Page 23 of Our Ruined Beginnings

Nope. Just thought of one. The many different ways I’ve heard him say Lily—literally hundreds of times—ring in my head, and I will the sadness to not consume me. I’ll never hear it from him again without that bitter tone.

Grief is an unexplainable thing. It can pound you down until you’re barely able to function. But it can also linger in the background until you’re lulled into a false sense of security and then pounce, knocking the breath out of you. When you don’t have your defenses up, it seems to slice so much deeper.

With Caleb, the grief is constant—a gaping wound, an absence where he used to be. He’s not here, and it was me who caused that. That’s something I’ll have to deal with every day. My mind won’t let me forget. Not ever.

With Madden, it’s different.

It’s like I can’t accept it’s real, and tiny little things remind me that I lost him too. Things that were ingrained in my daily life, but now, I have to keep registering that they will never happen again.

Lily.

“Harper, seriously,” Kinsley says with slightly more urgency, and I blink out of my memories, turning to her with a rigid smile on my face.

“Yeah? Sorry, got lost in my head for a second. I’m good.”

“Okay,” she replies hesitantly, not fully believing me, but she lets it drop. “Let’s pay for this, then we can put it in the car before we go to Nordstrom.”

I take one last painful glance at the delicately sewn lilies before following her toward the tills.

The store is growing busier now midday is drawing in, but thankfully, there’s only a short queue—I’m not sure how long my arms will hold out. Kinsley chatters about not much as we wait. I think it’s to keep me present, and my heart swells with appreciation for her. At least I have one true friend left, and if I was going to have anyone, she’s an incredible one to have. The cashier welcomes us as the person in front takes their purchases, and I greet her with a smile as I place my own onto the till. I let Kinsley’s musings wash over me reassuringly while the total rises and everything is bagged, and I don’t even register my final spend.

My card is already halfway back into my purse by the time the cashier points out that the transaction didn’t go through, but I think nothing of it, absentmindedly pulling it back out to swipe again. She shakes her head awkwardly as the machine gives out a second harsh beep.

“Let me try the PIN,” I say, waiting for the machine to light up and tell me to insert it, but the dreaded message comes up after I’ve tapped in my four digits.Declined. “What the hell?” I murmur, heat creeping up my neck as I remember the queue behind me. I don’t even have another card to try—I’ve never needed one—and I can’t bear the embarrassment of having to walk away from the cashier empty handed.

“Here, try mine,” Kinsley says, swiping her card quickly. The distinct beep of approval rings loud and clear, and my shoulders sag minutely in relief.

“Thanks, Kins. I’ll get it back to you as soon as I’ve called my dad.” As I say the words, dread fills my stomach, and I realize that’s what I’m going to have to do. Sooner rather than later if we want to continue this shopping trip.

“Don’t worry about it,” she replies, as the cashier hands over my bags. “Just wear that cute crop tomorrow afternoon.”

“What’s tomorrow afternoon?” I call after her, but she conveniently changes the subject, and I let it drop.

As we walk to the parking lot, I try to remember the last time I used my card. Kinsley and I usually switch out paying for things instead of reimbursing half, and we’re pretty casual with it, so it hadn’t even occurred to me that she’d done the coffees and breakfast. I would’ve got dinner—that’s just the way it’s always been. But had I used it yesterday? I’d definitely bought some bits last weekend to replace my immediate necessities after the room trashing, but did I pay for lunch yesterday? I can’t even remember.

Shoving my bags into the trunk, I close it gently before leaning back against it with a sigh as I pull my phone out of my pocket.

Kinsley absentmindedly fiddles with her own, offering me some semblance of privacy, but I don’t mind her hearing. She knows the majority of the shit my father pulls.

I click on his name and feel my palms go clammy, my heart rate increasing with each ring. I haven’t seen my father since the moment he pulled the rug of comforting depression out from under my feet, and I haven’t spoken to him since I left Arizona.

“Yes?” he demands as he answers, sending a jolt of anxiety through me at his tone. Stupid, really—it’s not like I was expecting anything else. “Harper?” he barks when I haven’t responded quickly enough for him.

“Hi, Dad,” I say, and cringe at the way I sound, like a four-year-old nervous for approval. He’s always had this effect on me. It was easier to ignore his derision when I didn’t also think the worst of myself. “I’m at the mall but my card is being declined.”

“And?”

“AndI wondered if there had been an issue or something?” My card has never declined before, not once.

“There’s no issue,” is all I get down the phone, and the abrupt answer stuns me for a second.

“Okay, so … why won’t it work?”

“It won’t work because I cut it off, Harper. I don’t know how you expect to live off what’s left of this family after you decimated it.” My blood runs cold. “We’re all having to deal with the consequences of your actions, even if you canconvenientlyforget that as you shop for frivolous tat. The time to fend for yourself is now, Harper.”

The line goes dead, but I don’t move. I can’t.

Static fills my brain so fully that I don’t even wonder why he’s only just cut it off now, or how he’s expecting me to survive for the next few months, or why he didn’t give me any warning about how I no longer have a penny to my name—I only think about the shame roiling in my gut.

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