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The Overtime Persuasive

Page 118

by Anne Kemp

I look around again. Liam is either gone or hiding behind a parked car, and he’s too large to manage that successfully.

I look down at the box again. Beneath my name, he has added:

Please bring this inside. It contains treasures for you and an uncomfortable amount of emotional vulnerability not to be shown in public.

I start to laugh, but then I scare it into submission. We’re not laughing at Liam yet. Nope.

I may be upset with him, but I can acknowledge that Liam did a smart thing by dropping this off and bailing. He knows that standing on my doorstep would turn his apology into something I have to respond to while he watches, and I’m not there today.

Instead, he has left the box and given me the choice of what happens next, which is thoughtful.

Although I would prefer it if he stopped being thoughtful while I’m angry with him, I pick up the box and carry it upstairs.

Mitch meets me at the apartment door and follows me into the living room, where I set the box on the coffee table and sit on the floor in front of it.

Across one side, Liam has drawn a record with a very questionable circle in the middle. Around it, in uneven block letters, are the words:

THE EVA BARLOW APOLOGY BOX

Limited edition

I lift the lid.

The inside is lined with black tissue paper and gold stars. Some of them are stuck together, and one has attached itself to the underside of the lid. It’s surprisingly neat, which could mean Lucy helped.

The first thing inside is a packet of chai. A yellow note is taped to the front.

For the first time you let me help. You came to my house and allowed me to mansplain to you all the things you knew, but let me in anyway. :)

Okay, that makes me laugh out loud. I put it to the side. Beneath it is a package of graham crackers, two chocolate bars, and a bag of marshmallows.

Every good box needs snacks. Also, you can’t be mad at someone while eating a s’more. I checked. It’s a fact.

I press my lips together.

The next item is a tiny plastic skeleton with wildly disproportionate arms.

For the night you did what you actually wanted. I’m glad it was me.

My fingers curl around it as the memory rushes in. Rain tapping against leaves. Liam’s hand around mine. His face when I caught the front of his coat and kissed him before I could think myself out of it.

I set the skeleton beside the chai, a warmth beginning to bubble down deep in my chest.

Underneath it is a small wooden squirrel and a small stuffed cat.

If we were in a fantasy book, these would represent our familiars. (Yes, I read).

Mitch sniffs the squirrel and knocks it onto its side. I peer into the box. At the very bottom is a plain white envelope with a QR code printed on the front. Then I turn the envelope over.

Scan this. Alone. Please.

A laugh bursts out of me, the sound feeling loud and strange in my apartment. Too bright for the week I’ve had, but familiar enough that I realize how much I needed it.

How much I need him.

I scan the code before I can talk myself out of it, and a video opens on my phone.

Liam appears on-screen, sitting at the workbench in his garage. The squirrel house is behind him, visible and mounted in the tree. He’s wearing a gray sweatshirt, and his hair looks as though he has pushed both hands through it several dozen times.