Page 60 of Pretty Nightmare

Such a typical Adam question.

McKay didn’t say nothing. So I said, “My dress.”

Donovan and Maggie appeared in the archway that separated the hallway from the kitchen and Maggie squealed with delight at the sight of the rose petals and started dancing in them. Spinning and spinning with her arms out so that the petals under her feet were a little whirlwind.

And that was the end of the moment.

For a second I thought, Well, it was a nice present. But it’s over now. And that’s OK. Because petals on the ground were always meant to be a sign that something was over.

It wasn’t until late that night, when I was lying in bed with McKay’s arms around me as I stared out his window and found a few stars through the branches of the pecan tree thick with leaves, that I ran the whole day through in my head.

That’s when I realized it would never be over.

Because my present wasn’t the path of petals that led down the stairs into the foyer.

My present was the man waiting for me at the end.

Donovan made a goat-cheese quiche for my birthday breakfast, which makes me laugh even now as I write this. Because that is so Donovan and so not McKay. Maggie had set the dining room table with Adam’s family china and there were crystal wine glasses filled with sparkling cider that projected little dots of amber onto the walls and the ceiling and made us all look like we were adrift in someone’s bokeh-enhanced photograph.

We ate in there like a family and even though nothing about my birthday breakfast felt familiar, everything about it felt right.

It felt like we had always been this way. It felt like we defied time and logic. Like there was no world outside the gates of our little Garden of Eden and no matter who forced their way in, they couldn’t touch us.

It was perfect.

We spent the day fishing and didn’t go anywhere near the pavilion or the duck lake. We have a little boat house on the Old Pearl River. It’s really more of a rickety gray-wood dock with a green and white striped canopy held up by rusty metal poles that have seen better days.

We took a trip downriver and just kept going, something we had never done before. For most of my years at Old Home the boats we had were in drydock. And they were nothing special to look at. Or very big. Just fishing boats anyone who lived along this river would have. Large enough for all of us to sit, but there was no cabin or anything. But Adam had arranged for the boat to be put in the water and even though this was a brand-new tradition, it felt so right. We didn’t come back until after the sun set.

We made it all the way down to Grand Isle in the Gulf of Mexico and then we all passed out on the beach in the sun and took naps.

We are maybe getting old.

It was a great day.

And I didn’t even realize that Adam hadn’t said anything about his present. He was supposed to be Donovan in this scenario and I’m not sure Donovan would’ve planned a boat trip. But later that night, when McKay was putting bubbles in Maggie’s tub and Donovan was downstairs on a phone call with someone in California, Adam came into McKay’s room and handed me a finely wrapped gift.

I was sitting in the chair near the window with my legs pulled up to my chest just thinking about the day. I had been dreading it for obvious reasons. But they all came through. It felt like a mixture of forgiveness and love all wrapped up into one bright moment of sunshine.

He sat on the bed and his fingertips were busy playing with the gift in his hands. Like he was worrying over it.

I turned in the chair and smiled at his nervousness. It didn’t make sense, this uneasiness. It’s not an emotion Adam pays much attention to. Even when I carefully pulled the pretty paper off the journal, I didn’t get it. Not until I opened it up and saw that on every tenth page, he had written something for me.

“Don’t look ahead,” he whispered as I paged through it. “It wasn’t meant to be read that way. Just… let it come as it comes, Indie. It’s better that way.”

Then he stood up and leaned over to kiss my forehead. And he lingered there in my space for a moment. Like he was taking time to enjoy me.

And then he pulled back and walked out.

I didn’t page ahead. I wanted to honor his request. But I did read the first entry.

It said, “Truth is precious. Treat it with respect. Because even though all truth is better than lies, it can hurt you, Indie. And the last thing I want it to do is hurt you.”

My breath got caught somewhere between my heart and my head for a little while after that. And I knew this journal was so much more than just a journal.

Just like that day was so much more than just a day.

Side note for Dear Indie. That was much better. Keep going. You’ve got this.