?” His voice is steady despite everything rushing around us. His hand finds mine without hesitation. “It’ll be okay.”
