Part 33 (1/2)
It's been months since we did that.
I change the station to something Maverick and I haven't sung together. By the time I arrive at Perkins, I've listened to more cla.s.sical music than I have in the last twenty-two years of my life.
I go inside and sit down at the table we always sit at. She's not here yet, but I go ahead and order our sweet teas.
A minute later, Finley slides into the booth seat across from me. ”Road construction,” she says, explaining why I arrived before her. It's halfway exactly, but Finn pushes the speed limit laws, whereas I set my cruise to one mile under the limit. It drives her crazy.
The waitress comes over and asks for our orders. Finn nods for me to go first.
”She'll have two slices of French toast, a bowl of fruit, and a side of French fries.”
Finley's turn. ”And she'll have two eggs, scrambled, sausage links instead of bacon, hash browns, and a side salad with house dressing, hold the onions.”
The waitress jots down our orders and leaves with no expression, as if she gets orders like ours every day. Maybe she does. Maybe we're not as weird as we think we are.
Finley takes a drink, then crosses her arms on the table and leans over them. ”So what's going on that you called this meeting?”
I stare at the salt and pepper shakers on the back edge of the table. ”I don't know, Finn. I guess I thought life with Maverick would be easier than this. G.o.d, it's our anniversary, and I feel like c.r.a.p.”
She waits for me to continue. I take a deep breath. Then I tell her about our fight.
Finally, I lift my eyes to meet hers. ”How can someone change that much in that little time?”
Finley bites her lip. ”s.h.i.+t, Ali. I'm not an expert on that stuff.”
”No, but you're an expert on me. Am I different?”
”Different than what?”
”From who I was before.”
Finley's expression softens as she removes her elbows from the table. ”Yes.”
I squeeze my eyes closed.
”All of us are different, Ali,” Finn says. ”That's the point, I think. No one ever really stays the same. We experience new things. Learn new things. Grow into our skin. And-I don't know-I kinda think the people in our lives leave a mark on us, even the ones who don't stay. They become a part of us, and maybe it sounds stupid, but it's like we absorb a piece of them and they absorb a piece of us. How can anyone stay the same after that?”
I look at her. Her brows are knit together, lips pulled in between her teeth, and eyes glistening with moisture I never see. She doesn't try to smile or speak or break her gaze from mine. She's serious, but that's not what makes me study her longer.
They say there are moments in everyone's life when all of the trials and laughter of the past come rus.h.i.+ng at you at once. Some people call it ”lights clicking on.” Some, ”epiphany.” Others describe it like a wave of their own memories was.h.i.+ng over them. For me, though, it's more like pieces of popcorn strung onto a cord. One by one, memories. .h.i.t each other, creating a strand of every lesson, every person, every tear, every smile that has brought me to this moment-all connected.
Finley's right. I'm not the same girl I once was. After Chris, after Cancun, after Maverick-after the pregnancy. I am different.
And Maverick's different.
But what makes it so breathtaking is that I now realize we didn't become these new people alone. We did it together-him influencing me, and me influencing him. Somewhere, our strands intersected and entwined.
Finley's different too. How had I not seen that until now? She's wiser, more thoughtful. She's still eccentric, especially in her hot pink skinny jeans and yellow tank. Still the crazy girl who's pulled me out of two depressions and runs to my rescue whenever I call.
”They can't,” I say, answering her question.
”Ali, Maverick practically wors.h.i.+ps you. He probably just doesn't know how to deal with what's happened the last few months. He was a wreck when he asked me to come stay with you.”
”I tried to forget he was there,” I whispered, ashamed. Our baby was his too. He was grieving. Maybe it was even harder for him because he was also fighting for me?
”I need to see him. It's our anniversary, Finn. We should do something, him and I.”
Finley squeals. ”Yes! I know: go to his office wearing nothing under a long trench coat, then back him into his office and screw him on his desk. Bam! Office make-up s.e.x.” She grins like the idea is the most stellar one in the universe.
”He works in a cubical.”
”I'm sure the stuck-up suits around him won't mind the show, especially if they get to stare at your naked a.s.s.”
”Be serious.”
”I am.”
”Be more serious.”
”So, like, lame?”
”Finley!”
”Fine. Then go home, cook him a phenomenal meal, flirt, and then give him the best b.l.o.w. .j.o.b he's ever had.”
I roll my eyes. ”b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs don't fix problems this big, Finn.”
She smirks. ”Have you ever tried?”
”No.”
”So what do you have to lose?”
Chapter 54.
Present day 5:13 a.m.
I've been awake for twenty-seven hours. They're more like years. Twenty-seven years of worry, heartache, and pain. And still, there's no change.
The Propofol is long out of his system. The monitors read out a steady heartbeat, and his blood pressure is in the normal range. There's no medical reason why he's still asleep.
Finley dozed off a couple of hours ago, leaving Maverick and me alone. I hold his hand too tight, but I can't let go.
”I'm sorry,” I whisper again. I've said it a million times, and I'll probably say it a million more. Anything, I'll say. I'll do anything. Just...