Chapter 40: Come Clean
The cabin was dark in the early morning, though in winter, home was always darker. Hours would pass before the sun would peer over the eastern mountains and light up the white snow in the valley. Then home would be so bright you'd burn in the dry cold if you stayed outside long enough, which I often did.
I laid in bed, wide awake. Despite how exhausted I had been, it was getting harder to sleep through the night. Not that I minded much—I liked the time to myself, even if I spent it just lying in bed, thinking and dreading when I'd hear Ma begin to stir at four like clockwork.
I was far too familiar with the sound of her waking—her groaning mattress, popping hip joints, wet cough, scraping socks—all those sounds that had begun to disgust me. Then, finally, the word I dreaded to hear every morning.
"Up."
It was soft but commanding in the chilled air. She never needed to raise her voice. I always closed my eyes the second I heard it.
"I can't."
"Let's not do this again, Cliff." She rested her chapped hand on my forehead, feeling for a fever, and I resisted the urge to push it away. "You'll work fine."
Maybe she meant to sound reassuring, but I never heard it that way.
I'd eventually get up to ready myself, never missing an opportunity to cast a glare towards Terra. Each morning, she would be asleep under a stack of patchwork blankets as I hid under layer after layer of work clothes that were stiff from the cold.
"Don't worry about your sister," Ma warned me once the fire she started lit up my scowl. When Terra woke up an hour later, the cabin would be warm. "She'll have breakfast ready by the time everyone's milked and fed out there. No time to waste."
I don't know why she ever bothered saying that.
It's all wasted time, I thought as I jerked on my boots. Mud from the melting snow I had trudged through the day before still caked them.
Lastly, I pulled on a fur-lined coat and followed Ma outside with heavy footsteps, feeling hollow under all my clothes.
Snow fell over the land, deadening the senses as it buried every sight and smothered every sound. The first rush of frigid air burned my nose and tightened my chest, but I knew after sucking down a few more breaths, I wouldn't feel it anymore. With a deep sigh, I waited for my mind go numb too.
A hand reached through the cold to shake me from my half-dream, half-memory.
"Don't make me kick you out of there. I will."
Gray's voice was deep and pointed—not like Ma's at all.
I had the vague feeling this wasn't the first time this morning I'd felt his hand roughly shaking my shoulder. Just how many times had Gray tried to get me out of bed? I didn't even remember when I had crawled in.
"Time?" I rattled through my sore throat. My tongue tasted a terrible emptiness in my mouth as it wrestled to shape the word.
"Half-past eight."
Too early. I didn't have to be at the winery until ten; I could sleep a little longer.
But a chill I carried from my dream nipped at me.
Do you really think this is early?
Back home, Ma and I would have already been working for hours. By this time, we'd head out to the field. She would be trying to lighten the mood by reciting passages from her favorite books and telling me the same jokes I'd heard a thousand times before. If the occasional new, or perhaps just forgotten joke made me crack a smile, that was all the encouragement she'd need to tell it to Terra once she got home from school and helped us with the second milking. Until then, we'd be harvesting grass crops for feed—one crucial part of preparing our livestock for winter.
I pulled my blankets closer to me, burying myself under them as grief shook me awake harder than Gray could manage. With each passing moment, I became more aware of the heaviness in my head and lingering nausea.
Call in sick.
I tried to dismiss the thought. It was a terrible way to start a job I desperately wanted only yesterday. Still, it had an undeniable appeal.
It's just like you to squander every opportunity and throw away everything you have. Again.
I held the blankets tighter. I hadn't even opened my eyes, and already I wanted to sleep. Even without the worst hangover of my life, thinking this way was always so exhausting. It made me want to hide in bed all day, the way I did when I first came to town.
You could even get Ann to take care of you like—
I groaned and pulled the covers over my head as I remembered the repulsive thoughts I had in the hallway the night before.
"I'm sick."
"No, you're hungover." Gray yanked the blankets out of my weak grip. Cool air hit my clammy skin, revealing that I still wore yesterday's clothes, boots and all.
"C'mon, let's go," he yelled. Or at least it felt like he yelled.
I mustered the willpower to open my gummy eyelids. Blurred sight and slurred sound had been replaced with everything sharp and harsh. I immediately focused on the harshest sight in the room—the wall across from my bed. It glared at me in the overcast light.
The memory of what was on the other side crushed down on me and pushed me deeper into bed. I tore my eyes away to the second harshest sight—the disgust in Gray's eyes. Or at least it felt like disgust.
Of course, he's disgusted by you. The things he saw, the things he knows, the things you said—who wouldn't be?
I rolled over onto a cool patch in my bed, unable to face him.
He cursed under his breath and roughly pushed my legs aside. Thinking I was about to crash onto the floor, I reflexively gripped the headboard, but the mattress simply dipped as Gray sat down at its edge, his back to me.
"Last night—"
Another groan muffled against my pillow. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Works for me. I'll talk. You listen."
I hid my face against my pillow.
"So, last night, uh…not great, right?"
"Mmm."
"But, y'know, today you're—no, everything's gonna, uh…and life is—well, actually, no, life isn't, but, uh…"
I turned and squinted at him as if it could make his words clearer. This time, it was Gray who looked away.
"W-what I'm trying to say is—agh, hell!" He jumped up from the bed and pointed his finger at me. It jabbed towards me with each order. "You're gonna get up, okay? You're gonna get up, and you're gonna get cleaned up, and you're gonna get your ass to work. And when you get back here, we're gonna do whatever you need to do. But you better work first, you hear me?"
Is this an oddly aggressive attempt at consoling me?
I nodded.
"Good!" He dropped his arm. "So, get up!"
"I will…"
But I didn't move.
Gray dragged a hand down his face. "Look, all you gotta do is keep your head straight for the next few hours."
I gave him another halfhearted nod. He said it like it was easy to do. Maybe it was for him.
"That means no Claire."
Nausea turned inside me. "Are they still here?"
"Cliff…" He said my name like it was a chore. "I don't know, and I don't care. Forget her and promise me you're gonna get to work on time."
His eyes darted to the clock, and he muttered another swear. Then it dawned on me—Gray was late for work.
All because of you.
"I promise," I said before shooting up in bed. The movement sent my head swimming.
"O-Okay." He took a sudden step back. "But if I find out you broke your promise, I'm gonna—"
"Yeah, yeah, you'll break me."
"That's not what I was going to say, but if it gets you out of bed..."
"Go." I ordered as I threw my legs over the bed and forced myself upright. My body was sore, whether from the harvest or dancing or drinking or all three, I didn't know, but it was nothing compared to the way my mind ached. Still, I turned to Gray before he headed out the door.
"And…thanks."
"Ah, it's whatever," he mumbled, pulling his hat down low before he left.
His footsteps stomped down the hallway, and I took a stiff step towards the bathroom, only to nearly fall when I slipped on something.
My journal was splayed face down, the pages covered in my clumsy handwriting bent under its weight. I knew there was no entry from the day before. And how could I write what happened now? It was so pathetic. I tried to smooth the pages. Ripping them out sounded much more appealing, but Carter would be so disappointed.
More disappointed.
I stowed the journal away.
I staggered to the bathroom to ready myself for work, hopelessly aware that I walked on the tiles I had sprawled out over the night before. My eyes fixed on their pattern as I brushed my teeth. Just as the tiles repeated over the floor, the stupid things I blurted out the night before repeated in my head. I scrubbed my mouth harder with each reminder.
"—stuck down here so you guys could screw—"
Mary's mortified expression flickered in my mind, and I spat into the sink. I hadn't even apologized to her or Gray.
You call yourself a friend? Of course, you don't—they're not really your friends.
I wordlessly agreed with my reflection as I undressed. I didn't like who I saw in the mirror, but when did I ever? I was right back to being someone I didn't want to be anymore. My skin was drained of any color other than the dark circles around my bloodshot eyes. I was already lean from weeks of sporadic meals, but now I was dehydrated from the alcohol too. A surprisingly large bruise marked my upper arm. I ran my fingers over it lightly, trying to remember how it happened.
When I fell against the bar, I realized. It didn't hurt that much, did it?
Claire's smile from that moment flashed in my head, and my fingers dug into the bruise. Determined to wash away any reminders of the night before, I stepped into the shower. It worked until I faced my reflection again as I shaved.
Weren't you supposed to change? Did you really think getting a haircut meant anything?
I rinsed the razor under cold water before lightly dragging it down my cheek. Chills ran down my spine.
You keep making the same stupid mistakes. When will you ever learn?
I didn't know. It felt like I was stuck in a tired loop of not knowing a damn thing, being blindsided by what should have been obvious, and working backward until my next mistake came along. One step forward, two steps back, over and over again until I'd taken so many steps back I could hardly take the first step out of bed in the morning.
Can you believe you did it to yourself a second time?
There won't be a third time.
Wouldn't it be just your luck if there was?
My eyes glowered at me.
Except if it keeps happening, it's not bad luck, is it? It's just you.
I tore my eyes from the mirror and gripped the razor tighter, shaving by feel alone. But my thoughts only grew louder.
You deserved every bit of last night and deserve it again and again. You're so pathetic. Crying about getting your feelings hurt? You're not even crying about the right things. It's that kind of selfishness that makes you ruin everything. It's why Gray's late for work. It's why you stole Ann's first kiss. It's why Claire will never need you. It's why Terra hates you. It's why Ma—
A sting scattered my thoughts, and I inhaled sharply. I touched the spot under my jaw and looked down at the blood and white lather on my fingertips.
You can't even do this right. How do you think you're going to do at the winery? Who will figure out what a screw-up you are first—Duke or Manna? How long until they fire you? It only took Gotz a day. Manna will tell everyone what you are too. You'll never get another job here. You haven't gotten a single job—Claire got all of them for you. You only lose them.
Crawling back in bed had rarely been so tempting…but I promised Gray. I stopped the bleeding and continued. To defend against any invading thoughts, I silently recited the things I had left to do to get ready. Eventually, all I needed to do was try and settle my stomach with food. My head pounded as I grasped the door handle. There were so many things outside my room I wasn't ready to face.
No time to waste.
With a deep breath, I stepped out into the hallway. My eyes immediately found the spot where I had nearly groped Ann before they fled to the door next to mine. I squeezed them shut. It seemed like a regretful memory lay in wait wherever I looked, ready to attack.
You're such a—
Something touched my leg, and my eyes flew open.
The inn's orange tabby cat brushed its side against me in a silent greeting. I didn't know its name—I'd never thought to ask Ann or Doug. In fact, I'd nearly forgotten it existed since Kai wasn't around to play with it anymore. The cat strolled past me, meandering toward the staircase.
I held my gaze and followed it, expecting it to dart away any second. Instead, it flopped down near the steps.
"Thanks," I murmured and softly scratched its chin. It leaned into my touch, its purr rumbling against my fingers. The unexpected affection made me want to thank it again.
Goddess, I am lonely, I thought with a subdued laugh at myself.
The cat's large yellow eyes watched me through the slats in the railing as I headed downstairs.
In the dining room, the mess had been cleaned, the music had been silenced, and Doug stood in his rightful place behind the counter, taking inventory. Everything appeared as ordered and routine as it should, but the inn was changed.
My sore eyes nervously searched the tables as I walked to the bar. There was no sign of Claire or Trent, thankfully. It was stupid to think they'd still be here anyway; the workday started hours ago for a farmer and a doctor.
What am I?
"Well, well, well, how was your bottle of whiskey last night?" Doug called, offering a slightly disapproving smile as he set down his clipboard.
"Better then than now."
He chuckled as he took in my appearance. He had already known the answer.
"I know what you mean. I've got something of a headache, and I only had two glasses of red wine. Takes less each passing year."
"Where were you drinking last night?" I took my usual seat, and Duke poured me a glass of water.
"Basil invited the usual crowd over. He knew Mary needed a night out, and that'd only happen if Anna was occupied, and, well, entertaining is the best way to keep Anna occupied. Suits me fine—say what you want about the woman, but she's a fantastic hostess. It was a nice change of pace being served for a chance," he remarked and passed me the glass.
I gulped the water down, swallowing another wave of remorse for embarrassing Mary on one of her only nights out.
"You know, Duke and Manna were supposed to join us, but they never showed. It's not like them to miss out on a get-together. Know anything about that?"
I wiped my mouth. "No, they seemed fine when I last saw them."
Water gurgled into my cup as Doug refilled it. "Hmm. Must've been too tired after the harvest, unlike you young folks." His smile spread into a grin. "Congrats, by the way! Ann filled me in about the job. She's a great girl, isn't she? She tasked me with making sure you made it to the winery this morning, but Gray told me you were up on his way out."
"Thanks," I mumbled, my eyes on the kitchen door. "Um, where is Ann?"
"The spring."
I immediately sighed with both disappointment and relief, and Doug's brows pulled in. Luckily, I knew how to distract him.
"Can I order something?"
Just as expected, his face eased up. "You're eating breakfast today?"
I nodded, heat prickling on my face. It had been a long time, but I could feel the weight of yesterday's pay in my pocket.
"Well, hey! What'll it be?"
"Just some toast."
His face fell at my bland order. "That's all? No, you need something more substantial than that. Eggs will do you better."
"I don't think I can even think of eggs with this hangover."
"Nonsense," he said, planting his hands wide against the counter. "How do you want them?
Why bother arguing over something so unimportant? "I don't know…scrambled, I guess."
"You sure? My omelets are much better. I could throw in some fresh vegetables, maybe some bacon, grated—"
"I don't care, Doug. Just do whatever you want." I rubbed my temple, trying to soothe my growing headache.
"Alright, alright." He held his hands in front of him. "Ann's rubbing off on you—neither of you knows when I'm helping. All I'm trying to do is send you off to Duke's on the right foot. Today's the start of a good thing for you!" he smiled.
I dropped my eyes to the counter. "You're right…thanks, Doug."
"See? That's better." He beat his hands against the bar in victory. The sound had my head throbbing as he disappeared to the kitchen. I tried to clear the negativity beating at the edge of my thoughts until Doug returned sometime later with a perfectly puffy and stomach-turning omelet.
It was the first real breakfast I'd had in weeks; I should have savored it and chatted eagerly with Doug, but last night's whiskey made it impossible. I swallowed one small bite at a time, feeling Doug's disappointment as he resumed inventory.
"I'd say the lot of you had a good time last night," he grumbled, shaking his head as he examined a nearly empty liquor bottle. "I'm still surprised the doctor got in on the fun."
I set my fork down, my meager appetite gone. I didn't want to think about Trent getting in anything.
"If the Town Square Trio catch wind of that," Doug pointed upstairs, "he and Claire are in for a bad time."
"What's the big deal?" I grumbled. "It's not a secret they're a couple anymore."
Doug raised his eyebrows. "Regardless, that's not how things are done here. Those three would have a field day with the stories they'd come up with. Especially Anna. Rumors are her forte. You should have heard some of the things she said last night!"
"I didn't think you were interested in gossip."
"I'm a bartender in a small town. It doesn't matter whether I'm interested or not—I hear it all."
"As long as you're not telling it all."
Doug let out a hard laugh. "You're a little touchy when you're hungover, aren't you?"
I sighed and picked up my fork, determined to shut my mouth. "Sorry."
"Relax. I didn't tell anyone when you stayed over at Claire's, did I?"
"There wasn't anything to tell," I murmured and weakly stabbed at my breakfast.
A few seconds passed in silence except for Doug's scribbling pencil and the ice clinking as it melted in my glass. When Doug spoke, his voice made me jump.
"Did you and Ann have a spat?"
"What? No," I insisted, confused by his out-of-the-blue question. "What makes you think that?"
"Well, you're in a sour mood this morning, and Ann ate three full stacks of pancakes for breakfast."
I blinked. "Is that out of the ordinary?"
"Two stacks, she's celebrating. Three stacks, she's worrying. Something happened."
I stared down at my plate to hide the flush of shame on my face. "I don't know, Doug. You're asking the wrong person."
"I doubt that," he tutted but resumed his work.
Determined to change the subject, I searched for anything to talk about and spotted a rucksack behind the bar.
"That's Claire's," I blurted out.
Idiot, why are you talking about her again?
"Ah, yes," Doug chuckled. "One of the many things you lot left behind last night. Karen's going to have to come and get the closetful of things she forgot, and Ann's dropping off Rick's glasses on her way to the spring."
"And she didn't take Claire's bag with her?"
"No need," he explained without looking up from his clipboard. "Claire's still here."
I took a hurried bite and read the clock—nine-thirty. Someone needed to wake her up if she was going to get any work done. I glanced over at the stairs.
What the hell are you thinking? If she's up there, Trent's probably up there with her.
But the animals needed to be fed.
It's not your responsibility anymore. It never was. Why didn't you ever worry like this about home?
I twisted towards the windows near the entrance. It was cloudy outside but not raining. But what if it started? My pulse quickened.
"Doug, will you—?"
But the request was cut off by a flurry of footsteps hurrying down the steps.
Claire froze at the landing, and my heartbeat seemed to do the same. She wore her same clothes from the day before. I winced. Compared to yesterday, the only noticeable difference in her appearance was her wet hair, darkened and straight from the water weighing it down.
She wavered before waving weakly at us and stepping forward.
"Keep your head straight."
I decided to take Gray's advice literally and turned away from her before our eyes met. Her footsteps grew louder, but I listened for another set. There wasn't one.
"Good morning!" Doug cheered, setting his work aside.
"Right! Morning, Doug." Her hands rested on the bar before she added in a slightly softer voice, "Hi, Cliff."
I nodded and took a bite, thankful I had an excuse not to talk regardless of how nauseous the food made me.
"I hope you enjoyed your stay?" Doug asked.
"Everything was great, but I can't believe I slept in so late! I should go. I—" She silenced herself. "Here."
The room key clinked against the counter. Claire slid it towards Doug under her hand as if to keep it hidden. It scraped noisily across the bar top the entire way.
"Ah, I have something for you too…" Doug set her rucksack down on the bar with a heavy clunk. "Found it kicked under a table."
She profusely thanked him as threw it over her shoulders. Her hands clasped together tightly on the bar.
"Um, do you also have a message or note for…?"
"No," Doug began, and Claire interrupted him.
"Oh, that's fine, no worries, thank—"
"—but I do have your breakfast. The doctor took care of it for you before he left this morning."
Of course he did.
Claire's hands relaxed as Doug began rattling off a healthy breakfast, complete with her same coffee order from the night before.
"It sounds great, Doug, thank you, but is there a way I could take it to-go?"
"Sure, long as you can spare fifteen minutes or so while I prepare everything. I wasn't sure when you'd be ready for it—the doctor told me to let you sleep."
Of course he did.
She enthusiastically agreed to wait and took the stool one seat away from me, but Doug hesitated behind the bar, eyeing her.
"Would you like the coffee while you wait?"
"That sounds like a great idea, thanks," she chirped. Her stool creaked as she tried to face me. "Um, do you want one too? I'll buy."
Doug chuckled as I shook my head.
"Careful offering him anything," he warned on his way to the kitchen to start her breakfast and coffee. "He's in a rare mood this morning."
My face heated as Claire and I were left alone. It was strange, sitting near her at the bar in the morning. There was no chatter of friends or up-beat music to fill our ears; there was only a shaky rustle as she pulled at her dirty sleeves and the slow scratch of my fork against my plate.
"Excited for your first day?" she cheerfully asked.
"Yeah."
"That's good."
Quiet settled between us again, this time with the added sound of Claire's fingers drumming against the counter before she spoke again.
"I don't know about you, but I have the worst headache!"
She paused as if waiting for me to say something. When I didn't, she tried again.
"Um, what about you? How are you feeling?"
Oh no. My throat went dry with panic. Could she hear me last night?
"I'm fine."
"That's good," she repeated lamely.
And it was quiet once again.
Claire grasped her hands and released a sheepish laugh. "I'm so embarrassed! I can't believe everyone saw me like that last night!"
My humiliation flared as I remembered how Gray found me, and I opened my mouth without thinking. "You aren't the only one who embarrassed themselves last night."
"So, it's safe to say we both did some things we regret then, right? I mean, these hangovers alone!" she laughed again.
Her words flew by fast and self-assured, like a kid trying to sound like an adult. Or was it just in my head? I was overanalyzing everything about her—her voice, her words, her hands. It was so tiring, and I was already so tired. It felt as if my aching head had grown ten times heavier as I nodded.
"Then maybe it's best if we agree to forget the whole thing?"
A dullness thudded in my chest at her bright suggestion. Everyone wanted me to ignore it, even I did, but it felt awful. And unsatisfying. And frustrating. But why bother arguing over something so unimportant?
Before I could respond, the kitchen door swung open. I rested my aching head against my fist as Doug arranged the fixings for Claire's coffee around her. She left the sugar bowl untouched.
"Everything okay?" he asked me.
"Everything's great," Claire immediately answered.
Out of the corner of my eye, she stirred milk into her coffee and thanked Doug. Her exact words were a distant noise, but her spoon clinked against my nerves when I saw how fake her smile appeared. Whatever happened to that genuine grin she used to flash? Was it ever genuine? Was I just overthinking things?
As she forced a drink, her neck tensed, and my head ached again. So, she drinks it that way even when Trent's not around? Why force herself at all?
Keep your head straight, Gray's advice warned me again. I turned away, taking a drink of cold water to try and refocus myself.
Just forget it. Forget her. Forget—
Claire sighed with satisfaction. "You know, you have some of the best coffee I've ever had, and I've had a lot, trust me."
The water pricked in my throat. Something about her heavy-handed praise made me nearly choke.
"That so?" Doug beamed, likely glad to have someone so appreciative after having to put up with me. "Well, if you're that impressed with the coffee, wait until you taste your breakfast!"
He hurried to the kitchen with a spring in his step, unaware of how shallow her words were. And then it hit me, that point that was nagging at my mind. Claire had done the same thing to Jeff—worked him over with thickly-laid compliments—all for a measly discount.
I stopped myself from groaning out loud, but my mind couldn't be as easily silenced. My face grew hotter with each cutting thought.
How have I never thought twice about that? Why did I fall for it? Why did I fall for her? Why am I always so damn stupid? She must think I'm a joke. Who am I kidding—I am a joke. She's probably been laughing at me this whole time.
The memory of her muffled laugh from the night before resounded in my mind and sent my head throbbing. Without thinking, I tossed a handful of coins against the bar. Their clatter drove the unwanted memory away and made Claire jump. My words fell just as hard.
"Why bother flattering him? Your meal's already paid for."
"What are…?" Claire began, but she stopped when I finally forced myself to look directly into her widened eyes.
It was my first good look at her, and I could see why Doug suggested a cup of coffee. Her skin was pale, her lips dry, her eyes reddened and swollen. If I didn't know she was so hungover, I would have thought she'd been crying. An unwelcome pang of empathy went through me.
Don't you dare make me feel sorry for you, I thought, but a stupid part of me wanted to reach out and comfort her. For what, I had no idea, and the last thing I wanted was to have a reason.
"Cliff," she said, her eyes and voice softening with concern. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" I began but cut myself off before I raised my voice. She stared back at me, waiting. Whatever hid behind her eyes was unreadable and made me think of all the times she had stared at me the night before. I cut my eyes away.
"Just forget it. You're good at that."
I pushed back from the bar, ready to return to my room where she couldn't follow me.
As if she would try to follow me.
And I was annoyed at myself for wanting her to.
"Cliff, hold on."
Don't listen to her, I told myself, but I waited for her to speak.
"Yesterday," she breathed before squeezing her eyes shut. "Ugh, I just need to get this out there now before I change my mind and regret saying any of this!"
Her eyes opened but didn't look into mine.
"I'm sorry. I did some things last night I shouldn't have—taking all those shots, getting you to take all those shots, the-the flirting, I guess you could call it," she said before she closed her eyes again. "And I said so many things I never would have if I hadn't been so drunk. I mean, skinny dipping? The negative ion?"
With an embarrassed groan, she dropped her head into her hands.
I waited, listening for the rest of her apology.
She listened, waiting for me to forgive her.
That's it? What, did you actually forget everything else?
I bit back the comment and decided to start from the beginning of where everything went wrong.
"Why'd you get so upset at me last night?"
Claire lifted her head. My question was not the response she was expecting, but she quickly recovered.
"I wasn't that upset."
I lifted my sore body out of my seat.
This is pointless. I should have listened to Gray.
"Hey, wait." Claire stood up in front of me. "I mean, I was upset, but it was for no reason."
I sidestepped her towards the stairs.
"No good reason," she amended, stepping in front of me again.
"Then what's the bad reason?" My jaw strained as I tried to keep my annoyance from revealing itself in my voice again.
She glanced towards the kitchen door and lowered her voice before she spoke again. "Well, it was because…you and Ann."
"Wh—?" My mouth went slack around the unfinished word. I wasn't sure if I should be asking her "what," so she'd have to repeat the ridiculous thing she surely didn't mean to say, or "why," so she'd have to explain the ridiculous thing she had surely said. The only explanation I could think of was equally ridiculous—jealousy. That was ridiculous, wasn't it?
Of course, it's ridiculous. She rejected you, and she's dating someone else, you idiot. She just spent the night with him!
I flinched at the unnecessary reminder.
"Why?"
Claire squirmed under my question.
"Well, you told me you weren't interested in her, but then I find out, when I'm really drunk, that you kissed her on the same day you specifically told me you didn't have feelings for her and that you had feelings for me."
"After."
"What?"
"I kissed her after I told you how I felt." The annoyance I had been holding back hardened into irritation as she forced me to admit aloud how I had mistreated Ann. "And after you rejected me."
"So?"
"So, how can you be angry at me now?"
"I'm not angry at you now," she claimed, blotches of color beginning to spot her cheeks. "I was just drunk last night. Drunk and remembering how I've felt like a jerk and a moron since summer for believing there was something between you two before you swore to me that there wasn't, only to find out, again," she held up a finger, "when I'm really drunk, that there is!"
"But there isn't."
"Maybe you should tell her that."
"We-we've already talked about it," I faltered as an image of Ann silently waiting for me to say something in the kitchen flashed accusingly at the forefront of my mind.
A forced laugh escaped Claire's lips. "Oh, get real."
I glared down at her, struck that she of all people would have the audacity to use those words.
And who does she think she is, telling me to talk to Ann when she—?
The whole untapped hurt and anger from the first rejection burst inside me before I could finish my thought.
"You have no idea what you're talking about," I muttered. "And don't you think I felt like a moron when I found out you were seeing Trent behind my back for who-really-knows-how-long?"
"Behind your back?" She recoiled at the phrase, and I stepped closer.
"Or how about when you flipped a switch last night and started acting like a fool the moment he showed up?"
The blotches of color on her face spread to a satisfying flush.
"Orhow aboutwhen I had to listen to you lie to everyone last night about you two and your—?"
"Why should I have to tell anyone anything about my life?" she interrupted, her body suddenly rigid to match the coldness in her voice.
"Because then—"
But Claire wasn't waiting for an answer.
"If I wanted people to obsess over every little thing I did—
"No one's obsessed—" I interjected, my face burning.
"—I would have never left home. I've always had the decency to never poke my nose in what you were doing."
"If you had bothered—"
"Besides, it's no one's business who I'm seeing except mine and the person I'm with. And Cliff, I'm not with you." Her reddened eyes bore into mine. "I was never with you."
I stepped back as if it would distance me from the hurt she set stinging in me. Instead, I just bumped against my stool.
Claire looked away and let out a short, frustrated breath.
"I mean, please Cliff, we've never done anything."
"We danced," I childishly insisted.
"One time!"
"Three times."
"Months ago!"
"Who cares when it was?" I argued, wrenching control of the conversation from her before she completely dismissed the memory. "You can't just forget you felt something then too. You told me."
Her flush deepened. "I never should have said anything."
"Then why did you?" I demanded, the question the ghost of one of the many thoughts I tormented myself with the night before. "Just to keep me hung up on you in case you needed some idiot to work for cheap again?"
"What? You—?" Her head whipped with disbelief. "Is that what you really think of me?"
"I don't know what to think of you anymore."
Her mouth opened, but no words formed until she dropped her eyes to the floor. "I told you that because I was trying to be honest."
"Well, you'll have to forgive me if I don't take your word for that."
Her body twisted away from me like she had been pushed against the shoulder.
"It was obviously a mistake," she spat and crossed her arms. "Whatever, I don't even know why we're talking about this whole thing, again. You call me a liar but then you don't even listen to the truth."
My words scratched along my sore throat as I struggled to keep them low."I listened to everything you said."
Dammit, I was so stupid for it too, I chided myself. How many times had I let her tell me what to think?
"Then listen to me now," Claire ordered after a glancing at the kitchen door. "All we ever had was a dumb crush that went nowhere. We're both past that now—"
"I'm not!"
For a short moment, all I heard was my pounding heartbeat.
I expected Claire's head to turn towards the kitchen door again, listening for any sign that Doug overheard my raised voice, but she stood locked in place, staring up at me.
"What?" she demanded, her arms tightening across her chest.
The realization of what I blurted out had my pulse racing, but what could I do about it? Lie?
"I still love you," I muttered, angry at the stupidest part of myself that did.
"No, you don't," she immediately corrected me. "You said so yourself last night."
"That's not what I said," I corrected back, before I grasped how pointless it was. Wasn't I doubting it myself the night before? I fell back in my chair, and let all the certainty escape me with a rush of air. "I don't know. I just don't know, Claire. Does it even matter now?"
The floor creaked under her as she awkwardly shifted in front of me. She looked like she wanted to stay standing over me, but a moment passed before she dropped her arms to grab her seat.
"I…I hope you don't," she eventually mumbled to her coffee. "It'd be better for you if you never did."
"Well, that's hardly a secret." Resentment coated my words in a way it hadn't since before I left home, and Claire whipped her head to face me, flustered once again.
"You're acting like I'm the only one with any secrets. Do you think Mary is sitting down at the breakfast table telling Anna all about her and Gray last night? Or that Karen's posting a bulletin in the town square with a list of all the dumb things she said? Or what about you? You have things you don't want people to know, don't you?"
I wrenched my eyes from hers as my stomach knotted with regrets.
"I mean, for as little as you know about me, I know even less about you."
I began to compile a short mental list of what she'd told me versus what I had told her, but Claire's ranting continued undeterred.
"What's the difference between secrecy and privacy really? Trent and I both value privacy in our personal lives, especially about our relationship," she said, but the words she chose, and her deliberate, measured inflection didn't even sound like her—it sounded like him. "And even then, I still told you about us because I could trust you enough to!"
"You're joking, right? Don't act like you told me because you trusted me—you don't trust me. Not enough to be upfront from the beginning. Not enough to tell me the whole story."
"I already—!" Claire huffed but stopped herself to lower her voice and smooth her drying hair. "We're just talking about the same things over and over."
"And yet there's always something new."
"When are you going to g—?"
"I want to know the whole story."
"You don't though!" she blurted out. "I tried to tell you on Mother's Hill and you just cut me off. If you could see the look on your face the moment the whole subject comes up, you wouldn't want to tell you anything either."
"Then look at me now," I demanded, my words an echo of hers.
Our eyes met, and the ache drove into my chest again. Claire quickly dropped her gaze to her mug.
"I should know what secret I'm keeping for you," I insisted.
"You do!"
"I don't think I do, and I definitely don't feel like I do."
"We started seeing each other when we shouldn't have. Why would you want to know anything more?"
I began to turn her question in my head. Why did I want to know? Because I needed something more to torture myself with, something new to fuel the self-loathing, something else to heap on top of all the hurt? I shook the thoughts away. All I wanted was to stop thinking about it—if that was even possible for me.
"When exactly did it start?"
I held my focus on her as she forced another drink of coffee.
And then another.
And then raised her mug for a third.
"Goddess, Claire! If you're just going to sit there and drink that damn coffee instead of answering me, put some sugar in it." I swatted the bowl closer to her and stood to storm off.
"…I don't know when it started exactly."
Dammit!
"How would you not know?"
"Because I wasn't sure what we were doing at first," she mumbled before snatching the sugar bowl. "It wasn't dating exactly. We were more…sleeping together."
I stared blankly, my center going cold. Claire shoveled two overflowing spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee, her face hidden behind her damp hair and hunched shoulders.
"Go ahead," she invited, though nothing in her voice was welcoming. "Say it."
"Say what?" I could hear how flat my tone had become.
"There's nothing you can call me that I haven't heard before. So, hurry up."
"That's not—I don't want to call you anything. I just want to know when."
Claire's shoulders lowered slightly, but her hand gripped her mug as if it were the only thing keeping her in her chair.
"After I collapsed."
"The same day?" I balked, immediately recalling how I had left her in bed that day. My stomach wrenched. Did he come over afterward?
"No," Claire huffed. "Goddess."
"Okay…"
I waited in silence as other possibilities began to pound in my head.
It was when they came to the inn on Ann's birthday, wasn't it? Something was obviously going on, even if I didn't want to see it. No, that means it was probably already happening by then. Oh no, not my birthday? Wait, that was before she collapsed. Then what about all those days she told me to take off or sent me home early? Was that so they could—?
"Are you going to make me guess?" The pain in my throat nearly caused my voice to crack.
"The first time was the night we had dinner together. I think it…" She took a deep breath. "It was Ann's birthday."
Cold, bitter realization spilled all over my memory of that night and dripped down from one thought to the next.
I served them wine.
Dinner too.
My favorite food.
My birthday dinner.
One memory overflowed into the other, staining it.
Why did she have to order the same thing?
Why do I have to remember any of this?
Maybe I am obsessed.
But there was one thing I was sure of.
I am such an idiot.
I leaned back in my chair, the fight sapping out of me as I slowly poisoned my memories. Claire hid behind her waving hair but kept talking. Maybe a part of her was relieved to tell me or to tell anyone. I didn't know. And what was I going to do? Ask her to lie?
"That night at the beach, he warned me he was starting to think about me and that we should probably stop spending time together, at least, until we were both confident that a relationship was worth pursuing." I noticed with a pang that her speech was once again imitating Trent's before she switched back to her own, "And, you know, when I wasn't his patient. And being the responsible adult I am, I agreed…up until he walked me home." She shook her head. "I don't know. I was finally starting to feel good again, and I kept thinking about how much of my life I'd spent wasting time, not doing the things I want, so I just…didn't that night."
I wasn't a part of her story at all, yet I took every opportunity to selfishly insert myself—Trent made her feel good because I made her feel bad. I was part of the time she wasted. I was something she didn't want enough.
"We both knew we shouldn't have, but it didn't stop afterward either. And I didn't know if he wanted more or not. He's a little aloof about things like that, and in the city, these kinds of relationships aren't exactly uncommon. Not that I—," she started but stopped herself and took another drink of coffee. "I just didn't know. Now I know he takes just about everything seriously, but at the time, I was confused."
She paused, and I wondered if she was waiting for me to say anything or to ask anything else. I didn't.
"We talked about spending time together at the Cow Festival," she continued, and I braced myself. "Publicly, you know? I thought it sounded like a date. But when he didn't come, I thought he wasn't interested in anything more than what we were already doing. That hurt, thinking that more and more as the day went on…"
I racked my memory of the day, but it was pointless—I hadn't even noticed anything was off.
"So, I tried to forget it and have fun. And then…what happened happened."
I grimaced, thinking how the entire memory I had held to since summer was so vaguely summarized and dismissed.
"When Trent and I talked that night, he told me he wanted to be with me, and that's when we made things official, I guess is the word." Claire blew a loud breath. "There. That's how everything started."
I was silent, but there was a constant banging in my head as I began to piece three different accounts of the same story together with my memories, which only led me to question every other memory.
"It seemed, when we were talking the other day at your house, that maybe you weren't…happy with him."
"I am!" she immediately asserted, pulling her hair back to reveal her flushed face. "I shouldn't have said anything to anyone. I was just a little frustrated. We usually only get time together on his day off, but he's been canceling lately as work's gotten busier, and well, he canceled on me again the night before you came over."
Something sank inside me as I forced the words from my chest.
"Mother's Hill." It wasn't a question.
She nodded. "Moongazing sounded like something right up his alley, but something came up. It shouldn't have even bothered me; I used to be the same way with my work." She let out a joyless laugh. "But what I used to do wasn't nearly as important as what he does. It was complete garbage, really."
So much of the time I spent with her was supposed to be with Trent. I just happened to be around when he wasn't. Was she thinking of Trent the whole time? All I could see in each disenchanted memory was another sign of how stupid I was. The day I confessed to her, she dressed up for him. She waited for him the whole day. And in a moment of rejection, some tiny, pathetic, drunken spark rekindled for me just because I was there?
It all sounded sickeningly familiar.
Goddess, is this what I've been doing to Ann?
The shame, guilt, and disgust with myself I'd felt all morning pushed my pounding head back against my hand. Claire continued, unaware of how I'd leveled myself.
"I went up to the peak anyway, planning on drinking a bunch of sugar and feeling sorry for myself." She frowned down at her coffee. "It sounds so pathetic when I say it out loud. But you were there. And, well, I'm glad you were there."
"Please don't say that," I mumbled.
"What?"
"That you're glad to see me, that you want me around, that the farm isn't the same without me. All that stuff you don't really mean."
"But I do mean it."
"It makes me think you might still feel something for me."
"I don't mean that…"
I turned her words over in my head.
"Do you still feel something for me?"
I had to ask her. I just needed to hear her say it.
"I'm sorry…I don't."
I closed my eyes. Even though I knew it, I still hoped she would say something else.
Do you want her to lie, or do you want her to tell the truth? Do you even know what you want?
It was unfair of me to keep putting all these confused feelings on her.
"I do have feelings for you. I may not understand them, but they're there. I should have told you the other night on Mother's Hill, but I just wanted to be around you again, especially that night." I tried to clear the memory of being fired out of my head. It was strange to think how good it had felt to see her then when being around her now felt so bad. "I thought I could handle them, that I was ready. I wasn't."
"I'm sorry…if I'd known…" But she didn't finish her sentence.
I glanced at her. She looked so small, hunched over her coffee. Maybe, if I had told her I still felt for her, she would have been more careful with my feelings. Besides, it's not like I didn't enjoy her flirting while it lasted—I had wanted a lot more. And I needed to end those feelings.
"Are you in love with him?" I asked, my voice thick.
"I don't use that word lightly," she murmured, and I felt another wave of embarrassment since I obviously did. "But I care about him a lot, even though I haven't shown it well at all…and I know he's the same with me too."
Guilt swelled inside me once again. I hadn't considered Trent's feelings at all. All those thoughts, touches, stares—Goddess, it was so disrespectful. How was I going to tell Carter all of this?
I rubbed at my temples again.
"I'm sorry," Claire repeated.
"Don't be sorry about that." I opened my eyes to see her hand pull back without touching me. "But I wish you felt sorry for the way you were acting last night."
"I do…" she insisted and stared down at her tightening hands in her lap. "I made such a fool out of myself with the things I said, but the least I could've done was not make anyone else feel like one too."
"I don't mean the things you said. I mean how you acted like a completely different person the second Trent showed up."
Her body went tense again.
"What—" I searched the room, trying to find a better way to phrase my question, but couldn't. "What was going on with you?"
Claire hesitated and stared back at me until the kitchen door swung open. She immediately flashed an automatic smile at Doug. The moment her gaze shifted, we both pulled away from one another.
"Here you are!" Doug proudly set a basket on the bar.
"Ah, it already smells so good!" she grinned, and I rolled my eyes. "I can't wait to eat it!"
"Then don't wait. Cliff and I aren't bad company."
"I really wish I could stay, but I have work to do." She gathered up her breakfast and stepped back from the bar before Doug could push his invitation any further. "Thanks again!"
I expected Claire to make her escape. Even though I knew she had to get home, I couldn't help but be disappointed she was running away from my question.
"You're heading to the winery, right, Cliff?" she asked casually. "Want to walk together?"
I looked up at her in surprise. She gave a short nod of her head, urging me along.
Does she want to keep talking?
"Sure." I stood to follow her.
"What, you too?" Doug crossed his arms. "You've barely eaten."
My head filled with possible excuses: I needed to get to work early, I was full, I needed fresh air, and on and on. But after everything I'd said, I didn't want to lie to anyone.
"Sorry, Doug. I'll see you tonight."
I felt his eyes on me as I followed Claire outside.
I squinted from the painfully bright overcast light. The wind blew through the street, chasing brightly colored leaves from their branches onto the cobblestones we walked over. Based on the chills the wind blew over me, Duke had timed the harvest perfectly yesterday. Yet despite the cold, I didn't want to turn back to unearth the same worn-out coat I'd had for years. Claire was equally exposed to the wind, and her hair was damp, but she walked slowly next to me toward the vineyard. I silently hoped she had a coat back home.
Don't start that.
Claire's steps slowed beside me.
"About what you said…" she began, clutching the basket she carried tighter and trying to hold her hair down. "I know I'm different around Trent. But it's because I want to be. Granted, I don't want to be the way I was yesterday. I'm not normally such an embarrassment," she sighed.
"Why do you want to be different around him at all?"
"I just want to be better for him. Doesn't everyone want to be better for the person they like?"
"I don't think you were being better…" I murmured, thinking of how she had treated Ann.
"And I don't need you to tell me that," she said curtly. "I already know I didn't do a good job of it."
"Sorry, I just, I don't get it. But I want to understand. You were all over the place last night. It didn't seem like you were you at all towards the end."
I waited for an explanation, but Claire was silent. I pressed on.
"Even with Trent. First, you were acting like you were just as reserved as him, but then the second Karen started teasing you, you're suddenly more than willing to talk about sex t—"
"Did you really have to bring that up?" she snapped. "I already said I was sorry for what I said."
"Claire, it's not about what you said. It's about why you said it."
"I was drunk!"
"Not so drunk that you had no control over what you were saying," I insisted, annoyance creeping back into my words. "You had an easy enough time brushing off everything I said, calling me drunk and—"
"You were drunk."
Did she really just do it again?
I wheeled around at her, and we stopped in front of rows of grapevines.
"Yeah, I was drunk! I got drunk because I felt like a complete waste of space! One second you're my friend again; the next, it feels like I don't matter to you at all. I might as well have not existed. You spent the night flirting with me, then got angry at me for a reason I didn't even understand, acted like it never happened, lied in front of me, lied about me, acted like that never happened either, and then stayed—!" I stopped myself and breathed deeply. "Just how little do you think of me? How little do you think of all—?"
But I froze when I saw how she had blanched.
"Claire…"
"I made you feel that way?" she repeated. The wind whipped her hair around, tangling it, but she did not attempt to smooth it.
"Yeah…" I worried.
Claire exploded into a rush of speech, her free hand emphasizing every confusing point.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I made you feel that for even a second. And I'm sorry this is such a terrible apology! Goddess, I don't even know how to apologize for this without it sounding manipulative. And I know everything I'm saying just sounds like a lie to you, and I'm sorry for that too, but I really am sorry!"
I stepped back, caught off guard by how flustered she was, and soon I was reassuring her with empty words I couldn't believe were coming out of my mouth.
"It's okay. I'm fine—"
"No, it's not," she insisted. "I'm not that—I don't want to be that person. And I don't want to keep hurting you." She stood squarely in front of me. "What can I do to make everything right again?"
"I…don't know." I blinked, struggling to think of a time when things had been right with us, given my freshly disillusioned memories.
"I could, I don't know, buy you lunch?"
I shook my head with disbelief. She must have been scrambling if she thought lunch was going to solve anything.
"Or you could come by the farm and—?"
"Claire…"
"Or we…or…" she exhaled loudly. "I don't know. What do you want?"
I hesitated. What I wanted wasn't going to happen, and even then, I wasn't even sure if I wanted it anymore. It just felt awful to be around her, to remember those painful moments with her, to think the hateful things about myself.
"I think…I think what I need most is some space from you."
The hurt was visible on her face.
"I'm sorry," I reluctantly persisted. "But this—it's not good."
"No, I get it," she nodded slowly. "I do…I wouldn't want to be around someone like me either." She paused. "Goddess, now I really do sound manipulative…I don't mean to. I understand—it's like what I told Gray: sometimes you need to quit the things that are making you unhappy."
"That's not…" I wanted to tell her that wasn't what I was doing, but it wouldn't be true. "I just need to sort things out. Sort myself out. For real, this time. And maybe then we can figure out where we go from here. I—"
I took a second to consider my words. Was it worth it to maintain a friendship with her when everything went so disastrously wrong? Was she even the same person I thought I was friends with? But I couldn't leave anyone else behind.
"I want to be your friend, but I need to be a better friend. And not just to you—I let a lot of people down last night."
"Me too," she breathed, her shoulders sinking. "I don't want to keep hurting people, but it feels like that's all I've done. I want to be a better, well, everything."
Her regret pulled me closer. "Then, to start, I need you to give me some time, because I can't be a friend feeling like this."
"I will, but…" Claire faltered and dropped her eyes to the street. "Yesterday, with us working together again, I was hoping things were going to go back to normal."
My hands twitched with the urge to hold her, so I clenched them shut.
"Me too."
"I guess we were just kidding ourselves."
"No, for a moment, I think it happened. But that's the problem. Normal is me falling for you…and I can't keep doing that."
"I understand," she said with a sad smile. "I messed everything up."
"Hey…" I began. But as much as I wanted to tell her she didn't do anything wrong, I couldn't.
Her eyes met mine, and I wished they I hadn't. The hurt that touched them squeezed at my chest. At a loss for the words to say that could make it better for either of us, I wrapped my arms around her.
"Cliff…" she said, but I felt her arm around me too.
We stood together, hidden from view behind the clinging vines we picked fruitless the day before. I knew it didn't make sense for me to be comforting her at all, but I couldn't help it. Maybe I never really knew the real Claire, but I still saw the Claire I fell for in her. She pressed against me, her body warm against mine and her tangled hair cool against my arm.
It was strange to think I was so careful to avoid hugging her only yesterday. But now I knew it was ultimately meaningless. I needed to let her go. I needed to let my feelings for her go. After summer, I'd only left them alone until they'd become overgrown. It was time for me to cut them out. I kept telling myself these things, but I held her tighter. Despite everything I'd said and felt, now that it was time for me to let her go, I didn't want to.
Say something to make me forget about it all, I hoped. Something to put things back to the way I used to remember them being. Something to make it last longer. Just a little longer.
It would have been easier if she would have let me go first, but she never made leaving her easy. Claire held me as tightly as I held her—just with one arm. Her other hand carried her gift from Trent.
I sighed and found something else missing from my memory of her. There wasn't any wildflower or summer scent on her this morning.
Pinkcats, I recognized, finally placing the fragrance now that it was gone.
Now I breathed the scent of the same inn soap I used. The realization set an echo of last night's hurt in me.
Even if it was just an echo, it took a bite from me. Though weaker in comparison to what I had felt the night before, it was far stronger than my halfhearted attempts at reasoning myself into not loving her after summer. Now, I was beyond thinking I needed to let her go to really, truly feeling it. And I never wanted to feel it again. I didn't want to keep letting myself get hurt, and maybe that was selfish—I deserved it after all. But the people around me didn't. Ann, Trent, Gray, even Claire.
I pulled my arms from her and stepped back. The wind blew at my back, quickly cooling the warmth her touch had left behind. It felt incredibly lonely, but it's not like it was nothing I hadn't felt before.
"I'm sorry, but I need to go," I murmured, careful not to look directly in her eyes again.
Claire's reluctant nod set my chest aching again. This was going to be harder than I wanted it to be.
"Good luck today. I'll be—" She cut herself off and smiled. "Just, good luck."
"Thanks," I said with a small smile. What heart-pulling thing had she stopped herself from saying for my sake? "Take care of yourself and take care of the farm…I want to be impressed again next time I see it."
She let out a rueful laugh. "I'll try."
The moment settled before I spoke again.
"Goodbye, then."
"Goodbye."
For a short instant, neither of us moved.
Then I took my first step towards the winery.
Did I get heavy-handed? Yes, but it isn't exactly the first time I've been on the nose with my writing, lmao.
I did not have fun writing Cliff's negative self-talk at the beginning of the chapter. His anxiety was through the roof, and his self-esteem was looooooow. Gotta love a good whiskey/Claire hangover. But I did have fun writing a more frustrated and vocal Cliff! It's like getting a sneak preview of what he might sound like later when he has some confidence, just without all the frustration and paranoia. But arguments are kind of hard, especially when I'm wanting to jump in the middle and start pointing out all the dumb, hypocritical things each character is saying, lol. Cliff was stepping all over Claire's boundaries; Claire was invalidating, etc.
The last time Cliff was hurt by Claire, his thoughts were in the past, focusing on the "I should have…/If only I…" territory for a long time—it's kind of his thing 😉. He wasn't much aware of how others around him were affected, and he was still burying a lot of his feelings. This time, his thoughts are shifting to the future, "Never again" territory (lol). He's more aware of how Claire affected him and, more importantly to him right now, how he's affecting the people around him. He's also ~marinating~ in hurt feelings, but he needs to come to terms with them. His infatuation with Claire has been a symptom of a larger problem for him that this will help him see further. 😉
Also, I realize Claire is a whole mess of her own (I don't think she came off as very sympathetic in this chapter, but she's acting the way she is for her reasons, not that it excuses it.) I just want to note that I, as the author, recognize that while Cliff does need to be a better friend to people, I'm VERY aware that Claire needs to be a lot better too! Also, just because Cliff is thinking things doesn't mean they are correct.
Now for songs! For Cliff's side of the argument, I like Elliott Smith's "Somebody That I Used to Know" (not Gotye's—they're entirely different songs that happen to share a title) but blasting Soft Cell's "Tainted Love" works too, just sayin'. 😂 For Claire's side of the argument, I love "Mind Your Own Business" by Delta 5, and I like "Easy Baby" by La Luz for her at both the start and end of the chapter. 😉 If you're into the music mentions, I put up a lot more on my Tumblr, kind of as a progress marker, lol.
I'm so happy to say I'll be returning to weekly updates now! I'll be uploading every Friday again for as long as I can manage it, lol. Thanks for reading! Guys, I promise we're getting a reprieve from the nothing-but-angst now. Doug was right; Cliff's at the start of a good thing. 😊 A good song to mark this shift is Rilo Kiley's "Better Son/Daughter."
I want to give a shoutout to Durotos and krose13 for listening to me fret about this mess of a chapter and being great sports about me bouncing ideas off them. I was worried a second Cliff/Claire separation would seem repetitive, but that's also the point, haha. Things are going to go very different for these two this time, at least. Anyways, I'm far too willing to blabber on and on about this story and my worries, and Durotos and krose13 are my victims. Thank you!
I'm really curious to hear your thoughts on this because, well, a lot of ground was covered in this chapter, haha. There were a lot of things said that Cliff's gonna be reflecting on and learning from. I appreciate and welcome criticism!