Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
He turns away, peering up at the ceiling, looking lost.
I put a hand on his chest and give it a gentle rub. “You will have a good time. And if you don’t, well, then I’ll be there to take you out for late night tacos or whatever the hell you call a good Monday night.”
“Hmm,” is all he says.
I frown at him. “You wanted to go, right? See the guy you met before? Toby? You said he and his boyfriend wanted to hang out with you.”
He takes a minute. “Well, yeah, I guess.”
I lift an eyebrow. “You guess?”
“Toby said his boyfriend has a booth or something. He was being nice to me. I guess I should, like, support him or his boyfriend or whatever.”
I thought it was what he secretly wanted to do.
Now he sounds like I’m twisting his arm.
I study the expression on Seany’s face—or rather, the abyssal lack of any. Was I wrong? Does he prefer not to go out? Is it all too much too soon?
Seany might still need to build a sense of security here. He needs to build a sense of home. A sense of belonging.
Is bringing him right into the literal fire going to undo everything we’ve built over the weekend? Is he going to fall apart, get spooked, and run away forever?
Maybe the answer isn’t to set the bird free after all. Especially if his wings are damaged—or simply tired of flying from tree to tree. Seany needs nurturing. He needs to be cared for. Looked after. Tended to.
He needs to feel safe here in our nest—with me.
So I face him. “Y’know, we also don’t have to—”
“We’ll go out tomorrow night, then,” he cuts me off with a shrug. “Sounds like fun. We’ll stuff our faces and look at art.” He rolls onto his side. “Goodnight, Coop.”
He drifts right to sleep—and I’m back to not knowing anything at all.
Chapter 12 - Seany
Sunlight pours in through the glass storefront.
And the mannequin stares at me from its faceless face through a pair of knockoff sunglasses.
“You lost?”
I turn to the store attendant: a tanned beach bum with a loose, unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt hanging on a tall skeletal frame, dead-eyed, who looks as if he either got twenty minutes of sleep last night or is high as hell.
Surprisingly, he asks the question with sincere concern, as if truly believing I’m lost and need help finding home.
Maybe I am still lost.
Maybe I am still finding home.
Have I forgotten how to make friends? How to care? At one point, I thought meeting nice guys like Toby and his boyfriend would have been the answer to my prayers. Now it feels like a nuisance. Working the bar last night kept me busy and gave me purpose. Hanging out with Coop in his house makes me feel safe and happy.
I thought I wanted to hang out with Toby tonight.
Now I can’t even pick between this shirt or that one, as I stare at the stupid mannequin in the sunlight pouring in through the giant windows.
I pull a shirt off the rack. “I’ll take one of these.”
The afternoon speeds by as I drift from store to store along one of the wide streets cutting down the heart of Dreamwood Isle. I didn’t realize how choosy I’d be. After all, this isn’t technically my money I’m spending. I have to do actual math as I slowly whittle down the amount of cash Coop gave me to spend on a wardrobe while he does things at the bar. I thought he’d want to shop with me, but he said it was good for my self-confidence to do this on my own.
I wasn’t sure I understood his answer. It felt a little bit demeaning somehow. But maybe it was also honest.
I guess I need to do things on my own, too.
I’m not Cooper’s pet.
“Is there a clearance rack?” I ask an older lady working at another store down the road that smells like cinnamon.
She squints at me over a pair of readers. “It’s a thrift store, hon, everything’s clearance.”
I bite my lip and consider two different pairs of shorts. The color of one of them reminds me of a pair I used to have back home.
So of course I put that right back on the rack and lift the other in the air. “I’ll take one of these.”
I want nothing of this new life to remind me of home.
I want to redefine what ‘home’ means.
I want it to be Cooper. I want it to be Dreamwood Isle. I want it to be these beaches. These new friends. To be the sunrise every morning I will never get used to. To be weird stores that smell like cinnamon.
I want my new home to be everything I’m not familiar with. Strange things. New things. Exciting things.
I want it to be every smile I wake up with.