One Last Thing ✅

sixty-three things

Abbott drops Riley and Jared off before driving to my house. The sun has begun to set behind the roof of my house, turning the clouds above to shades of pink and purple. I lean back in my seat and enjoy the view, relishing the quiet peace that settles between the two of us.

"That was fun," I say. "Thanks for thinking of it."

"I'd love to steal the credit," Abbott replies. "But it was actually Riley's idea. She thought you might need a little fun before your preliminary hearing."

Hearing.

Ugh.

The word brings me firmly back to reality.

"Yeah," I mutter.

"I talked to my father about it. He said Riley, Jared, and I could be excused from our morning classes to go to the courthouse with you."

I stare at him in disbelief. "He did?"

"He's sorry about what happened the other night," Abbott says, rubbing at a smudge on his steering wheel. "It's his way of making it up to you, I think."

"Okay..." I say, letting my voice trail off. I'm not sure what to make of the gesture. Mr. O'Hara seemed to pretty genuinely hate me the other night, unless he routinely flips out on Abbott's friends for their general existence, which I guess could very much be the case. I mentally shrug to myself, deciding not to ponder too hard about the kindness. People can be strangely and unexpectedly kind, I've noticed in the past few weeks.

Humans are weird like that sometimes.

And awesome.

"I have something for you," Abbott says, reaching across my lap and opening the glove compartment. As his hand brushes against my leg, I feel warmth surge throughout my whole body. He grabs a small plastic bag, closes the drop-down door, and then eases back into his seat. "I was going to wait until after the hearing to give it to you, but now seems like the right time."

He hands the bag to me, and I look at him curiously before peering inside, nestled inside of which is a small, wrapped gift in the shape of a book. I pull it out and carefully pull of the black ribbons and white tissue paper. Inside I find a beautiful new Moleskin notebook with a black leather cover and crisp white pages. I flip through them, inhaling the scent of fresh, unmarred paper, bare with possibility.

"I thought you could use, you know, a new start," Abbott says, shrugging.

Something about the notebook makes me flash back to that moment in the hospital, when I visited the nursery and stared at the baby named Kevin, the brand new soul who hadn't made any mistakes yet, the envy that I felt at his chance to start from the beginning.

Tabula rasa.

Blank slate.

And I realize that's what Abbott is giving to me right now. I don't have to fill this journal with sad, dark poems about wanting to hurt myself and how there's no point to anything. I mean, I could, but where would that get me? If I want to change somehow, be someone new, someone happy, I have to start by changing my mind, my words.

I think my first poem will be about today.

About the wind tangling my hair, about the scratchy blanket beneath my elbows, the simple peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that Riley prepared, the birds soaring overhead.

The perfect day.

"I love it," I tell Abbott, hugging it to my chest and leaning over to kiss him. He cups my chin with one hand and smoothes back my hair with the other. My heart flutters, seems to skip a beat. Abbott breaks the kiss and tilts his head, beginning to nuzzle my neck. "Okay, okay," I say breathily. "Grams is inside. I better go."

"Okay," he whispers into my ear, then kisses me on my cheek and once more on my mouth, this time chastely, with a closed mouth. "Rain check?"

"Definitely."

I climb out of the truck, carrying my backpack and new journal with me, and give him one last smile before shutting the door behind me. I stumble a little on my way inside and blush, hoping he didn't notice. He waits until I am inside before pulling away.