Wren
I am a terrible, sick human being. I am going straight to hell, no question.
I could tell with each frequent glance from all three tables I was working, I could see him perfectly, sitting on the metal bar stool as he scrolls through his phone-- I could tell he was just fine. Harmless. Innocent.
Judging by how considerate he's been towards me since he's arrived back in town, and how he's never done anything to bring me harm in the past, I had every reason to have no fear or bad blood towards him in the slightest bit.
But the truth is, he made me nervous.
When he used to come around a lot, he was always with Haven. Every second of every day, their arms were looped together, their beings attached in some way. So when I look at him, it's extremely difficult to see him alone, kept to himself.
It's not like I actually truly believed all the rumors that are passed around about him. That he has a bad reputation, that he was the one who kidnapped Haven and committed homicide. I definitely didn't believe that last one. But the reality is, I'm not exactly convinced he had nothing to do with it.
That's why I'm sick. I mean, it's totally and completely plausible that he is just a normal twenty-one year old guy who fell in love too quickly and lost someone, just like I lost someone. Maybe he just wants to talk to me. Be friends. We do have that much in common, after all.
But still, there's that ping in my gut-- so tangible, so palpable, I couldn't shake it off so easily. His distant gaze was cold, I could see it from here. I could feel it, and that's definitely something, right?
I don't know. I'm not even sure of my own emotions. All I know is that things were a lot less complicated before he popped into my life, and now I think about her a lot more, miss her more, question myself. I just want him to go back to San Francisco so I can pick up where I left off.
Once the family at the last table finishes their food, I begin to clean up. I kind of felt bad-- it had been almost an hour and Shawn was still waiting patiently for me, fidgeting with his string backpack by the edges in a nervous haste.
I wipe up the table top and juggle the dishes off to the kitchen, collecting my tips as I go. Once I had run out of stalling that I could do, I take a deep breath, fix my ponytail quickly in the reflection of the shiny kitchen door, and head straight for the bar with my arms swinging by my sides.
Shawn looks up at me as I approach him.
"Hey," he smiles kindly, turning his phone off and sliding it into his back pocket.
"Hello," I wave awkwardly. "Sorry for making you wait."
"It's no problem," he shrugs, "it's not like I had anything better to do. Sit down, I have that present for you."
I feel like perhaps I should be worried. It's awfully strange that he's giving me a gift, considering that we barely know each other. Everything about us is just so tense and awkward. I wouldn't give a gift to me if I were him. In fact, if I were him, I'd stay in San Fransisco.
"It's not ideal, so I hope you didn't set your expectations too high," he says, followed by a laugh as he slings his backpack towards the front, opening it up and digging through it.
There's that ping again.
"Here it is," his eyes light up, and he pulls out a small, rectangular leather-bound notebook, it's cover a lovely dark lavender-purple, it's ends frayed and tearing.
He hands it over to me like a fragile prize. I look at the book, then back up at his insisting eyes, then back down at the book, and slowly take it from him.
Okay. So when he said not ideal he really meant that there was no way in heaven or hell that I was expecting an old worn out notebook as my birthday present.
"Uh, what is it?" I ask, sliding down in the seat next to him without removing my eyes from the book.
"Her diary," he says plainly, like it was no big deal. "Haven's. I thought you might want to read it."
"Um, why would I want to read it?"
Is this some kind of joke? A taunting? Haven never did anything but get herself into wild shit, and now he wants me to read about it? To prove once and for all that she really was the better out of the two of us, by making me read about all of her exciting adventures?
"So you can know her," Shawn replies, turning to face the bar and taking a sip of a small, clear beverage placed in front of him. I waited for him to go on, but he left it there.
"I did know her," I finally say, and it came out sounding rather insulted.
"No," he shakes his head. "She was different than you thought. But don't feel like the odd man out, Wren. I didn't know her like that either. She played everyone, both of us. Read it, you'll see what I mean."
I cast my gaze down to the small book in my hands, an elastic string holding it shut tight. She doodled some windy designs with an ink pen in the bottom right hand corner, and right away I recognized them.
She had drawn the same designs on the whiteboard hung up beside her bedroom door, and her walls were, in fact, the same shade of purple as the book. The whole thing said Haven.
That ping in my gut soon turned to one of longing, and I missed her again. I could picture her sprawled out on her black-and-white duvet writing in it, her cheeky grin a result of all the memories she had made the night before, the entire world she had built that seemed so distant from me, like I could never be apart of it.
"Seriously, Wren," Shawn suddenly speaks up, turning to face me again and taking anther sip of his drink. "You'll want to read it."
The truth is, I wasn't sure if I could argue with him anymore. I mean, even if she probably wanted to keep this thing private, out of reach from anyone who tried to get their hands on it, maybe the whole point of it was to have her loved ones check it out once she's passed. And there was a part of me that wouldn't mind giving it a peak either, just to see if she mentioned me or something.
So, I give him a small, reassuring nod, and stick the book in the pocket of my waist-tied apron, which barely fit, but it'll do until it's time for me to leave.
"Did you read it?" I ask Shawn, standing up from my seat and preparing to get back to work.
He shrugs. "Yeah, I did. Why?"
"Just curious, I don't know. To be honest, I didn't even know she kept a diary. I mean, like, I think I've seen this book before, on her shelf once or twice. But I never saw it being used."
"I saw her writing in it only once," Shawn closes his eyes and nods, as if remembering the day. "I didn't see much of it after that, until, like, right before the cops came to get all of her stuff and mail it back to you and your family. I found it and hid it beneath the mattress in our room. It was none of their business, and it's not like anything in it would help them in any way. So I kept it."
"I think she would be happy to know that," I mumble.
It was quiet after that. Shawn just finishes off his drink and tilts his head towards Emma, who was working on the other end of it, as if to say thank you.
Then he looks at me and motions towards the diary. "Call me when you finish it, alright?"
I give a small nod as he rises to his feet, fixing his backpack and starting towards the door.
"I'll catch you later," he says quietly as he passes me.
I don't know what it was, but something in me felt driven to follow him, to the parking lot. I stopped as he exited the restaurant and walked down the steps and across the lot to his black Toyota Prius. I step outside the door, hoping he wouldn't see me, and watched as he placed a hand on the handle.
Then he looks up.
He stares for a moment, before raising his hand up to wave. I squint against the sunlight, and, feeling the diary in my pocket, I mouth "thank you" in his direction.
He smiles in return before climbing into his car, backing out, and disappearing down the street.
***
hope you guys are liking this story so far. im trying not to completely copy Saving Zöe and throw in my own changes, so this story will be slightly different. there's also a different ending, so stay tuned!!
feedback???
-avey