PROLOGUE
A FEW MONTHS LATER
I stand on the grass, my feet bare and my sandals dangling from my hand, a lone tear rolling down my cheek.
“I don’t know why I’m here, because you never listen to me anyway,” I say, looking at his smiling face, the large sunflower I hold in my hand partially hiding it. “But you need to know thatI ammad. Mad about all those things you haven’t said to me. Mad about everything you hid and lied about. Mad that I had to learn about all of this in letters, when you could have told me in person, before all this happened.
“Did you think I would not understand? Did you believe I would not support you?” I ask, but get no answers. “Because I love you and I would have,no matter how painful it would’ve been.”
A strangled sob breaches my throat and I close my eyes. My heart is waiting for him to talk back. To explain. To apologize, anything.
He doesn’t.
The wind is picking up and the sound of my flowy baby blue dress flapping around my calves and knees is the only thing I can hear.
“But I forgive you. No matter how broken my soul is, I forgive you, and I love you.”
1
A SHITHOLE ON A RAINY WEDNESDAY
Jack: What about Thai food?
Jack: Or Pizza?
Jack: Wait, I know. I’ve been craving Indian Food for days.
Prudence: You knowthere is no Indian restaurant around here.
Prudence: I can pick up Thai, Chinese, or Pizza if you want on my way home.
Jack: Wait, isn’t there a Poke restaurant?
Prudence: Hm… Yes. I think so.
Jack: Poke then. I want poke.
Prudence: Check the menu online and text me what you want. I’m off at 5.
Jack: Sweet.
Jack: Also, we need to spend a night storytelling.
Jack: Need new ideas for the next one.
PRUDENCE
The bar is quiet and nearly empty like any typical rainy Wednesday afternoon.
But after all, it shouldn’t surprise me; every day feels like a rainy Wednesday afternoon in this gloomy place. Why would anyone interesting come have a drink here, when they could just hop on a ferry and enjoy their time in Seattle? Still rainy, but at least, there’s more booze, more entertainment, more people. Just—more.
Maybe I shouldn’t complain. At least, it’s less than a fifteen-minute ride between our temporary house in Indianola and the bartending gig I found in Kingston.
Jack finished writing his book a couple of weeks ago, so I’m sure he’ll get bored here eventually. And then we’ll move on. Hopefully, where the sun shines more than 152 days a year.
“Excuse me, miss?”
My gaze lifts slowly in the stranger’s voice direction, and I force a smile. Not one of our usual patrons, but it was obvious from the moment he called me miss. Our regulars usually call the staff by their names.
