Page 96 of Burn the Script

Confused, I frown. “Like a gesture?”

“Like an honest gesture…a small one,” he says, holding his thumb and index finger an inch apart.

I love small things. There’s a whole box of them on my TV stand—mementos I’ve collected over the years. Some people want flashy gifts, but the little ones have always held more meaning to me. Photos, bow ties, an empty candy bag from a bike crash. Even a folded name tag has sentimental value.

When viewed as a whole, the unsuspecting, little things often add up to something grand and spectacular. Like proof of a beautiful life with the most wonderful man who would do anything to help me succeed.

Nodding, I say, “Small is good. I can do small.”

41

GRAHAM

NOW

Thursday, March 9th

“When was the last time we had a poolside chat?”

My lips curve upward at the sweet voice coming from behind me. Tatum and I haven’t been in California at the same time in well over a year, though the circumstances of her sudden return are complicated and heartbreaking. She’s on the outs with Jake, but I’m selfishly happy to see her in our natural habitat.

“It’s been a while. We’ve been busy trying to hold our lives together,” I say.

Settling next to me, she sticks her bare legs in the heated pool with mine. “Were you doing yoga?”

I glance down to confirm I’m wearing underwear, then shake my head. “Couldn’t get in the right mind space.”

She leans back on her hands and sighs, tipping her face to the sun. Her long braid snakes down the front of her sweatshirt, reaching the zipper of her cutoff denim shorts. “It’s a beautiful morning. I wish we could go to the beach.”

“We need to lie low after what happened in San Antonio.”

Remorse dulls her blue eyes. “Jake blamed himself because it was his idea, but I knew better. I’m the queen of bad decisions lately.”

I recall what Miguel said about Tatum knowing the risks. His reactions to certain situations in the past make more sense now that I’m aware of his fears. I regret not pressing harder to get him to talk whenever he’d shut down on me. My light approach to offering him support in the past backfired, big time.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” I say. “We’ve all made mistakes, and Jake understands the rules now, even if he had to learn them the hard way.”

Her feet glide through the water, creating ripples on the surface. “Is love a mistake? Because it shouldn’t be this freaking hard. If the fates decide who we fall for, they could at least give us a clue about how to keep our soulmates happy.”

I look at the photo I’ve been staring at all morning. When I met Miguel, the fates gave me more than a clue. They handed me the keys to his happiness: quiet moments and quality time. He never asked for more than sitting around and talking, enjoying each other’s company. Neither of us need thrilling adventures or star-studded galas to enrich our lives. Simply being in each other’s presence has always been enough.

As Tatum leans in, her lavender lotion overpowers the smell of chlorine. “Is that a park?”

“This is where we met.” I tilt the phone to give her a better view of the image. “It’s silly, but last year, I’d go there early in the mornings and lie on the grass, like reliving that day all over again.”

The part I won’t admit is how I imagined Miguel showing up one of those mornings looking for me, but he never did. So, I gave movie updates to the sunrise and laughed into the ocean’s void as I recalled the memories we made.

Tatum’s hand glides up and down my back, her touch firm and welcome. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you when you needed me most. The past year has been rough, but that’s no excuse for neglecting my best friend duties.”

“You have no reason to apologize. We don’t get to choose the time and place of our disasters.”

She hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Her personal setbacks outnumber mine by a lot, yet she smiles and carries on as best she can. People assume she’s delicate because of her gentle nature and optimism, but underneath, she carries grit and strength one only earns through heavy loss.

“Do you think we love too deeply?” she asks.

“Yes, and we mate for life.” I bump her shoulder with mine. “Even with our friends.”

A melodic giggle trickles out of her before ending on a loud sigh. “What should we do now? I’m open to marrying each other for real and having a platonic happy ever after. Of course, Maisy wouldn’t love the idea. She already complains about ‘double the diva’ when we’re all in the same room for five minutes.”