Читать книгу Love is Hell - Melissa Marr - Страница 16

IT’S SATURDAY AFTERNOON, A full three weeks since my visit to Mrs. Slather.

And a full three weeks since I’ve seen Travis.

I’m sitting in Stanley’s Coffee Shop with Craig and Raina, a large cup of regular positioned on the table in front of me, since, oddly enough, Stanley’s bland-o blend is actually starting to grow on me.

“So, how are you holding up?” Craig asks.

I shrug, trying my best to stay optimistic. The truth is, aside from Travis’s absence from my dreams, my life here has gotten more palatable—not unlike Stanley’s java.

It’s weird, but moving halfway across the country—far from all-things-Emma—has brought her closer. Just yesterday, when I was whipping up a batch of butterscotch pudding in the kitchen, I accidentally said Emma’s name in front of my parents—since Emma and I used to barter over who would lick the spoon, the bowl, and the stray droplets of spilled batter—and neither of them snapped at me. They just sort of exchanged a look and, though I wouldn’t stake my life on it, I’m pretty sure I saw a tiny smile wiggle across my mother’s lips.

For her—and them—that’s huge.

Then, about two and half weeks ago, I opened my closet to look at the skates, to really see them for the first time in five years—white with red stripes running down the sides, glittery pink laces, and a giant scratch on the front from when I wiped out doing a spin.

I took them out and left them by my desk, so I’d be forced to look at them all the time. After a couple days, the anxiety wore off and they became just skates. Nothing more. And so I ended up donating them to Goodwill, opting to remember my sister by thinking about all our butterscotch concoctions and the times we made blanket forts under the dining room table.

“You’re looking a whole lot better,” Raina says, repositioning one of the many barrettes that adorn her hair. “I mean, I was seriously considering staging a Clinique intervention for you.”

“Well, thanks,” I say, glancing at my reflection in the wall mirror behind her. Having finally gotten caught up on sleep, I’m no longer a walking zombie. Gone are the veins of redness that ran through my otherwise bright green eyes. So long, tired and pasty complexion; my skin seems, dare I say, glowing compared to just a month ago. And so does my hair—no longer the drab auburn tresses that hung down the sides of my face. It now looks downright tousled.

“So, is it safe to assume your house is a ghost-free zone now?” Craig smiles, exposing the oh-so-adorable gap between his two front teeth.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” I say, looking down at my wrist, where the bruise has finally healed. “I mean, sometimes, when I least expect it, I get a hint of him—a vibe, a feeling, a whiff of his spicy scent.”

Like the other day when I was waking up, I could have sworn I felt someone clasp my hand. A few days before that, when I was getting dressed, I thought I spotted a hockey stick propped up against the wall, but, when I looked back, it was gone.

“So, he’s still around,” Craig says, trying to be clear.

“In some way, I guess, he always will be.”

“That’s totally hot.” Raina grabs a sugar packet and attempts to fan herself down with it. “Any chance he has an available dead friend?”

I let out a laugh, wondering if Travis is watching over me right now, if he’s happy where he is.

And if his heart aches, too.

“You should totally go on one of those ghost-hunter shows,” she says. “You know .nbsp;.nbsp; the kind where the psychics help solve crimes and stuff.”

“I’m hardly psychic.”

“Well, what else do you call it? Last I heard, it wasn’t exactly mainstream to communicate with the dead—much less make out with them. How was that, by the way?”

I smile wide, just thinking about it. About him. Our last kiss in front of the lake, our fingers entwined, and our lips melted together.

“That good, huh?” Raina asks, winking at me. “I need to get me some ghost—fast.”

“Right,” Craig says, “because nobody with a pulse would possibly date you.”

While they continue to bicker, I lean back in my seat, noticing the sudden warmth in my palm.

And the smell of spiced apples all around me.