Page 88 of Lovingly Restored

Berg relinquishes it to Chris, the AUX cord stretching to the back seat.

“Okay, we could do ‘She Fucking Hates Me’or‘We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together’or, this is a good one, ‘Since U Been Gone’.”

“Why are we friends?” I ask.

We looked at three potential spaces, none of which worked. I drive toward town full of defeat. The guys finally shut up, and Chris chooses something mellow, but my mind is busy replaying what Berg said. It’s an echo of Mummo’s last words. Our last scattered conversations were hard to follow. She mentioned Ashlyn, Pappa, the garden, all the things she loved. But there was also mention of apologies. At first, I wondered what my grandmother could possibly have to atone for, but then I figured she was talking about me. By the time she started talking about lawyers, which greatly agitated my father, I didn’t have a clue what she meant. My phone chimes a few times.

“Um, Isaac? You’ve got a few messages here.”

“That’s fine. Just put it on silent. I’ll get to them later,” I tell him.

I watch Dean lean toward Chris in the rearview mirror.

“You probably want to take a look at this now.”

“Oh, for the love of God.” I pull over on the shoulder of the highway and reach back for my phone.

There are texts and emails and missed calls. I’m not sure what to open first. The texts are from my father and feature a lot of caps locks and expletives, and those can be dealt with later. I don’t recognize the phone numbers, so I pull open an email while Dean and Chris whisper together in the back seat. The message is from a lawyer I’m not familiar with. Everything about the email looks legitimate. If I’m understanding what I’m reading…then my wildest dreams have just come true. I turn in my seat, and everyone in the truck is looking at me carefully, waiting for a reaction. I punch Berg in the shoulder, and a high-pitched yelp erupts from my throat. A grin splits my face, then I’m pulling a U-turn in rush hour traffic. My heart is in my throat as I process what I’ve just learned.

Mummo’s house.

Mine.

Dean claps me on the shoulder. “Home is the other way.”

“I know, I know. But we have another stop to make first.”

I pull into Ashlyn’s favourite huge garden centre a few minutes later. This time, instead of a grandmother and a nurse, I have my best friends with me.

“You guys ever heard of Backyard Shakeup?”

Chapter thirty

Ashlyn

“Wow…Ilikewhatyou’ve done with the place,” Anna says, picking her way through the piles of laundry and take-out containers on my bedroom floor. I’ve been dodging her for a few days, but she bullied her way into my neglected apartment.

I cover my face in shame. “I can’t look at it. Who even am I?”

“You’re still in there… somewhere.”

I’m working my way through cleaning my depression den. It’s not as bad as it was a couple days ago. My first day off was completely designated for crying and eating what I promised was my last box of cereal. Each day I’m finding more strength.

“Do you still want to go out with me? We could just…clean.” Anna nudges a potted plant that’s been rotting with me in the dark.

After leaving Isaac, I allowed myself a decent period of heartbreak. I thought I did a decent job of keeping it together. I exercised, I worked, I cried…a lot. Each hour I swung between wanting to run back into his arms and wanting to slash his truck tires. The normal stuff. After I got the word Mummo died? That broke me. Isaac had left a voicemail in the middle of the night, and the utter pain in his voice did me in. Was Isaac alone in his grief? Who would comfort him? Certainly not his father. I rub my chest, another rock stacking on top of the shame pile. Are ribs even strong enough to hold up to this type of pressure? We didn’t talk about heartbreak in nursing school. Anna rips open my bedroom curtains, and the light hurts my retinas more than is reasonable.

“I don’t want to cancel. It’s time to get out there.”

“Good. Get in the shower. I’m going to pick your outfit then I’ll blow out your hair for you. We’re getting mani-pedis and having a meal together…” she nudges an empty pizza box, “a meal that includes at least two vegetables.”

“Pizza has vegetables.”

She narrows her eyes. “We both know that was an extra cheese pizza.”

After a full day out with my cousin, it’s apparent I have more in common with flora than I thought. Some sunlight, some water, and I’m almost myself. Anna drives us along the oceanfront. Rollerbladers whizz by on a walking path, kites tug on their strings, and the seaweed scent of retreating tide floats in the open windows.

“It’s so beautiful,” I say, the briny June air blowing my waves against my lip gloss.

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