Ash scoffs. “Sorry, mom. I’ll wait until I’m huge enough to have another drink, then.”
My shoulders loosen. “Thank you.” I fold my hands across my lap.
“Let’s go to the grocery store,” Ash says when we’ve slipped our feet back into our sandals, my toenails white and hers blue. “I need a tuna and olive sandwich, but I don’t have the shit to make one.”
Twelve
Over the next month, my ERP sessions with Theo become more intense. We work our way halfway up my list, until I’m able to stop reacting to almost half the compulsions I normally would. As Theo said before, the compulsions haven’t gone away. They constantly torment me, making me feel like everything around me is about to start falling apart if I don’t react with a ritual. But I don’t. Not every time, at least.
“You’re doing well, little Willow,” Theo says around the pen in his mouth, eyeing my list intently. He’s sitting on my bed—a tradition of his when we have sessions in my room—and I grit my teeth to backlash my racing adrenaline.
He crosses out several things on my list and I widen my eyes. “What are you doing?”
He glances at me momentarily before returning to the list, crossing out another item. “We don’t need to keep working on these. You know what to do now.”
I inhale. “Okay. So what next?”
“It’s time to work on the next thing on your list. Number six. Have a look.” Theo hands me the list, and I scan it with dread.
6. Losing time (tapping, arranging objects, anything involving odd numbers)
“You know,” I say. “I’m starting to think maybe we should throw this away. End things here. I’ve made enough progress.”
Theo chuckles darkly. “Not a chance, little Willow. After all the cheat sheets you’ve given me? That would hardly seem fair. I’ve got to make sure I deliver on my side of our bargain.”
“How am I supposed to face my fear of time passing?” I say, throwing up my hands in exasperation. “It’s not like you have a Time-Turner!”
Theo laughs. “You really are a nerd.”
I roll my eyes. “Is that supposed to offend me?”
“Not at all.” Theo’s gaze lingers on mine. “I meant it as a compliment, actually.”
I blush and look away, conjuring up my stress over the list again to distract me. “That doesn’t change the fact that it’s impossible for me to face number six.”
Theo leans back on my bed, relaxing on his elbows. “First, let’s discuss why you’re afraid of time passing.”
I take a deep breath. Though I’m used to this process by now (addressing each item on my list before tackling it) this one seems harder to place. After some thought, I tell him, “I think it comes from me being afraid of dying too soon. I know that sounds stupid. But thinking about the future, or how much time is left, makes me realize it’s not going to last forever. That time isn’t an endless supply. It’s temporary.”
Theo’s eyes are soft as he listens to me. “That makes perfect sense.” He stands up. “It doesn’t sound stupid at all. In fact, fear of time is common enough. It’s usually caused by fears of uncontrollable situations. Like illness.”
I nod. “Pretty much. I don’t know how to overcome that, though.”
Theo contemplates. “Has anyone close to you ever been ill?”
“My grandmother,” I say. “She used to live in our guest house. Actually, my mom had it built just so she could live with us after she had a stroke. But I was young when she died. Probably like six or seven.”
“How did you handle her death?” Theo asks.
I try to remember what it was like back then when my grandma was alive. When she passed away, it seemed strange not having her around, like she was ripped out of my world before I was ready to let her go. One day, we had been making paper snowflakes together to decorate her wheelchair with, and the next—she was gone.
“I hated it,” I tell Theo. “She had a second stroke, and then that was it. I never saw her again. My mom didn’t even let me go to the funeral, so I really never even got to say goodbye.”
Theo frowns. “Why couldn’t you go to the funeral?”
I shrug. “My mom didn’t want me to be traumatized.” I stare at the ground. “It’s my fault, too. I know where she’s buried, and I’ve never visited her gravesite.”
Theo nods slowly. “Little Willow,” he says. “It’s time for a field-trip.”
There are turkeys wandering the cemetery. Turkeys.
I don’t know why the sight of them makes me smile as Theo and I approach the grassy lawn, peppered with tombstones. It’s unexpectedly beautiful. I’d been envisioning a thunder-lit sky, dead grass strewn with weeds underneath rotting and cracked plaques. Stoic faces and prying eyes.
But this place is stunning. The grass is better watered than my mom’s front lawn. Tall trees are everywhere, offering the perfect balance of life in this place meant to house so much death. But the turkeys are the cherry on top. I cover my mouth but the laugh escapes me. I glance around, horrified. It feels blasphemous to laugh at a cemetery for some reason. “Sorry,” I tell Theo, though his expression is amused. “It’s just—there are turkeys everywhere.”
Theo cocks an eyebrow. “Are they prohibited from paying their respects to loved ones? After all, Thanksgiving was ... what? Four months ago?”
My mouth falls open, and I have to cover it with both hands to muffle my unrestrainable laughter. “Oh, god,” I say, holding my stomach. “Stop, Theo. You’re going to kill me.”
Theo grins. “No need to worry, love. There’s plenty of space for you here, and the turkeys can keep you company.”
I giggle again and swat his arm with my hand. “You’re being rude.”
He holds his hands up. “You’re the one laughing.”
He’s right. I did start it. I school my features into neutrality as we pass a flock of giant turkeys and search for my grandma’s name among the tombstones.
“You haven’t the faintest idea where her stone is, have you?” Theo asks, eyeing a tall one with a bouquet of sunflowers beneath it.
“Of course I do,” I say. “This is her.” Me stumbling upon it is completely coincidental, but there’s no way I’m letting Theo know that.
Any lingering humor drains from my body as I take in my grandma’s gravesite. Seeing her name etched in italics on the smooth, charcoal marble makes my throat tighten.
Sophie Abrahams. Loving wife, mother and friend.
There are no flowers for her, and I silently curse myself for not bringing any. I blink rapidly. Trying to take quick breaths so I don’t cry. But the memory of her stings.
I didn’t get to say goodbye.
I don’t know why I keep clinging to the memory of making snowflakes with her. As if me seeing her the day before she died had any power in preventing it from occurring. As if taping the stupid paper decorations to her chair helped in any way.
Time still passed.
It only took one day for it to happen.
I look up, and Theo gives me a meaningful glance before walking away.
He’s giving me privacy. Privacy to say goodbye.
“Grandma,” I say. My voice cracks, so I inhale deeply before continuing. “I know I wasn’t at your funeral. And if I could go back in time, I would have come whether Mom wanted me to be there or not.” I look over my shoulder, self-conscious, but there is no one else around. Just me, and my grandma’s bones beneath the ground. “I think I still imagine you alive,” I continue, “because it’s hard to think of you any other way. You were so full of life, up until my last moment with you. But then you were stolen from me. Death stole you from me before I was ready, stole you before I had a chance to say goodbye.” My voice is thick with tears now, and I continue in a whisper. “And I’m afraid it’s going to do the same to me someday. But I hadn’t realized until now what the silver lining to that would be. I’d get to see you again. Maybe.” I wipe my face, and my hands come back wet. “If I ever were to see you
again, it would be in death. So maybe it can’t be that bad. At least I hope it won’t be. Until then ... goodbye, Grandma. I love you.”
Theo’s footsteps approach behind me, and I wipe my eyes more fervently to prevent him from seeing my visible emotions. He doesn’t look at me, only places a small bouquet of flowers, freshly picked, at her grave. Then, without a word, he pulls me against him, my face buried against his chest and his hands stroking my back.
“You did it, little Willow,” he murmurs softly. “You said goodbye to her. I’m proud of you.”
I sob into his shirt, his words making it all the more real. “I didn’t expect to feel this way,” I tell him. “I thought I was fine, actually.”
I stare at a flock of birds flying above us in a perfect V. Focusing on them helps me swallow back my tears.
“I don’t think,” he tells me, “that we ever really are.”
Thirteen
On Saturday morning, I take the dogs on an extra-long walk. It’s late March, and the weather is warming up. A bead of sweat pools at my temple, and Tido pants while we walk, his tongue lolling dramatically out of the side of his mouth.
As I drop the dogs off and make my way up the driveway, a red car parked on the street in front of my house catches my eye. There’s a girl sitting in the passenger seat, staring at the guest house. After a moment, she turns the engine off and gets out, causing my stomach to drop. She’s gorgeous, with strawberry blond hair, clad in a tight-fitted pair of white jeans and a pink off-the-shoulder top. She’s even wearing red heels.
I briefly wonder if it’s one of my mom’s friends until she walks right up to Theo’s front door. When he opens it, I frown and quickly hide behind one of the nearest trees, slowly peeking out from behind it. I don’t know why I’m hiding. I live here. But this visit seems clandestine to me and I feel like I’m spying. If Theo saw me, I doubt he’d think my lurking around the front yard is natural.
The girl says something to Theo, and though I can’t make out her words, her tone is cheerful. But Theo shakes his head. His voice is low, agitated. I only catch the last thing he says before he lets the girl inside. “Make it fast, Eliza.”
Eliza.
Eliza as in E, as in his ex-girlfriend from England? I was wrong; she’s even prettier than I thought she would be. There’s no reason to be upset, yet I feel myself crumbling, like a cookie left in a pocket for too long. Like a paper full of mistakes.
Before I know it, I’m knocking on the guest house door.
What the hell am I doing?
I consider running, or maybe hiding behind some bushes. But that would be ridiculous. For all Theo knows, I’m completely unaware he has a visitor. He has no reason to think I’m prying.
The door opens, but it isn’t Theo who greets me. Eliza’s eyebrows fly to her hairline as she looks me over, reducing my self-esteem to the size of a tiny pebble. She’s gorgeous. Her eyes are a mixture of green and blue, and her hair is layered neatly, honey blond with hints of red. She’s slightly taller than me, and her lips are red as an apple. Eliza opens her mouth to say something, but Theo interrupts her from the other side of the room.
“Who is it?” he asks.
She presses her lips together, opening the door wider and revealing me to Theo. He’s wearing the most irritated expression I’ve ever seen. When he sees me, his face becomes slightly bewildered, like he can’t imagine why I would possibly come over at a time like this, and for some reason it makes me angry.
“So, this is the famous ex-girlfriend?” I blurt.
“Willow, what the bloody hell are you doing here?” Theo sighs. “And believe me, she’s the last person I was expecting.” He flashes his eyes at her.
Eliza scoffs. “Must I be the villain? I’m only here to deliver a message!” Her voice is high, accented the same way as Theo’s, and I become jealous all over again.
“Eliza,” Theo mutters. “Just go. Please.”
“Why?” she asks, genuinely puzzled. “Because of your lady friend?” Eliza gestures toward me.
Theo rubs a hand across his face. “Because what you told me doesn’t make a difference. You still slept with my father. You still mean nothing to me. And you still can’t take a hint that I don’t care to see you again, even on friendly terms.”
My mouth falls open as Eliza flinches. “Fine,” she says, sounding resigned, and I can’t help but feel a stab of sympathy. “I’ll see myself out. But please, Theo. Remember what I told you.”
Eliza waits, as if hoping for some sort of reaction from him, but he doesn’t give her one. She turns to me, a small smile on her lips. “By the way, you’re very pretty for a black girl,” she says. “You are African American, aren’t you?”
Though her tone is kind, I stiffen, unable to help but feel completely insulted. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Pretty for a black girl? As if I’m some sort of exception, and being black isn’t already beautiful on its own? “Yes, I am.” I don’t bother telling her I’m also half white, and instead say, “You’re pretty too. For a white girl.”
Theo chuckles, but my words don’t seem to have the same effect on her. She takes one last glance at me before opening the front door and shutting it firmly behind her.
Theo exhales deeply as soon as she’s gone, yet I feel anything but at ease. “What was that about?” I ask him.
Theo rubs his forehead. “Not now, Willow.”
“Why not?” I demand.
“Because,” Theo says. “I am not in the mood for a Willow Bates interrogation.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever that is.”
Theo sighs. “Fine. Go ahead. Ask me your most pressing question. I can see I’m getting nowhere telling you no.”
His words sting, but I consider my question carefully. “Was that true? What you said about her sleeping with your dad?”
“Yes,” Theo says darkly. “Can you understand why I might not want to discuss something like that?”
“Not really,” I say. “Unless you still have feelings for her.”
Theo gives me a withering look. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why else would it bother you so much that you can’t even talk about it?”
Theo steps closer to me. His eyes are blazing, though with what, I can’t discern. “I’m not hurt because of Eliza,” Theo says fiercely. “I was going to break it off with her anyway. What disturbs me is that my father would—as she said—buy sex, not to mention from a girl young enough to be his daughter. One dating his own son, to top it off.”
My face burns. “Oh my god. I didn’t know.” I touch Theo’s arm, hard beneath my fingers. To my surprise, he doesn’t pull away. “I’m so sorry, Theo.”
He stares at me, but his eyes are distant. To bring him back to the present, I ask, “Why were you going to break up with her before that? She seems nice enough, and she’s very pretty.” Despite the ugly, backhanded compliment she gave me.
Theo scoffs. “Her appearance is nothing to be jealous of and she’s the most twisted person I’ve ever met. Don’t let her fool you.”
“Of course I’m jealous.” The words are hard to admit, and I try to laugh as I say them.
Theo’s eyebrows pull together. “And why on earth would you be?” He searches my face. “You’re beautiful. Inside and out.”
My heart stutters, and I try with all my might not to look away from his gaze. “I still don’t understand why she was here in the first place.”
Theo’s eyes harden. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does,” I say. “What message did she have for you? Did it have to do with your dad?”
Theo groans. “Just drop it, Willow. Please.”
“Fine.” I let my anger flow freely. “Then I’m leaving. Maybe you should catch her before she’s gone and tell her to come back.” I spin on my heel, ready to leave, but I feel his hand on my elbow.
“That’s not fair, Willow,” he says.
I turn to face him. Half of me is angry that he’s right, bu
t the other half feels wronged that he’s keeping her message a secret. Things feel different between us now. As if two days ago, after he visited my grandma’s grave with me, some invisible barrier was broken. I have no grounds for jealousy—and yet it’s clinging to my blood and flowing through me with every passing second. “Why don’t you trust me enough to tell me?”
Theo pinches the bridge of his straight nose. “Will you please just leave it alone?”
“No!” I practically shout.
“Why not?” His face is close to mine now, his eyes demanding.
We’re both silent for a long moment. Why can’t I let it go? I don’t even know the answer. Maybe because if his dad is threatening him, I want to help. But it’s more than that. The fact that she was here—Eliza—and there’s a secret between her and Theo now that I’m not a part of makes me want to hurl something across the room.
I know the moment Theo somehow reads my thoughts in my expression, and I glance at the wall behind him briefly. He brings his hand up to my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes are still hard though the anger has melted away, replaced by something else. “Could it be,” he murmurs, “that you care for me more than you’d like to admit?”
My heart races as I stare at him, transfixed. The boy I once knew is still part of him but only a small portion of the man he’s become. The man who still treats me like an actual person, despite knowing the darkest corners of my mind.
A strand of Theo’s neat hair falls into his eyes, making him look even more devastating. We stare at each other for a moment. I know he’s waiting for me to answer.
Instead of saying anything, I grab Theo’s shirt in my fists and press my lips against his.
Instantly, he’s kissing me back and the feeling that courses through me is so unexpected, I hardly manage to stay upright. My knees threaten to buckle, and I lean into him for support. His hands grip my waist.
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