The Reality of Everything (Flight & Glory)

by Rebecca Yarros

I glanced at the tiny cassette recorder that rested on the counter next to the refrigerator and cringed.

  Tuesday had been brutal. Turned out that the base of complicated grief therapy was telling the story of Will’s death over and over…then listening to myself tell it every single day on that damned cassette player, only to record it again the following week and so on. It was supposed to lessen the emotional impact, which seemed rather like showering before a tsunami. Or, in my case, like the showering actually brought on the tsunami. I still sucked at the now visualize yourself putting the memory away, just like you’re putting away the tape recorder part of the instructions.

  “I don’t want to.” Instead, I poured another cup of coffee.

  “Right, and you know that I respect your choices, so I’ll give you one.” Sam hopped up onto the kitchen counter next to the tape recorder. “I can hit play on this one or the one I recorded on my phone before I realized we were using that slice of ancient technology.”

  That earned her a little side-eye.

  “Support person, remember? So we listen, and then you get to pick your reward!”

  “Already done.” I pointed to the hardback of Mrs. Dalloway that rested on the kitchen counter, my bookmark peeking from about midway through the novel.

  “Virginia Woolf is not a reward. She’s a homework assignment,” she challenged.

  “I happen to love Virginia Woolf. I’m actually about three quarters through all of her books, I’ll have you know, you giant math nerd.” I sent her a face that made her laugh.

  “Uh-huh.” She muttered something about English majors as she reached into the drawer to her left and pulled out pamphlets. “We’ve already done pedicures and the aquarium—”

  Someone knocked at the door. I tossed Sam a fake sorry face and ran for the foyer.

  “Dad has off today!” Finley exclaimed before I had the door fully open.

  “Does he?” I smiled down at her.

  “He does! And you’re coming with us!” She bounced on her toes.

  “I am?”

  “Wait, I’m supposed to ask you that.” Her forehead crinkled. “We’re going to the surf shop opening. Wanna come?” The light and hope in her eyes made it nearly impossible to deny her.

  “Sure, she does!” Sam answered for me, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. “Look, Morgan, your reward has appeared like magic!”

  My chest tightened.

  “Reward?” Finley asked.

  “Yep! Morgan has a quick chore to do, and then she’ll be right over!” Sam shot me a look that told me I hadn’t gotten out of the therapy assignment.

  “Okay! Miss Sam, do you wanna come, too?” Finley bounced again.

  “I would, but my husband is calling me in a couple of hours, so I need to stay by the reliable internet so I can see his pretty face.”

  Finley giggled and took off after I repeated Sam’s promise that I’d be over momentarily.

  “Jackson cannot be my reward.” I shook my head emphatically, crossing my arms.

  “Well, I said Finley was your reward, and Jackson can be whatever you want him to be. Or were we sitting in different sessions of therapy when Doc said to explore new relationships?” She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow.

  “I don’t think she meant Jackson!”

  “Oh. Right. She meant every other person on the planet with the exception of Jackson Montgomery. My bad.” She sent me a look that said I was full of shit.

  My phone rang as we walked back to the kitchen. Paisley. Just seeing her name on the caller ID made my stomach plummet.

  “What are you going to do about that?” Sam asked.

  “I’ll just hurt her if I answer it.”

  “You might be hurting her more by wearing out the decline button,” she observed, then turned toward the refrigerator and pulled out one of the dozens of coffee creamers I’d stockpiled for her. “She’ll understand if you’re honest with her, and Doc said it was okay to ask her for space until you’re further along in your treatment, right?”

  Right.

  The fourth ring sounded, and my thumb hit the green button instead of the red. Oh holy hell. What could I possibly say to her?

  “Hey, Paisley.” Good start.

  “Morgan? You actually answered!” Her voice was a mix of relief, wonder, and worry.

  Yup, I was a bitch.

  “Yeah.” It was all I could get out as anxiety dug her scaly claws in me, tightening my throat. How could I be out of words for the one person who had learned them with me in the first place?

  “How are you? Where are you? I called your mama, but she said you moved and if you wanted to tell me what was going on, you would. Then she said I’m supposed to convince you to go back home.”

  A small laugh burst through the lump in my throat.

  “Yeah, she’s been on my case.”

  “Hold on a sec.” She was quiet for a few moments. “Sorry, had to grab the baby monitor. Peyton decided to take a morning nap, and I didn’t want to drop the phone on the hardwood and wake him up. Done that before. Never again.”

  “Of course.” I forced a smile, like she could see me. Peyton Carter Bateman. Her son was named after Will and her sister, Peyton. Because in her mind—hell in everyone’s—Will had always been Peyton’s to love. Paisley’s to grieve.

  Never mine.

  That sick feeling I’d done everything to avoid slapped me in the face, and I felt a rending in my heart, the meticulous stitches I’d been sewing since I got here popping one by one, ripping chunks of my soul out to bleed anew.

  “So, where did you move to? What’s going on?” She sighed. “This hurts something awful—the rift I can feel between us—and I don’t know what I did, or what I can do to fix it.”

  “I’m fine. We’re fine,” I lied.

  “We’re not! You haven’t picked up a single one of my calls since Sam’s wedding, and that was three months ago, so don’t tell me that nothing is wrong, because I can’t remember the last time we went three months without speaking.”

  I could. It was after Will’s funeral, but I wasn’t about to go there. Lies. Fake smiles. I was so sick of it all. She was my best and oldest friend. I could do this. I could ask her for what I needed, but it was impossible not to hurt her in the process.

  “I bought a beach house in Cape Hatteras. It’s a wreck, but so am I, so we fit rather nicely. Will—” My throat tightened, and I reached for my coffee, taking a quick swallow before starting again. “He left me a secondary life insurance policy and his truck, among some other things.”

  Her indrawn breath—just shy of a gasp—made me pause.

  “I…I didn’t know he did that.”

  “Yeah, well, you didn’t know everything.” The little sarcastic laugh flew past my lips before I could stop it. This was going to go to shit if I couldn’t rein in my mouth.

  “I never thought I did,” she said softly. “You know, Cape Hatteras is only a drive away—”

  My anxiety hit the panic button.

  “Paisley, I love you, but I need some time and space. I have a therapist, and Sam’s staying until I complete this program. Please understand. I’m so glad that you called—”

  “Program? Are you in rehab?”

  “No.” I let a self-deprecating laugh slip. “Nothing like that.”

  “Wait, you have Sam there?”

  Shit. Now I’d gone and hurt her feelings, which was the opposite of my intention.

  “The therapy I’m going through is for something called complicated grief, and as much as it hurts you to hear this, you are a giant trigger for me.” Just talking to her had the vise tightening around my throat.

  “I am?” Her breath left in a rush.

  “Yeah, and the treatment requires a support person. That’s why Sam is here.”

  Sam gave me a
reassuring smile.

  “Are you okay? I didn’t even know you were struggling. We’ve never kept secrets from each other,” Paisley murmured.

  “I kept one from you,” I corrected her. “Remember?”

  She paused, and I could almost see the gears turning in her head, the way her green eyes would shift side to side when she was trying to work something out.

  “Will,” she said softly.

  “Will,” I confirmed. I’d never told her I loved him when it could have mattered. I didn’t tell her until she’d decided she didn’t want him anymore, and even then, it had been by accident. I’d never wanted to hurt her.

  “Complicated grief…is it over Will?” she asked. “Honey, if this is about him, why can’t you talk to me? No one knew him better, or knows you better—”

  “Oh, stop it!” I snapped. That facade I’d maintained around Paisley since he’d died—hell, since I’d fallen for him—shattered like glass. I was done having my feelings marginalized or being talked to like I’d been some fifth grader with a crush.

  The line fell quiet, taut with tension and more than a little apprehension.

  “I’m a trigger,” she said slowly.

  My stomach sank at the heartbreak in her voice.

  “You’re a trigger, and my best friend, which makes this really, painfully hard.” I sagged against the counter.

  “So…” She sighed. “So you need me to leave you alone. Stop calling. That kind of thing?” Her voice broke.

  I felt the telltale burning in my eyes and blinked back tears. “Not forever, but for now, yes.”

  “Okay. I can give you time.”

  “I know. That’s why I love you.” My face crumpled, wishing we were back in our kitchen in Enterprise, snacking on popcorn and M&M’s. Wishing our worlds hadn’t been torn so completely apart that we couldn’t find each other…yet.

  “Call when you’re ready. Can I talk to Sam for a second?” Her voice broke.

  “Sure.” I handed the phone to Sam, and she started nodding.

  “Yeah, I’ve got her,” she promised, crossing from the kitchen to the living room.

  I sucked in a deep breath and hit play on the tape recorder. May as well go through all the pain at once.

  “Okay, Morgan. Can you take me back to the moment you experienced Will’s death?” Dr. Circe’s voice came through the speaker.

  I braced my hands on the counter, steadying myself for the impact of everything that was going to follow on that damned tape.

  “I’m in the grocery store, picking out a jar of jam, and my phone rings. It’s Sam.”

  …

  We left the windows down as we drove up the coast toward Waves and Rodanthe Beach. The miles between Hatteras and Waves were filled with unpopulated beaches, the strip of island so narrow at times it felt like I could touch the Atlantic with one hand and the sound with the other.

  Jackson’s Land Cruiser reminded me of his house—pristine in the front seats, where he was in charge, and perfectly cluttered in the backseat, where Finley reigned.

  Banners’ Riot blared though the speakers, and with Fin singing at the top of her lungs from behind us and Jackson grinning when she got the words wrong, my heart lightened. This was the best reward I could have given myself after listening to the tape. Sure, maybe it had been a week since I’d been this close to Jackson, but I refused to bring that fact into the reward equation. But every time I looked his way, my pulse jumped at the memory of having his mouth inches from mine.

  We reached Waves and fell in with a small line of traffic headed for the beach access.

  Finley blew hard, moving some of her curls out of her face. “It’s all tangly.”

  Jackson met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Then you should have let me pull it up before we left.”

  “I didn’t want you to then,” she stated like it was the simplest truth in the world.

  “Do you want me to now?”

  We pulled into a parking lot that was already three-quarters full and parked.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I brought a brush and a hair tie, huh?”

  She nodded with a little twist of her puckered lips.

  We got out of the car, and I sprayed on sunscreen, then hauled my beach bag over my shoulder. The temp had spiked again, bringing us an eighty-degree day.

  “Fin, do you need some sunscreen?” I asked, coming around the back of the car.

  “Yes, please,” she answered.

  My breath caught stupidly at the sight of Jackson working a spray into her hair and then brushing the curls into a high ponytail. It was something so domestic, not in the least bit sexy, but that primal piece of DNA we couldn’t seem to wipe out with thousands of years of evolution sat up and took notice.

  Okay, I could admit it: being a good father was insanely attractive on a molecular level.

  Shut up, ovaries.

  “All done,” Jackson declared.

  Finley spun as he bent down, placing a kiss on his cheek in a motion so perfectly timed that it had to be routine. My belly clenched.

  There had to be something wrong with this man somewhere. Anywhere. Maybe he squeezed the toothpaste from the center of the tube like a monster or something.

  “Okay, what’s first for you ladies? Kiteboarding? Surfing?” Jackson curved the brim of his baseball hat.

  Never mind, that was what was wrong with him. Wasn’t there an activity that didn’t require I fall on my ass in the middle of the ocean? Or something with a motor? I’d never been more aware of my indoor-girl status.

  “Shirts!” Finley decided.

  “Well, shirts it is,” Jackson said, taking her hand in his.

  For a split second, I pictured him offering me his other hand.

  Because clearly, I’d gone crazy.

  “Come on, Fin, let’s show Morgan how we locals open the surf shop for the season.”

  “It’s Hawkins Day!” Fin held up her free hand, and I took it.

  “It is?” I asked.

  “Mary Ann Hawkins was one of the first women’s surfing champions. It’s basically a day where you can learn about the ocean and all the fun stuff you can do in it. There are instructors for just about anything you might want to try,” Jackson explained as the three of us walked down the path to the beach, where hundreds of people were already celebrating, and it seemed like it was about 90 percent women.

  “It’s a girl thing,” Finley confirmed.

  Jackson met my gaze and shrugged. “I’m here in a purely observational capacity, just like last year.”

  A woman crossed in front of us in a swimsuit that wasn’t hiding much.

  “I bet you are,” I drawled slowly.

  He flashed me a grin.

  “Jax!” A tall brunette with chin-length hair waved her hands in the air as she ran our way. Holy crap, I could barely run on a treadmill, and this woman hit the beach like it was pavement.

  Wait. Was Jackson seeing someone? We’d never had that conversation. He would have said something, though…right? My stomach sank.

  “Miss Tina!” Finley let go of our hands and hugged the woman.

  “Hey, Christina.” Jackson greeted her with a hug, too.

  “You must be Morgan,” Christina said with a bright, open smile and sparkling brown eyes.

  “I am,” I said, then partially froze as she hugged me.

  “I’m so happy to meet you!” she said, stepping back and doing a quick but open appraisal of me. “These two talk about you all the time.”

  “We’re going to make shirts!” Finley declared.

  “How fun!” Christina turned to Jackson. “You take Finley, and I’ll take Morgan. We’re going to do beach yoga.”

  “We are?” Yoga pants were something I was intimately acquainted with. Yoga
itself? Not so much.

  “We are!” She nodded enthusiastically.

  Oh God, she was one of those workout people. The ones who declared that exercise healed everything and posted their fourteen CrossFit workouts on Instagram.

  We were so not going to be friends.

  “Okay, you guys have a good time. Morgan, why don’t you meet us over by the surfing lessons when you’re done?” He pointed to an area of the beach and walked off with Finley before I could protest.

  Of all the inconsiderate—

  “So, I’ve decided we’re going to be friends,” Christina said, tilting her head.

  “Um. Okay?” What the heck did you say to that?

  “I mean, Jax decided we should be friends, but now that I’ve met you, I agree. And Fin likes you. She’s super picky with people, so I know you’re a good one. I already grabbed you a mat, so we’re all set up for yoga. And where are my manners? You must think I’m nuts.”

  A little.

  “So, Jax and my husband, Peter, work together.”

  “They do?” My nausea vanished at the word “husband,” not that I should have cared.

  “Yep! Jax said you were new in town and might need someone besides his emotionally unavailable butt to talk to. So he stopped by my jewelry store to grab Finley and mentioned Hawkins Day, and I thought what’s more perfect than getting to know someone while you’re in crazy positions with your asses in the air?”

  I couldn’t stop the laugh that tumbled past my lips. This woman was sunshine, radiating her happiness.

  It couldn’t hurt to let it rub off on me.

  That’s when it hit me. She’d already grabbed me a yoga mat. Jackson hadn’t walked off because he was inconsiderate.

  “Oh my God. Jackson set us up on a blind friendship date. That’s what’s going on here.”

  “Pretty much,” she admitted with a little shrug. “Yoga’s this way.” She led me to a section of the beach where women stood chatting on mats lined up in rows. The women were all different shapes, sizes, and ethnicities, but all had a variation of the same smile.

  Wait. Did happy people do yoga, or did yoga make people happy? Or maybe it was just the open, adventurous spirit of the day.

  How long has it been since you laughed and smiled like that?