Page 95 of Her Pretty Words

“And that part of you, the one that’s trying to protect you, how old does it think you are?”

I feel my teeth grind, my chest skipping a beat when I realize the answer to her question. “It thinks I’m a child.”

“That’s what I thought. I want you to close your eyes and show that part of you how old you are now, and everything you’ve accomplished as a twenty-three-year-old.”

I think of the job I have, and how hard I worked to buy my house. I think of Macy and how lucky I am to have found her again. I feel myself tear up.

“I want you to thank that part. It served to protect you when you needed it, but now let’s ask it if it’s willing to let up now. Is it?”

“Yes,” I say after a moment.

“Good,” she smiles. “How does that feel?”

Like the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders. “It feels pretty relieving,” I say. Something sprouts in my chest. It feels like the beginning of hope, and I think if I continue to water it, it will grow into something beautiful. I vow to always put in the work, even when it’s hard, because I want to see it flower.

So, when Linda asks if I want her to block me in for every Monday and Thursday at nine a.m., I say yes.

Chapter 36

Macy

Ibrush the baby hairs off my sweaty forehead, looking around the space that’s cluttered with boxes. I open my old closet and tackle the last bit of packing I have left. I grab shirts off their hangers and fill my suitcases when I notice a small jewelry box in the back of my closet. I kneel down, forgetting the countless items of clothes I still need to handle. I run my finger over the rhinestones and gently lift the lid. There’s a purple and teal beaded bracelet, and my hand lifts to my mouth in recognition. Delilah made this for me.

I slide it on my wrist, along with the one Grayson made. I stare at the beads she once touched, that she crafted just for me. And then something snags my attention. A photo I hadn’t noticed lies in the box. Young Grayson has his arm wrapped around a much smaller version of me. We have matching grins on our faces. I flip it over and see my grandma’s cursive handwriting.

Macy and Daniel

2006

I find another photo beneath it. The both of us are a blur on the beach as he chases me. On the back, my grandma wrote:

It’s only a matter of years until these two-start dating. Young love is so precious. I’m rooting for them.

I tuck the pictures back in the jewelry box, imagining her cheeky smile and the scent of her perfume that accompanied all her hugs.

The dreadful feeling I’ve grown familiar with fills my chest when I think about the day my grandpa died. She was all alone, and then she passed away the next day from the heartbreak, with no one there to hold her hand.

Chapter 37

Grayson

Three Years Ago

Red and blue color my walls, bringing me back to the worst day of my life. I slowly set my burger in the Styrofoam takeout box, my heart beating loudly in my ears as I make my way to the window.

There’s a police car parked in the driveway of Macy’s grandparent’s house. I swallow bile and step into my shoes, moments from retching at the sight outside. Macy’s grandma repeatedly shakes her head. Her face is the perfect image of horrific as she digests whatever it is that the police say to her. Before I can think twice, my feet carry me to the old woman. She doesn’t seem to notice me at first, standing only three feet from her and the man in uniform.

“Are you a family member?” he asks. The woman who used to greet me with warm hugs finally meets my gaze. Her face has fifteen years of new wrinkles, but the most prominent are the ones bracketing her mouth, and the crows’ feet surrounding her distressed eyes.

I don’t take my eyes off her when I answer. “I’m a family friend. What’s going on?”

The officer pulls me a distance away from her. “Mr. Brookes was killed in a car accident,” he says stoically, a total contrast tothe woman who handed me the news of my tragedy fifteen years ago.

“What do you mean? Is he at the hospital?”

He clears his throat. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but there wasn’t much left of him for the EMTs to bring to the hospital.”

It happens. I throw up all over the man’s shoes at the image he so graphically describes. “Shit. I’m so sorr?—”

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