Page 36 of Late Bloomer
And I’m sorry but it’s pretty fucking rude to ghost your best friend like this
I’ve been going through a lot of shit with Miles and I could really use your advice
But you only ever have time for yourself so i’m not sure why i’m surprised… fuck my feelings, right?
I didn’t tell Laney, or anyone outside of my family, that I was moving here, and I have about fifty unanswered texts from her over the past week, ranging from heartfelt to downright shitty. I even got a call from my mom saying Laney had been ringing the house phone, asking where I was. My far-too-honest mom, God love her, told Laney I’d moved, which apparently resulted in quite the hysterical declaration of how devastated she was.
I’ve been ignoring her. Or, not ignoring as much as just… forgetting she exists? Which is an objectively shitty thing to do to someone, and guilt froths up in my stomach every time I linger on the truth of it. But coming here, to this farm and the flowers and the complications with Pepper, was a Laney detox.
My brain has always functioned on the out of sight, out of mind philosophy, something a counselor once told me is part of neurodivergency. If I don’t leave vegetables at the front of the fridge, I forget I bought them, only to remember when they’re rotted and smelly. If I don’t leave my markers out on my desk, I’ll forget I have a certain color and end up buying three more. Apparently, the same applies to people I cared about who never really treated me well.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, trying to decide how to respond. But it all makes me feel so… sotired. It’s exhausting to be regularly reminded how I come up short with a friend I’ve given everything I can to.
I swipe to Miles’s messages instead. It’s like he’s writing a fuckboi textbook.
Miles
heyy
been thinking about you lol
wanna hang?
This last one makes me genuinely snort.
you know I moved out of Charlotte, right?
I watch the text bubble bounce in and out of the screen. Poor Miles, he’s probably going to strain something from thinking too hard.
you did?? When
a couple weeks ago
where?
Right. Not about to run the risk of him passing the info on to Laney and her showing up here to tell me what a shit friend I am in person.
the hundred acre wood
bro you moved all the way to california??
I pocket my phone with a shudder. I can’t believe I ever let that person penetrate my body.
Gently, I move the completed shoe sets to a shelf so they can dry, then do a cursory cleanup before switching off the lights and trudging back to the cabin. I stop in the kitchen, ears pricked for any noises from Pepper. I slip off my shoes and tiptoe up the stairs, holding my breath as I press my ear to her door. A rush of relief like a retreating tide flows through me at the peaceful silence. Good. She deserves all the rest after what she went through.
Slipping back downstairs—cursing every squeaky step along the way—I grab some water, then look around the living room. I’m tired, but I know it’s not the type of tired that will actually let me sleep. It’s a worn-out brain tired from a creative afternoon, but with buzzing limbs that are still running on the high-stimulus frequency. I eye the overstuffed couch, imagining how good it would feel to collapse on top of it. Allow myself to relax just a notch and let this place feel like the home I’d hoped it would be.
Oh fuck it, it’s just a couch. With a zealous leap, I launch onto the cushions and burrow into the throw blankets.
Heaven. Pure, upholstered heaven.
Maybe I’ll be able to sleep after all, a gentle weight tugging at my eyelids.
But a creak on the stairs jolts me upright, guilt zipping through me like I’ve just been caught with my hand down my pants.
Pepper’s rumpled form appears in the archway, dark circles ringing her eyes despite her being in bed most of the day.
“Hey,” I say softly, my gaze trailing a circuit from her head to her toes.
