Page 37 of One Night in Glasgow
The street bustled with an energy that was pure New York. I decided the subway was the quickest way to see the city. I’d navigated the London Underground; how hard could this be?
Turns out, very hard. I gawked at the subway map like it was alien hieroglyphics. It was like someone had vomited arainbow spaghetti dinner onto paper and called it a transit system. “Fuck it,” I muttered, picking a random train that sounded vaguely familiar.
Three transfers and an hour later, I realized I was hopelessly lost. I trudged up the station stairs and emerged into a quiet, leafy neighborhood that was definitely not the Brooklyn I’d left. As I wandered, trying to get my bearings, I stumbled upon a small park where a group of people were tending to raised garden beds.
“Hey there!” A cheerful woman waved at me. “You must be our new volunteer!”
Before I could correct her, she’d thrust a trowel into my hand. “We’re planting tomatoes today. Just dig a little hole, pop the seedling in. Easy peasy!”
I looked down at my designer slacks and silk blouse, then at the dirt, then back at the woman’s expectant smile. Every instinct told me to say no. But I was tired of saying no, tired of running. For some reason, I just nodded. In for a penny, in for a pound. I knelt, the expensive fabric of my trousers protesting as I dug the trowel into the cool, dark earth.
It wasn’t long before I broke a nail. The woman next to me, an older lady with silver hair and kind eyes, chuckled. “First time gardening?”
“Is it that obvious?” I asked, feeling my cheeks flush.
“Only a little,” she laughed. “I’m Margaret.”
“Beth,” I replied, wiping my dirty hand on my now-ruined pants before shaking hers.
We worked, and the repetitive motion of digging and planting began to quiet the noise in my head. The stress I’d been carrying started to ease.
“So, Beth,” Margaret said after a while. “What brings you to our little garden today? You’re not exactly dressed for it.”
Something about her kind face made me want to be honest. “I… I’ve made some bad choices lately,” I admitted, focusing on the tomato seedling in my hands. “Screwed up my life pretty thoroughly back home. Came to New York for a fresh start.”
Margaret nodded. “Sometimes we need to uproot ourselves to grow,” she said softly. “Just like these tomatoes.”
I laughed, surprised by how good it felt. “I suppose you’re right. Though I feel more like I’ve been tossed into unfamiliar soil and told to grow or die.”
“That’s not always a bad thing,” Margaret mused. “Sometimes the most beautiful flowers grow in the most unlikely places.”
I spent hours in that garden, my clothes ruined, my back aching. But I felt… good. The ache in my muscles felt clean, earned, a world away from the soul-crushing exhaustion of a hangover. This chaotic, unexpected day felt more meaningful than a hundred nights spent chasing a high in a Glasgow club.
After navigating the subway back to Brooklyn, I faced my final challenge: the Murphy bed. I glared at the wall. After a ten-minute battle of pulling, yanking, and some creative cursing, the damn thing crashed down.
I collapsed onto the mattress, laughing at the absurdity of it all. Here I was, Elisabeth MacLeod, covered in dirt, struggling with a fold-out bed in a hippy’s closet in Brooklyn.
Before long, my giggles faded. The nagging urge to find the nearest cocktail bar and get lost was still there, a familiar whisper. But for once, the whisper was getting quieter. I felt the satisfying ache in my muscles and realized I wanted more of this feeling, and less of that.
As I lay there, my mind drifted to Sean. God, I’d been such a bitch to him in Glasgow. He didn’t deserve that. A part of mewished I could see him, apologize… But no. I shook the thought away. He was on the other side of the country, living his perfect life. Wishing for anything else was just a fantasy.
With a sigh, I pushed those thoughts aside. Tomorrow was a new day. I had a meeting at the Hillsdale Foundation. It was time to focus, to make the most of this opportunity.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SEAN
I letthe office door click shut and collapsed into my chair.Shit, what a day.The weight of indecision from the past five days felt heavy on my shoulders. I’d been putting this off long enough, and now it was Friday. I didn’t have long. I was meeting Danny soon for a beer, as we always did to celebrate the end of a workweek.
My mind immediately went to Beth, and the bitter memory of our last encounter in Glasgow. “I’m not a project, Sean. I’m the mess you left behind,” she'd said. Her words had been ringing in my ears since then. I couldn't just let that be the end of our story. Dad’s words played in my mind: “No regrets.” Leaving things like that would be the biggest regret of all.
I scrolled to Kinna’s contact on my phone, the only link I had, however tenuous, to Beth. I’d already tried her earlier today with no answer. I busied myself cleaning up the office, shutting down the computer while I debated. Should I tryKinna again? I glanced at my watch. Danny would be waiting soon. I pursed my lips, eyeing my phone on the desk.
What the hell. Why not? It was my only shot. I gave Kinna’s number another try, crossing my fingers and hoping like hell she’d pick up. This time, she answered. Her tone was icy, making it clear she wasn’t happy to hear from me.
“What do you want, Sean?” Kinna’s voice dripped with disdain.
I cleared my throat, suddenly nervous. “Hey, Kinna. I, uh...I was hoping you could tell me how Beth is doing. I’m really worried about her.”
