The Someday Girl (The Girl Duet Book 2), page 26
“He wanted me to tell you that he loved you. He loved you so much, Harper.”
I’m equally haunted by the words she spoke back to me.
“You made him leave early. You did this. You… You killed him.”
Wyatt says she didn’t mean it. That it was the grief, talking.
I try to believe him. Try to tell myself she doesn’t hate me for taking away the man she loved, while I have everything I’ve ever wanted out of life.
…Except, of course, my best friend.
I haven’t seen her in months. Not since she packed up her car and drove home to Iowa. I can’t say I blame her. The heartbreak of being here, without him… it was too much to handle. Still, each time I reach a landmark moment in my life, I automatically look around for her, thinking she should be by my side. Thinking none of it really means anything at all, without her with me.
She may hate me, now, but that doesn’t change anything. I want her back. I want her here. The more that happens in my life, the stronger the feeling gets.
So much has already changed, in the months since she left.
Getting released from the hospital. The Uncharted premiere. Wyatt re-publishing his book without the pseudonym. Unofficially moving in with him. And now, as of today… officially moving in with him.
Truth be told, I’ve been living here for months. I never went back home, after they discharged me from the hospital. Not really. Wyatt insisted on taking care of me, and I wasn’t in any position to argue with him, with a bruised body and a broken spirit.
My Viking. Strong enough for both of us. Holding me together with his bare hands.
He brought me back, day by day, piece by piece, until I remembered the good things in the world. The smell of spring in the air, the taste of fresh blackberries on your tongue, the simple joy of a summer sunset, the feeling of strong arms around you.
I never would’ve survived, if not for him. And… I never want to be parted from him again. Not ever. Not even for a moment. I know now, better than anyone, that life is far too short to waste time when it comes to the people you love most.
So, I put my house in the Palisades on the market and I put my belongings into boxes. My favorite foods are stocked in his fridge. My toothbrush sits on his bathroom sink. My books are scattered on every surface of his meticulously organized study, driving him to distraction. And there is a beautifully decorated nursery down the hall from our bedroom, painted a gender-neutral shade of yellow.
Sunshine yellow.
I walk into the kitchen and pick up my phone to call Harper, like I do every single day around this time. She never answers, but I always leave a message anyway. I figure she must check them, because her mailbox is never full when I call.
I never say anything exceedingly important. Mostly, I tell her about my day. Stupid stuff — the things we used to laugh about over sushi and cocktails, a million years ago.
The phone rings twice, then kicks over to voicemail.
“Hey, Harper. It’s me. Kat. Your stalker.” I walk to the fridge, seeking a snack, and bend to pull an apple from the fruit drawer. “Not much happening here. The movers dropped off all the boxes today, so I guess this means I’m officially moved in. Wyatt’s being insufferable, as usual, bossing me around about how carrying one little box is going to send me into labor.” I munch a bite of the apple, shaking my head. “Which is totally ridiculous. I mean, I’m fine and—”
Something splashes against my shoes.
I look down and feel my eyes widen.
“Harper,” I whisper into the phone. “I’m actually going to have to call you back.” I set the apple on the counter with a dull thud. “Don’t tell Wyatt I said this, but he may have been right about the boxes. Because… well, I’m pretty sure my water just broke.”
I hang up the phone and stare at my soaked shoes.
Dammit.
He’s going to be absolutely unbearable, after this.
“She’s perfect.”
I nod, not taking my eyes off our daughter. She’s got a cap of bronze hair and eyes like the bluest sky. I knew, the first moment I saw her, that she was Wyatt’s. Not that it matters much — he would’ve loved her the same, regardless.
We’ve been standing over the crib, staring at her like lovesick idiots since we brought her home this morning. Neither of us can stop examining her tiny fingernails, leaning in to catch her every cooing noise. I’d actually be disgusted by our obsession, if I had any space at all in my heart for emotions besides pure joy.
The doorbell rings and we glance at each other, wondering who the hell is at our door at this hour.
“I’ll get it.” Wyatt kisses me on the cheek. “You stay here. If she does anything exciting, take a video.”
I laugh, but don’t argue with him. I don’t even have the energy for a snappy comeback. Every bone in my body is so exhausted, I’d like nothing more than to sleep for the next hundred years. But, since I cannot seem to tear my eyes away from my daughter, sleep is going to have to wait.
Her tiny fingers are wrapped around my pointer when I hear Wyatt come back into the nursery. When I look up to ask who was at the door, I see he’s not alone. My eyes fill with tears.
Her hair is a nondescript shade of mousey brown. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s the hue she was born with, not an ounce of dye coloring the strands. Her face is completely free of makeup. She’s thinner by about ten pounds and there are deep shadows etched beneath her eyes.
But she’s here.
“You came.” My voice cracks. “You’re here.”
“Of course I’m here,” she says with a shadow of her old vitality. “That’s my goddaughter. What kind of godmother would I be, if I didn’t show up?”
Tears are filling my eyes, slowly tracking down my face as I stare at my best friend.
She stares back at me, her own eyes wet with unshed tears.
“Sorry,” I say stupidly. “Postpartum hormones are no joke. I’ve been crying about everything, today.”
She nods, attempting a smile. “Weepy cow.”
“Emotionless mule,” I whisper, crying harder.
Her smile widens a hair.
“Do you…” I take a breath, trying to get myself under control. “Do you want to hold her?”
“Yes, I— Yes.” Harper crosses the room in slow strides.
I lift the infant and gently place her into Harper’s arms. Wyatt steps up to the other side of the crib, so the three of us are flanking the newborn on all sides. A circle of love, surrounding this little life.
I stare from the man I adore to my best friend to my tiny dictator, and am filled with such irrepressible lightness, such indescribable love, I think I might burst from it.
“What’s her name?” Harper asks after a while, looking up at me.
I hold her stare for a long time before I answer.
“Kent. Her name is Kent.”
THE END
Acknowledgments
Words are strange.
There never seem to be enough of them. At least, not when it comes to thanking you, my readers, for changing my life.
I am so unbelievably fortunate to wake up every morning and (after consuming at least two cups of coffee) spend my days doing the thing I love most — creating characters. Quirky, damaged, crazy, compelling, lovable, hatable, awful, wonderful characters.
Writing fiction truly is the job of my dreams.
Thank you for making it my reality. Thank you for leaving reviews. Thank you for telling your friends. Thank you for coming to signings. Thank you for making teasers and trailers. Thank you for your blog posts and personal messages that touch my heart. Thank you for all the little things you do to make my days brighter.
They do not go unnoticed.
I appreciate them more than words can ever express.
To my friends and family — I realize it’s not easy being friends with a writer. We’re mercurial, over-caffeinated, opinionated monsters. Thanks for putting up with me anyway.
To the girls of my reader group, the Johnson Junkies — you ladies always keep me smiling, even on the tough days! Thank you for your enthusiasm, your support, and your kindness.
To my dog Scout — you might not be Instagram-famous, but you’re famous to me. I love you. Who’s a good boy? (You are.)
Lastly, to Katharine Motherfucking Firestone — I know you’re a figment of my imagination. Thank you anyway. Thank you for teaching me that it’s okay to reinvent yourself. That it’s all right to grow. That it’s not the end, even when a boy burns you down to your most basic elements… so long as you rise, brush off the cinders, and fly into the future, a better, stronger, happier version of yourself.
I am a girl of ashes and embers.
And now… I will rise.
A phoenix, reborn into something better.
Perhaps a little sadder, but definitely a lot stronger.
KAT FIRESTONE, The Someday Girl
About the Author
JULIE JOHNSON is a twenty-something Boston native suffering from an extreme case of Peter Pan Syndrome. When she's not writing, Julie can most often be found adding stamps to her passport, drinking too much coffee, striving to conquer her Netflix queue, and Instagramming pictures of her dog. (Follow her: @authorjuliejohnson)
She published her debut novel LIKE GRAVITY in August 2013, just before her senior year of college, and she's never looked back. Since, she has published five more novels, including the bestselling BOSTON LOVE STORY series. Her books have appeared on Kindle and iTunes Bestseller lists around the world, as well as in AdWeek, Publishers Weekly, and USA Today.
You can find Julie on Facebook or contact her on her website www.juliejohnsonbooks.com. Sometimes, when she can figure out how Twitter works, she tweets from @AuthorJulie. For major book news and updates, subscribe to Julie's newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bnWtHH
Connect with Julie:
@AuthorJulie
juliejohnsonbooks
www.juliejohnsonbooks.com
juliejohnsonbooks@gmail.com
Also by Julie Johnson
STANDALONE NOVELS:
LIKE GRAVITY
SAY THE WORD
ERASING FAITH
THE BOSTON LOVE STORIES:
NOT YOU IT’S ME
CROSS THE LINE
ONE GOOD REASON
THE GIRL DUET:
THE MONDAY GIRL
THE SOMEDAY GIRL
Julie Johnson, The Someday Girl (The Girl Duet Book 2)
