"What?"
She repeated herself. Then shouted the rest of the story of my birth at me. Then she proceeded to cry and attend to her husband, mumbling to him that everything was going to be okay. Tiffany still stood at the door, watching me with a mixture of pity, pain, and horror.
"Get out of here." I jerked my chin at Tiffany. "Now."
"But, Dean … "
"OUT!" I yelled, pointing in the direction where the front door was. "I fucking mean it. It's over."
And it was. Every single thing about this part of my life was done.
I got on a plane back home the next day and never set foot in Alabama again. As far as I was concerned, the state ceased to exist on the U.S. map.
The fun-loving, happy guy I was died there, too.
And I was present at his funeral. It took place every single fucking day from that point forward.
In my mind.
What makes you feel alive?
Watching the trees flash by, the ocean sparkles, the world spinning around me like a ballroom dress. Knowing I'm a part of it. Accepting that not being a part of it is life, too.
I SAT IN THE BACK of the taxi on my way to the Hamptons, creating a sick playlist for our stay. Romantic, fluffy stuff I wanted us to listen to while we made dinner and love and unforgettable memories.
It was a big day for Dean, and as the gray sky darkened over the shore, I wondered if the weather symbolized how it was going to turn out for him. It was raining hard. I was covered in four layers. Two of them coats. I brought all of my medicine and nebulizer with me in a shoulder bag that weighed no less than I did. Truth was, I wasn't feeling my best. But Dean booked us a Friday-to-Friday week in the Hamptons, and I so badly wanted to make him happy, now more than ever.
He was going to resolve a thirty-year mystery. He sure paid a lot to do it. I was going to be there for him, in every sense of the word, even if I had to endure a little physical discomfort.
"It's raining pretty bad out," the driver noted, pointing at the windshield wipers. They moved furiously across the windshield. The rain knocked on the roof like it was trying to break it.
"It is," I agreed. "Sorry you have to drive all the way back to New York all by yourself. It's probably a hassle."
"Pffft," the old man hooted. "Don't feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for the homeless. For the crazy joggers out there. Cyclists. People who actually have to stand out in the rain."
"I feel bad for them, too," I said. "Other than the joggers. No one made them go out in this weather." We passed by a man in a bright yellow rubber coat who ran on the shoulder of the road.
Dean was supposed to be at the house we had rented by now. I texted him earlier to ask if he would be there by seven, and he said yes. It was already a quarter to eight. I hoped the reason I hadn't heard from him since was because he had a good, long meeting with his biological dad. I hoped that it meant that they were trying to reconnect. I hoped a lot of things, but I tried not to push him by calling and texting too much.
Still, I was worried, so I took out my phone and typed.
Rosie
Almost there. Getting excited to spend all week together. How did it go?
Dean didn't answer. The taxi parked in front of a Sheffer-designed, single-clad property boasting a front garden that would put the Palace of Versailles to shame. It didn't escape me that the house was surrounded by greenery, woods, and nothing else. No neighboring houses. No stores. Just the two of us in this huge space. The driver, a plump man in his sixties, poured himself out of the vehicle, jogged to the back, and pulled out my suitcase from the trunk. He then helped me with my nebulizer bag. I ran all the way to the front door, shielding my eyes from the rain, and pushed the doorbell a few times. Twisting my head back, I waved at the taxi driver.
"Have a great weekend!" I called out to him, out of breath. Damn lungs.
"You too, sweetheart." He sat there for a few more seconds. I waved him off again. There was no need for him to sit there in the cold and wait for me. He finally drove away.
I rang the doorbell again. Nothing.
I fished my phone out and called Dean. The wind from the shore almost swept me all the way to the other side of the street and the frost trickled into my inner organs. No answer. I called three more times, then texted him.
Rosie
Sirius to Earth, where are you? I'm outside, waiting.
Rosie
Okay, it's really cold, and it's been ten minutes since I got here. I'm going to call a taxi and wait for you at a café downtown.