was going to be a barrage of I’m sorrys waiting for me. My phone had been going off all morning and into the afternoon. Text messages and phone calls.
I responded to every text.
I listened to the voicemails.
I thought about my mother as I did so.
The hardest part was that as I stood in line to get coffee, I felt my mind calculating how many hours it had been since she was gone. Meaning just… x amount of hours ago she could have been standing with me in line to get coffee…
“Are you going to answer me?” Mia asked.
“Yeah. That’s your answer. Yeah.”
“So what does that mean?”
“It means we were both caught up in a moment and something happened.”
“Oh, come on, Bree…”
“See, I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Why did you tell me?”
I stared at Mia. “I don’t know.”
“Exactly. You told me because you knew I’d have this reaction. You want to know my thoughts on it. Because you live here. He lives in LA. You run a small business. He’s a goddamn rock star.”
People looked at us again.
I cringed.
“We both kind of regretted it,” I said. “Sebastian and I have always been friends.”
“And there was never tension between you two?” Mia asked as she rolled her eyes.
We were next and she ordered coffee for us.
I looked at my phone and thought about texting Sebastian. Just to see how he was doing.
As I stared at the phone, he texted me.
I gasped.
Hey, babe. Just seeing how it’s going. Thinking of you.
I smiled.
This sucks. Are you still at my apartment?
“Hello?” Mia’s voice asked.
I looked at her. “What?”
“Oh, wow. Look at that grin on your face. I take it Sab is texting you?”
“Shut up,” I said. “I’ll grab a table.”
I walked across the cafe to a corner table near the front window.
Sebastian texted me back.
Your doorbell rang a few times. I didn’t answer until they left. You have some flowers and fruit baskets here.
I tried to picture it.
The drummer for Filthy Line in my apartment, hearing the doorbell ring, waiting for the person to leave, then retrieving flowers and fruit from the hallway…
“That smile is something else,” Mia said as she put a coffee in front of me.
“Don’t say that.”
“I’m serious. You haven’t smiled that big in a long time.”
“I’m going through a lot right now,” I said.
“I know. I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”
I took a deep breath. “When we’re done here, I have to stop at the lawyer’s office. He has something for me. My mother was so organized. She had every little detail planned out and written down. And apparently a letter for me. I guess it has stuff about her she wants me to know. Life insurance or banking, maybe?”
“I guess you’ll find out,” Mia said. “Your mother was always that way. Remember when she organized her bookshelf by book spine color?”
I laughed. “Oh, yeah. All the time. I think that’s maybe why I’m a little messy. It’s me being rebellious to the way I grew up.”
“You badass,” Mia said.
I felt the smile fade. And the sadness started to swallow me up.
Mia reached for my hand. “Hey. I’m always here.”
“I know. I just don’t think I want to deal with it.”
“With what?”
“Sebastian said flowers and fruit were delivered,” I said. “I don’t know if I want to deal with seeing everyone…”
“You heard Jerry,” Mia said.
“I know. That’s a great idea about the memorial. But for me… how can someone see me and not say something, right?”
“True.”
“Same with the shop. It’s going to be…”
“Take some time off.”
“To do what?” I asked. “Sit around?”
“Bree…”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Take a road trip.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere you want.”
I sucked in a breath.
I looked out the window.
Anywhere I wanted…
How about Los Angeles?
When I opened the apartment door, my eyes didn’t know what to look at first.
My bag slid off my arm to the floor as I scanned the apartment.
The dining room table was covered in flowers.
I had never seen so many bouquets at once.
It was like Sebastian secretly started his own florist shop while I was gone.
And then there was Sebastian himself.
Standing near the kitchen in ripped jeans and a t-shirt that looked stretched and worn but was done on purpose. Leaving my eyes to see muscle, skin, not to mention his necklaces. That chiseled jaw and his bold eyes and his messy hair. Oh, and the fact that he was barefoot.
A glass in each hand.
“Good stuff?” I asked.
“Good stuff,” he said. “Figured you’d need a drink. Dinner is in the oven.”
My jaw dropped. “You… cooked…?”
“Fuck no, babe,” Sebastian said.