This is it folks. Last chapter. Thank you for being here through this, for sticking with me, for reading, leaving reviews and pimping this story out.
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Shelly leaves on May 3rd. It's especially rainy and it matches my mood.
I cry the the whole time I'm at the shop, so much so that she threatens to call Edward to come pick me up.
At the same time, I think it makes her a little sad, too. I'm her favorite employee, after all.
"It's more than that," she tells me when I tease her about it at lunch. "I feel like you're my own. I've seen you grow up, but now it's time to leave the nest."
"But I'm not leaving," I say, my voice cracking. "You are."
"Bella, I swear to god if you don't stop this."
"I'm just going to miss you," I mumble because fuck, I am. It feels like she's my own, too.
At the end of the day, she tries to hand me her keys to the shop but I refuse to take them.
"You'll have to come back to visit," I insist and though she rolls her eyes, she puts them in her purse.
Jasper and I stand outside with her as she locks up, both of us uncertain and sad as she putters around. When she looks at us again, her eyes are wet with tears.
"You know, when my husband and I opened this store, it was his life. And then he died and it still felt like if I had the store, I still had him. Ever since our boy moved to Florida, I've been wanting to follow him, but I was so afraid that if I left this place, I'd be letting him down," she sniffles and reaches towards me, cupping my face in her hands. "But I see how much you care for it, how good you are at this, and I know that he'd be happy-proud, even, that another young music lover is getting to keep his legacy going. I just want to say thank you, Bella, for all you've done and all you will do."
I cling to her, both of us sobbing and making Jasper uncomfortable when we pull him in for a group hug.
We watch her get on her bus, staring after it until it turns a corner, leaving us both in silence for a moment before Jasper has an idea.
"You wanna get drunk and play music?"
"Fuck yes."
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We write songs all night, wasted and laughing and having so, so much fun. Alice dyes Rosalie's hair while we play and Em plucks along on my bass, tired from work. Edward just watches us, sipping his own drink with the smallest of smiles.
We're giggly and I'm playing some sick riffs, my voice warbly as I sing, if this is playing grown up, hold my hair back as I throw up.
Jasper chimes in, under sheets with all my toes up-
I join back in and we're hysterical, wasting awaaaaaaay.
I feel like the anxiety I have over running the shop is spilling into nervous, unshakeable laughter.
It's actually fucked,
I keep in pace,
53 complaints I'm ill-equipped to face.
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It's nearly three by the time I crawl into bed, Edward trailing behind me groggily.
"I'm sorry I kept you up so long," I sigh into his neck.
He mumbles sleepily, "you didn't."
"What if I fuck this all up?" I say, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling and suddenly feeling so small I might disappear.
He sits up, leaning on his elbow and shooting me a stern look.
"You're not going to fuck this up. You haven't even tried yet. And even if you do, you'll be okay."
"Maybe."
"Bella," he groans, laying back on the mattress next to me.
"I'll still have you?"
He smiles then, amused.
"You'll still have me."
It helps a little.
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The next day, I'm hungover and feeling weird when I get to the shop. It's quiet, Shelly's usual music is missing.
It feels empty and it hurts my heart.
I hang my coat up in Shelly's-my (holy shit)-office and take a second to sit in the swivel chair and catch my breath.
That's when I see the note.
It's Edward's handwriting-messy and boyish.
You've got this. Check out upstairs when you have a chance. I love you.
My stomach flutters with absolute adoration. I have ten minutes until I have to open the shop. Fifteen minutes until Jasper rolls in and apologizes for being late.
I take the stair two at a time, finding the door already unlocked. I wonder when he found time to do this. How he even got in.
I suspect Alice.
In the room, in the dull glow of the gray morning light, there's a camera on a tripod in the center, a red bow stuck to the top of it.
My breath catches. It's a nice ass camera.
A professional camera, with a big lens and everything.
The note taped to it says, for your spare room recording sessions.
It hits me then, that I have someone that really, truly believes I can do this. I've spent so much of my life feeling incapable and like I'm disappointing everyone around me, and here's someone who spent a shitload of money to support a dream I have.
Tears spring into my eyes and I fight them the whole time I go about opening the shop, flipping light switches and putting music on, drifting through the tinny speakers. I flip the sign to open and unlock the door, taking a breath.
I wish I had time to savor this moment, to commit it to memory-with the warmth of knowing that I can probably do this.
As the bell above the door chimes, a tired looking girl comes in looking for a new bow for her cello, I wish someone was here with me, that I wasn't facing this alone. I wish Edward was here.
The door chimes again. More customers.
The nervousness climbs my throat but I feel the note he'd written me in my back pocket. I know that he'll be waiting for me when I get home, and for now, it's enough.
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song: 'urge to purge' by charly bliss
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lil epilogue is coming soon.