Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99675 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99675 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“I’m going to offer Susan my inheritance. I’m done being patient.”
His face stills. “What’s the hurry?”
“I’m sick of waiting, Ethan. I’m sick of having this hang over my head. You said this would take three months tops and it’s already five.”
“I told you David knows what he’s doing. He knows what’s in your best interest.”
In the pause I gather my thoughts, hoping to make him understand this sudden sense of urgency I feel.
“You know, I never considered my grandmother dying. Sounds like a blindspot now that I say it out loud but every doctor we saw told us this disease takes forever to kill a person…so I prepared for forever.” Ethan nods, sympathy filling his eyes. “And now that she’s gone I’ve run out of excuses. I need to go to L.A.”
His head tips back, frustration etched in his refined features.
“You need that money,” he grinds out. “Moving will be expensive. Just give him a little more time to negotiate. From what Dave’s been telling me, I have a feeling she’ll come around soon.”
“By soon I hope you mean tomorrow because otherwise I’ll email Parker. I’ll make the offer myself.”
Eyes trained on the horizon, he says, “Are you coming to bed?” Ethan grumpy is a rare thing. I chalk it up to lack of sleep.
The gust of chilly wind makes me shiver. I follow him back down without a word. In the bedroom I slip off the hoody and notice an alert on my phone. Audrey has sent me an email.
“What is it?” Ethan asks, his tired expression clearing.
“Audrey.” I click on the email and read it out loud.
I know you’re sad and angry at mom but she’s sad too. She’s been crying a lot since the funeral and I don’t think it’s about grandma. I think it’s because she wants things to be different with you. Don’t be mad at her forever. Please.
“There’s an attachment,” I say and click on the audio file.
“I know you miss Grandma.” Her sweet voice drifts through the speaker. “But now you have me…this is Afterlife by Ingrid Michaelson. This is for you.”
Ethan’s reassuring gaze captures mine.
The first keys of the piano aren’t what I’m expecting them to be. They’re not as forceful and upbeat as the original. Audrey’s rendition is slow and melancholy.
“When the world is breaking down around you, taking everything that you know.
What you didn't know is that we can go forever.
If we want to we can live inside of a moment the one that we own.
You and me
We got this
You and me
We're beautiful
Beautiful”
My sister’s lilting voice strips me of the cloak of numbness I’ve been wearing since that late night call. It gets into my bones and digs in, pushing every emotion I’ve been hiding for the past week to the surface. A river of tears runs down my face, onto my neck, splashing on my tank top.
“We are
We are
We’re going to be alright
We got
We got
We always got the fight in us
We are
We are
We’re going to live tonight like there's no tomorrow ‘cause we are the afterlife.”
Ethan’s face is tight, his frustration clear. Three large steps and he’s on me, holding me close to his heart like he means to never let go. The urge to get closer turns into a desperate neediness that reminds me of rats on a sinking ship. My world is sinking and I scratch and claw, holding onto him to stay afloat for one more breath.
My body starts to shake, a catharsis, years of pent up anger and disappointment purging all at once. Warm hands span my back, holding me securely until the spasms stop. And all the while he whispers sweet reassurances and promises that speak to my soul, to every true fear I harbor but never voice out loud.
That he’s here for me.
That I’m not alone.
That he’ll never let me go.
“We are
We are
We’re going to be alright
We got
We got
We always got the fight in us
We are
We are
We’re going to live tonight like there's no tomorrow ‘cause we are the afterlife.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The doorbell rings and rings and rings. I don’t know what I expected when I rip open the door, but it isn’t Parker.
Standing on the front stoop with his hands shoved into the front pockets of his creased, hipster jeans, everything about him is familiar and foreign at the same time. I used to think him unaffected, above such superficial bullshit. How wrong I was. The messy blond hair and neat beard that I once found so adorably sexy makes me want to barf now.
“What are you doing here?”
He won’t hold my burning gaze. His expression is not the same careless one I had the displeasure of seeing five months ago. This time it’s sheepish.
“I’m here to invite you to lunch. I need to speak to you and you haven’t returned any of my calls.” He pushes up a fake smile.