“In the dream, I cry and I yell and my heart tries to rip from my chest. Why would I want to live that?”
“But you are living it, Essie, every night.” Her thoughts mimic my own, so why do they irritate me so much? “You might as well get it over with.”
Cytha has no idea what she’s talking about—I think to myself for the two hundredth time. I push open The Bookcase door and sing in time with the bell’s jingle. I’m so grateful I don’t have to push through work to get to the point where either Danny or Marley says—go on up today. I’ve literally run up the stairs to see Finn the past few days, unable to hide my anxiousness after being in the store for hours without him. But today is my day off.
I walk in, a bounce in my step, but freeze only three steps in. Finn sits at the bottom of the staircase, his portable oxygen tank strapped to his back and a book in his hands. He’s paler than normal, but he looks good.
“Finn,” I say with a ridiculous amount of giddiness in my tone.
He stands and steps down to the main floor. Despite the fact that Marley stands just feet away, I can’t stop myself from launching at him. I throw my arms around his middle and hug him, blinking back the tears that think they should be on call at every second of every hour these days.
He grunts out a laugh with my squeeze. “Wanna take me for a drive?”
“Yes, let’s go.”
“Finn,” Marley speaks in a wary tone, “I don’t know, sweetie. Today should probably be a take it easy day.”
He steps over to her, his eyes creasing. “I’m going to sit in a car. Maybe if I feel like it, I’ll walk around a little. Nothing strenuous, I promise.”
There’s no bark or bite to his tone and maybe that’s what makes Marley give in so easily. He kisses her cheek and I follow after him, giving Marley the type of hug that she has given to me so many times before. She strokes her hand down my shoulder once before dropping it to her side and waving us off.
We drive for an hour. Finn shows me every corner of town while I play him every go to song in my playlists. We end up at his favorite taco stand and a view of the mountains I haven’t seen yet.
We sit on the trunk of my car, eating fish tacos, and talking about life and about nothing at all. We started with the If I game, but it’s transformed into more of a conversation.
“But if you had to choose between soccer and art.”
“Art.” I moan. “I love soccer, but I’m not great at it—just semi-good.”
“So, what if you were outstanding?” He takes another bite, downing what’s left of his second taco.
I shrug, my mouth full. “I don’t know,” I say, my fingers covering my mouth.
He tilts his head in a glare—wanting more of an answer than that. “Okay, so what’s your biggest If I.”
I lay back, leaning against the slanted rear window of my car.
“Come on, you know.”
I do know. I’ve known since the day Cytha and I made up this game.
Another mock glare from Finn. “Let’s look at the tallie’s. Shall we?”
“The what?” My left brow quirks up.
“Finn’s vulnerability to Esther’s.” Finn holds up one finger, dotting the air like he’s counting marks. “Yep, that’s what I thought—Finn has seventeen thousand to Esther’s four.”
“I was about crushed under a giant statue in front of you! That isn’t vulnerable enough for you?”
“Correction—you absolutely would have been crushed by a giant statue were it not for me. Doesn’t count.”
I giggle, but shake my head. “It does count.”
“I blacked out in front of you—and your family.”
“Hey, that one is a point for me, too.” I sit up, looking him in the eye.
“How?” he barks. “No, it isn’t. I can continue though. I lay in bed for days—”
I mark one of his invisible tally’s with my finger. “With no pants on.”
“Right—very vulnerable—with no pants on—”
I press my lips together, holding in the laugh that wants to break free. “Thank goodness for your blanket.”
“Yes, it’s a good thing I had that or I’d be at a whole other level than you.”
“I kissed you first!” I say, attempting to earn myself a point or two, but the declaration only warms my cheeks with an uncomfortable heat.
“I kissed you sporting this,” he tugs on the oxygen tubing around his ears. “Not to mention I wear it every single day.”
“Fine,” I roll my neck back, “you win. Happy?”
“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m right.” He points at me. “Your turn. Your biggest If I.”
“Fine, you asked for it. We could have had a pleasant day.” I glare at him, but there’s too much humor in my face for it to be effective. I lean back again, not really wanting to look at him. I focus on the clear blue sky with only a few puffs of clouds in the far distance. Soon, those clouds will roll behind the hills and be completely out of sight. “I’ve always wondered, if I could have been raised by my mother, would I be different? I mean, I like who I am, but she only would have made me better, right?”
His voice is soft and I can feel his gaze on me. “I don’t know how you could be any better.”
I roll my eyes, but my lips tug up into a grin. “The point is, I’d be different. And sometimes,” a lot of the time, “I wonder how.”
He doesn’t deny that I would be—and I’m grateful for that. I need someone else to acknowledge that truth. He slides from the back of my little red Chevy and holds a hand out to me. “Let’s go buy some paint.”
“Really?” My brows perk up. He’s denied my offer all week, insisting he likes his navy cave of a room.
“Hurry, before I change my mind.”
I grapple at his fingers with my own and slide from the metal of the car. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”
I walk Finn through Sherwin-Williams, pointing out colors I’ve seen him wear or that make me think of him. He’s given me a “meh” to all so far.
“You can’t agree to this and then grunt at every color I show you. You have to have some trust in your designer.”
He sighs, but he’s teasing me more than frustrated. “And my designer needs to understand her customer. I like black.”
I roll my neck back and groan. “We are not painting your room black. It’s already navy—you want to go darker?”
He lifts one shoulder in answer. We stand so close and his arm brushing mine is like a shock wave—I could never deny its presence.
“These are the colors we used in Angelo’s room.” I point out the different greens and browns from Angelo’s mural.
He scrunches his nose.
“Okay, no green, no brown.”
“I liked it in Angelo’s room—just not for me.”
I scroll my finger along the color swatches. “We could stick with blue, just go lighter.”
“We’re not painting my room blue, it’s already blue,” he says, an exasperated smile on his face. I know he’s mocking me after he suggested black, but I don’t care.