hey guys i'm seriously so sorry for not updating very often (or at all) but there's literally only one more chapter after this one left! enjoy!
and thank you so much for reading. x
Ally
Things are moving fast.
Every song I have written have been sent out.
That means this is happening. Really happening. Ally Dawson will be a legitimate songwriter by the end of the year.
I quit my job the day Austin and I broke up, or took our break, or whatever it is we are doing. Just like I'd basically told him to get his shit together, I needed to get mine together, too.
As soon as I left him that day, I knew in my heart he wasn't Elliot all over again. Austin just isn't like him. I should have seen that.
Here's the thing, though: that part of himself that he buried with his brother was eating away at him. Who knows, maybe he is trying to figure himself out, maybe not. All I know is he helped me figure out who I was and I wish I could have done the same for him.
Sure, that whole awkward-turns-to-anger thing I had going on wasn't pretty, but he didn't even stay and fight for me.
I have no idea where that leaves us.
Are we are on pause?
Broken up?
Over?
I just don't know.
He took off that night for New York City, two weeks earlier than he had planned to return for his mother's wedding, and none of us have heard a word from him. I was supposed to go with him to the wedding.
Obviously I didn't.
The gaping wound in my chest is still wide open. I've typed out hundreds of text messages to him and have yet to send a single one. One day I'll compose the right message. It will be one that tells him exactly how much I love him. Which is enough to set him free. To allow him to take the time he needs to find himself. And hopefully, like the saying goes, he'll come back to me.
The container of leftover macaroni and cheese I brought home from lunch the other day is nowhere to be found. Searching amid the tofu and couscous that Trish made last night, I can't find it. Practically diving into the refrigerator, I begin to wonder if Trish tossed it out, but then I find the white foam container in all its glory and try not to leap with joy.
It's the little things that help me get through the days without Austin. Like carb-filled, grease-laden, fatty, and oh so good foods that Trish normally outlaws.
Due to my delicate state of mind, she's been easy on me. My taste buds and I appreciate it.
"Caught you," Trish scolds, shaking her finger at me.
I raise my palms surrender style and the macaroni and cheese falls to the floor.
Crap.
Crap.
Crap.
The container bounces twice, but to my amazement, it doesn't open.
Small things. Like I said. It's the small things.
I consider bending to pick it up, but wait to make sure Trish doesn't have a dastardly plan up her sleeve.
She casts a glance at the macaroni-and-cheese container by her toes, then at me. And then, because it is the small things that matter, she picks it up and hands to me.
"Thanks." I take the food and ease past her to put it in the microwave. I look over my shoulder. "Want some?"
She laughs and shakes her head before opening the refrigerator and removing a number of items I'd prefer not to name. "I'm going to make black bean burritos. There's plenty if you're still hungry after you eat that artery-clogging meal."
I give her my evil look. The one I reserve only for her.
Slapping her hand to her forehead, she looks right at me. "Right," she quips, "how could I forget— heartbroken Ally doesn't eat healthy food. Silly me."
I pick up my wineglass and throw her the finger around the glass with a smile.
She shrugs and grabs for a cutting board. "Still no word from Mr. Tall, Blond, and Broodyface?"
I shake my head. "No, and we are not talking about him, remember?"
At least she doesn't call him an asshole like she did Elliot.
"Oh, I remember," Trish says, slicing the end off an onion. Then, under her breath I hear her mutter, "And here are his balls," and the knife slices the onion in half.
Ouch! Just the thought.
For someone who didn't know how to cook three months ago, she's become quite the chef. Ginsu knife and all.
The microwave dings and I remove the container, holding it toward her. "You sure you don't want any? It's really, really good."
She shakes her head and points to the can of black beans. "These are going to be delicious, so save some room."
Pulling a fork from the drawer, I find myself laughing. Believe it or not, the laugh sounds more genuine than any I've faked over the past three weeks. "I'm sure they are, just like the tofu tacos last night."
"Those were a little overdone," she admits.
Cardboard in a soggy whole-wheat tortilla shell— there are no words to describe it.
Just as I sit down and swallow my first bite of deliciousness, the kitchen door swings open.
"Hey, beautiful ladies," Dez greets us. "Anyone up for a movie? There's a new horror flick playing in the Village," he asks.
"I can't," I say to him. "I have an early morning meeting."
Dez gives me one of his sympathetic nods. The one where I can tell he wants to talk about Austin, tell me what a stand-up guy he is but doesn't, because maybe he doesn't believe it. Or maybe he doesn't think he should. Guy code and all. They're best friends and he would never talk badly about Austin— I get it.
Then again, we all seem to be staying quiet about Austin for our own reasons. Like we are waiting for the numbness of his abandonment to wear off. The thing is, I know Dez must be in contact. Still, I don't ask, afraid of what he might say, I suppose.
Averting his eyes from me, Dez shifts his gaze to Trish. "What about you?"
Dez's eyes are watering from the onions. "I can't either— Jace is coming over later, and besides, I have to open the tower tomorrow."
Dez takes a seat next to me at the counter. "That sucks. I hate the morning shift," he says to Trish.
Having moved on to the stove, Trish turns around with a wooden spoon in her hand. "Stay for dinner. I'm making burritos."
"Sure, sounds good," Dez answers.
When Trish turns around I mouth, "Bean," and offer him a bite of mac and cheese.
Taking my fork, he chews and swallows before getting up to stride over to the fridge. It's then that I notice he is still in his lifeguard clothes. He knew we were going to turn him down. Grabbing two beers, he offers one to Trish and takes the other for himself.
Gulping a mouthful of red wine, I start to think about how he's been around a lot lately.
The pot on the stove bubbles and small pieces of bean seem to be launching like mini rockets. "Oh, shit, they're exploding," Trish cries.
Dez rushes over and turns the gas down. "The flame is too high," he tells her.
Oh, boy, does she give him the evil eye.
Almost crying from laughter, I try to compose myself when she glares at me next.
As soon as Dez sits down, I swivel my chair toward him and push my food his way. "Finish it," I tell him. "I'm full."
Honestly, I haven't been eating much lately, and not because of Trish's cooking, either. I just have no appetite.
Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Dez pushes it in front of me and covertly sneaks bites when Trish isn't looking.
"So," I say. "No hot date tonight?"
"Just you two." He grins.
"I've got a few friends who'd love to date you," Trish tells him, popping the burritos in the microwave.
Dez tilts his bottle back and casually answers, "I'm cool."
I guess that's a nice of saying no freaking way am I letting you set me up with one of your homegrown, earth-loving, save-the-world friends.
They are nice.
All of a sudden, the microwave has a white haze coming from the inside. Like it's possessed or something.
I point to it. "Ummm... T, should the microwave be smoking?"
She rushes over to it and opens the door, removing the plate with more-than-steaming-hot shells. "I guess they didn't need to be warmed up for very long," she says with a smile.
About twenty minutes later, my plate is empty, and the burritos are done. Trish grabs the food and a stack of plates. "Let's sit in the family room and eat."
I hope Dez can eat another meal.
Trish and I take the couch. Dez takes the chair.
Once we all have the exploded bean burritos with uncooked onions and overcooked shells on our plates, Trish turns toward Dez and points to him with her fork. "Now I know," she says through a mouthful of food, "that you ate Ally's macaroni and cheese. So tell me what's up with the new attitude?"
He winces after he takes a bite of his food and sets his plate down, "Believe it or not, I'm ready to grow up and figure out who Dez Wade is."
Amen, I think.
Amen.
And then I shift my eyes toward the ceiling. I don't ask the big guy up above for much, but right now I find myself praying that Austin finds himself, too.
Please, God, help me out, just this once.