Page 90 of Her Pretty Words

At my gate.

Once I park my car in the driveway my phone dings again.

Just boarded the plane.

I have no idea how long she’s going to be gone since she bought a one-way ticket to Idaho so she can sell her house and move her belongings across the country. She might rent a moving truck, which makes it feel as though my airway is being restricted every time the thought crosses my mind.

I’ve made it less than a foot through my front door when I see a blue hair tie on my kitchen counter. The one Macy always has on her wrist. She puts it in her hair when she writes or when the wind is relentless. Sometimes she mindlessly plays with it in her hands, tying it in knots or wrapping it around her fingers. I pick it up and slide it onto my left wrist.This is all I’d have left if something happened to her, driving all the way from Idaho to Florida.This flimsy blue band might outlast her. I bring my wrist to my nose and inhale the scent of her shampoo, which will fade overtime. If she doesn’t return, I’ll never smell it again.

It’s not even noon and my morbid thoughts have already begun. To get my mind off such tragic possibilities, I grab my laptop and bring it out onto my porch and perch it on my lap. I work for an hour, numbing my mind with numbers. No matter what happens, two plus two will always equal four. Math will never be taken from me, so I cling to my numbers until something in my peripheral moves and gains my attention.

Standing on the railing of my porch is a pelican with an injured leg. The one Macy refuses to feed. My mind is back on her, and my worry is amplified to the point where I can’t even add two plus two. I shut my laptop and go inside, where I see white dusty shoeprints covering the floor.

I pull out a mop and wipe away the tracks. Once I’m done, I feel slightly better, until I see new shoeprints. I slowly look down at my feet and realize I never removed my shoes.

My mom was vigilant when it came to reminding Delilah to remove her shoes when we walked through the door. My dad always seemed to have a million thoughts swirling through his head and never remembered to take his off. I can recall my mom’s irritation and the look of confusion on his face when she’d cross her arms over her chest and glare at him. He’d look down and laugh at his forgetfulness, remove his sneakers, and mop up the chalky floor.

My dad and I are not the same. He was creative like Macy. I’m more analytical like my uncle. I’ve never forgotten to remove my shoes. In fact, I understand why it’s necessary. The white pebbles in the driveway leave the soles white and chalky. I can’t function in anything less than pristine.

I put my dirty sneakers by the front door and mop again, remembering my mom’s glare, my dad’s easygoing laughter, and Delilah’s sigh as she sat and untied her shoelaces. I always think the pain will kill me, but it never does. My heart continues to beat, keeping me from them.

I want to drown in a bottle of bourbon or whatever will burn the most as it goes down to distract me from the grief, but if I did that every time it hurt, I’d never be sober, and that’s not the life they’d want for me, so I put my shoes back on and run until my thoughts have cleared.

Chest heaving and sweat dripping down my back, I chug a glass of water from the sink and recall the last conversation I had with Macy.

“Please come with me,” she begged from my passenger seat.

I wanted to. It’d be so easy to get a plane ticket and follow her. To ensure she was safe. But Macy deserves more than I could give her if I left and avoided my problems. I need this. I need to let her go across the country. I need to let myself be terrified. I need to see her return home in one piece. Maybe then, once she’s back in my arms, I’ll learn that my fear is irrational. Maybe it will finally loosen its grip on me.

“You know how much I want to see all those farms,” I joked. “But I think staying will be… I don’t know, good for me.”

At night when I’m in bed, I get a text from her.

Macy

Landed in Idaho. My dad just picked me up. Long flight. How was your day?

I roll over, squinting at the bright screen and text back.

Me

I bet you look super sexy with plane hair. Day was great, have so much more time on my hands when I’m not distracted by your presence.

An image comes through, and I laugh. It’s a selfie of her with wild hair.

Macy

If my presence stumps your productivity that much, perhaps I should stay here.

Me

Macy Elizabeth Brookes, you’re coming home to me and I’m going to be the happiest, most unproductive bastard this island has ever seen.

Macy

Elizabeth?

Me