Here Comes the Sun | ✓

Chapter Eighteen - Libby

Chapter Eighteen.

"I remember the day I met Nate Hudson,"  I read, opening the first page of the New York Bestselling Novel that had been Liv's favorite way back when.

I smile at the memory of her fangirling over it while we were reading our books quietly in her room. Every ten minutes or so, she would disrupt the silence by squealing or making some kind of sound effect. Sometimes she would just repeat one of the sentences over and over again, whispering it like they were words of gold.

I pick up where I left off - the second sentence. Despite my stupid, cliche state-of-mind, I've never been into romance novels. Unlike Liv, of course. She had always tried to make me read "Saving the Wallflower," but I would never give in. Ever.

But I decided while packing for this trip to New York that now would be the time to bring it - to read it. What else would I read in Liv's honor in Central Park (thing #23 on the bucket list)?

By the third paragraph, my thoughts get the best of me, and my mind wanders to Dad. Is he still upset with me? Was my e-mail comforting to them? Maybe I should call.... Dog-earing the first page, I close the worn-out copy and set the book down to my side. I bend down and reach inside my backpack, feeling through it and pick out my phone throughout the mess.

"I'm sorry, but 'Cal Earnest' is not available...." the monotone voicemail lady says.

Sighing, I hang up the phone. I slide my phone back into my bag and, instead, pull out my Kodak. Standing up from my spot on the bench that sits off to the side of a lake, I set Liv's book standing up against the back of it, the pages fanning out. Powering on my camera, I bend down and snap a shot of the book in the beautiful scenery of Central Park.

I smile, walking back to my spot and looking down at the picture premiering on my camera that I had just taken. Great lighting, and a good angle. And then, something strikes me: I've already failed the bucket list.

"Shit." Grabbing the list out of my back pocket, I unfold it and flip to it's back. And there it is - plain as day. 49. Take a picture of each of these as you complete them. "Shit," I repeat, staring at the list in anger.

I didn't take the picture with Liam. Why didn't it occur to me earlier? Ugh. What the hell do I do?

And then it occurs to me: I can just remake it. I shake my head at myself; so dramatic. What is this trip doing to me? What kind of emotions are these? There's not suppose to be any monologue going on in my head - no curiosity in the back of my mind. Just simple life with simple thoughts with simple feelings. None of this poetic shit.

My phone goes off, muffled by the bag it's inside, and my breath stops in my throat as I pick it out and look down hesitantly. It's not Dad.

It's Liam.

"Hello?"

"Hey, how's it going?" I find a smile spreading across my lips at the sound of his voice, and then fight it when I realize how cliche I'm being again. No, I mentally scold myself. No.

"Hey, not much. Just completed a thing on the list, but that's it," I shrug, looking down at the book that's still standing up on the bench.

"Really? Which one?"

My tummy warms at his curiosity. Crap. "Um, reading a book in Central Park."

"What book?"

I laugh, and he asks why. "You're just asking me questions and not getting to the point!"

He laughs too, his chuckle making my cheeks hurt. "My bad. I called to let you know that I'm done at work, so if you can come over for, y'know, ice cream, that'd be great."