My stomach tightened with the anxiety that she would back out, but I meant it. I would never pressure her if she wasn’t ready.
“I want to look at it. I’m curious to know what you packed, but I’m nervous…” She paused for a moment, eyes darting away then back. “I’m nervous you’re expecting me to remember, and I’ll disappoint you when I don’t.” She squeezed the bag tighter to her chest, like a lifeline as she waited for my response and my heart cracked at the sight.
“May, I’m not expecting this to be some kind of cure. I just wanted to get you some things I thought might help you learn about who you are, where you come from.”
Her grip on the bag loosened, and I felt like I could breathe a little easier.
“Promise?” she asked as her mouth quirked to the side.
“Promise.”
“Fine,” she breathed. “I’m ready.”
Unzipping the bag, Maybelle went in for the first item, which was a white novel with a little upside-down chick on the front. “Flipped?” she asked, opening the book cover to read the author’s name. “Flippedby Wendelin Van Draanen.”
My smile grew wide as I watched her study the book. “Yeah, that one was your favorite,” I explained, remembering how I’d seen her read and re-read the short novel through the years.
She smiled at the book before putting it off to the side. “I’ll start it tonight.”
The next item she removed was a small pair of wireless ear buds. “Oh, these will be nice. I’ve been wanting to listen to more music.”
“I bet. You’re a music and singing prodigy.”
Maybelle dropped the earbuds and her jaw. “No way. For real?”
I nodded back fervently.
“Hmm,” she hummed. “How cool. I’ll have to give that a try. Maybe I’ll serenade you soon.” She gifted me a sideways smirk, and it took everything in me not to burst at the seams with laughter.
“Okay, last thing,” she announced, and I tensed, knowing exactly what was sitting at the bottom of that bag. She tugged out that small, black, leather-bound notebook. The journal that was full of the sweetest words, gentlest thoughts, aggressive goals, dark nightmares, and beautifully written dreams. She opened to the first page of the book, her eyes skimming the words scribbled across it.
That same page I read at her bedside a year ago.
A small gasp escaped her. “Is this mine? This whole thing?” Her hand covered her mouth as she continued to study the first few pages.
“Yeah, you’ve been recording your life since middle school. I thought it would be a good thing if you’re ever curious or have questions about your past. You can askthe person who was there for all of it. You.”
I was sweating, hoping she would cherish that little, bound book of pages like I did. The book that got me through the last year in one piece.
“Wow,” Maybelle whispered as she flipped to the next page. Her soft, stunned look suddenly turned astounded. “Oh, my—I dedicated this whole thing to my future husband,” she said, eyes still searching. A beat of silence passed before she gingerly placed the book on her lap. “This is a lot. Thank you, Trey. For all of this.”
I sighed with relief. “I’m so glad you like it. I hope you can—” Maybelle cut me off with a targeted stare that made me snap my mouth shut.
She held up my journal, accusatory eyes still tracking me. “Now, Mr. Turner, how did you know this was my journal and that it dates back to middle school?”
Shit. I didn’t think that one through.
I didn’t think that through at all.
“Uh.” I fumbled for words. I could totally fib… Bend the truth, spare my pride and her opinion of me this round.
“I read it.”
Nope, guess the strategy was all honesty tonight.
Maybelle’s eyes widened. “Trey Turner,” she gasped. “You are so obsessed with me. It might be creepy if you weren’t so cute about it.” Her laughter howled over the phone.
I couldn’t argue with that. I was so obsessed with her that it probably should be considered a little stalker-like. But I had all the best intentions, which had to count for something.
