Thanksgiving weekend

October 7

Loon Call Island, Lake Rosseau, Muskoka

Grief and insomnia seem to go together, like Jack and Coke. The trouble is, I'm not always entirely sure when I'm asleep or awake these days. It's especially hard to tell the difference when I'm not sober.

I think I remember falling asleep, but I can't be sure. I've been haunted by dreams that are three parts memory, one part fantasy. They leave me disoriented and confused. They leave me wondering over what's real and what's not.

Then I wake up, and my new reality punches me in the face, every Goddamned morning. And now this. I don't know how much more of an emotional beating I can take.

As my eyelids slide shut, heavy with exhaustion, I feel the familiar tug of sleep and the force of my mind trying to cling to the present. It's a battle I lose more often than not now, so I let go, sucked back to the past, and in memory, I dream. Or relive. I just don't know anymore.

Blinking rapidly, I look around, trying to see where I am.

I look down at myself curiously. Maybe not where I am, but when I am.

The small hands I'm looking down at seem to belong to a younger version of myself.

Turning my head, I relax slightly as I take in the familiar surroundings of Elle's cottage. I'm sitting on the dock, not tall enough now to touch the water with my feet.

This detail confuses me.

I also have memories of sitting here, my larger, longer legs easily reaching the water. Was it all a dream? Is this a dream?

Laughter bubbles down to me from the boathouse roof, and I look up, watching the small puffs of smoke rise off the barbecue, hear the sizzle of food on the grill as Theo and Hud demand more hotdogs.

I hear our parents' voices off in the distance.

The small patter of bare feet on the wooden dock from behind me pulls my attention away, and I turn, a burst of happiness exploding inside me at the sight of her.

Elle settles herself down beside me, only inches separate us. I can almost feel the warmth of her sun-kissed skin beside me. She looks so sweet in her summer dress, with her skinned knees and band-aid covered legs.

"You should go back to the party, Elle. It's your birthday. You should go be happy with your friends."

She bumps her shoulder against me, smiling that sweet smile of hers. "Our friends, silly. And you're my friend too."

I bite back a smile, pleased she's picked me to sit with, even though I'm in a bad mood.

"I'm not in a very good mood today. You should go. I'm fine here."

"It's my twelfth birthday, Greyson. I think I'm old enough by now that I get to pick who I spend my time with, right? You can't tell me what to do. Plus, I'm happy right here." The sassy way she enunciates twelfth makes me want to roll my eyes at her, but I resist. I know it would hurt her feelings. For some reason, I never want to hurt her feelings, even if I don't really care about anyone else's.

Her small hand reaches out to wrap around my fingers, and I hold my breath, waiting for the funny feeling in my stomach to come like it does every time she touches me.

When her fingers twine with mine, I nearly shiver. I wonder why this little blonde girl seems to have such an effect on me. I've never felt like this before, not once in my thirteen-and-a-half years. I've never wanted anyone to be this close to me, to touch me like she does.

I kind of like it, though, so I squeeze her hand back gently, moving my thumb over her palm as casually as I can manage, enjoying the feel of her soft, clean skin against my fingers.

"So, are you going to tell me why you're sitting all alone, instead of watching Theo and Hudson see who can eat more hotdogs?"

I shrug, then look over at her. I immediately wish I hadn't, though. Her almost-too-big-for-her-face, round, blue-grey eyes grab hold of me, like a fist inside my chest, squeezing, pulling me towards her.

I never knew eyes could do that to a person.

"Dad wants me to go back to the city tomorrow. He wants me to go to hockey camp for the rest of the summer." I love hockey, but I hate the city. I love the freedom I have here. I love that my friends are here.

That she's here.

Even if I don't always know what to do with them, they always know what to do with me. She always knows.

"Is that a bad thing?"

I nod. "I don't have friends there. I don't make friends like you do, Elle."

"Why do you need new friends? Are you tired of us?"

I smile at her, even though I'm feeling rotten. She has that kind of effect on me, on all of us, I think. "No, I'm not tired of you. If I go, I'll be alone. I don't want to go." I don't want to be alone. I don't say my last thought out loud, knowing it makes me look stupid.

She wiggles closer to me, pressing herself into my side and resting her head on my shoulder. I immediately feel better, but the dancing in my stomach gets wilder.

"It's not the same when you're not here with us. I'll fix it. I still have my birthday wish."

I bite back my comment that birthday wishes aren't real, that they're just stupid. I can never tell her that. This girl I've known my whole life is always wishing things were better for everyone else, never for herself.

Mom always says they broke the mold with Elle, but I don't know what that means.

"You should wish for something for yourself. Don't waste your wishes on me."

Her hand tightens on mine. "Don't tell me what to do. It's my wish."

"Dad says I can't put friends first, that I have to put hockey first if I'm going to go pro one day. He said I have time for friends later. He says hard work comes now, love and friends come later."

"That sounds stupid. Love can't come later anyway, because we already love you. I already love you. He's wrong. We'll love you forever, it's what we all promised each other, remember?"

I look down at her, at our joint hands, at her small feet dangling over the edge. I want to ask her if she'll love me forever, but I don't.

"What if I change? Will you still love me then?"

"Well we can't stay kids forever, silly." She giggles, leaning away to look up into my face. "If it makes you feel better, I promise I'll love you forever, no matter what. Even if you turn into a gross, smelly, girl-crazy boy like Brodie's friends from football."

I smile at her description of Brodie's friends. I think they're cool. But I know she misses having Brodie spend time with us, too. He, Tess, and Steph are too cool to spend all their time with us now. They're juniors now, as they keep reminding us.

Elle holds her free hand out to me, pinky extended, waiting expectantly.

"Boys don't pinky promise, Elle."

"Why not? What do you do instead?"

Grinning down at her, I hold my palm out. "We spit shake."

Her delicate nose crinkles in distaste. "Ew. Fine. I'll spit shake with you if you pinky-promise me. We'll always love each other. Nothing will ever change it."

Tightness creeps across my chest as the impact of her words hit me. All I want to do is pull her even closer and stay like that forever, in the shelter of her limitless, uncomplicated love.

I spit into my open hand, watching with a grin as she licks her palm instead of spitting, always a little lady, then we shake on it. I keep my end of the bargain, following up with her delicate little pinky-swear with my other hand, and we're locked together for a moment, both hands joined in promise. I stare down into her face as she smiles up at me, happiness and love shining there, just for me.

I didn't have to go to hockey camp that summer, which only seemed to prove to me that she had some kind of magic inside those eyes, inside that heart.

I try to cling to the moment, desperate to stay close to her in a simpler time, but everything starts to slide away from me. Everything is hazy.

Then, one by one, the moments and memories seem to crash together, like a slideshow going too fast.

Elle running down the shoreline, trying to catch a frog, even though she hates doing it. All she wants is to be close to us, to be included. I hear her shriek every time she gets close enough to touch it before she chickens out, but I don't think she's weak or girly. I think she's perfect.

Just as quickly as it came, the memory fades.

In my mind, I'm pulling her up behind me as we climb trees. She's scared of heights, but she takes my hand anyway. I don't think she's a chicken like the others do. I think she's brave.

I try not to smile as she clings to the rough, jagged bark, stuck on a branch of another tree we'd climbed like we'd done all summer. I watch her face as I hold my arms open to her, promising to catch her. I feel the weight of the trust and love she places in me when she jumps, just as surely as I feel the impact of her small body when I catch her close. As we both tumble to the ground, the scenery changes.

She's sliding into my sleeping bag with me when we're camping in the field, and I let her fall asleep wrapped around me when she tells me she's scared. The heat of her small hand in mine makes me feel like a superhero for the entire night. So does the weight of her head on my shoulder as she finally relaxes into sleep.

Just as I drift deeper into the memory, a good soft memory, I jolt, and my chest aches from the force I use to shout her name as she falls into the hole in the ground, out by the old stone barn. Just like in that moment, I don't think twice when I hear her screams. I jump in after her like I've done before when she needed me, and just like I would do a hundred times again. As I fall through the dark, trying to reach her, the setting changes again.

Her eyes twinkle at me, filled with moonlight and stars, as we float in the water under her boathouse. The love I see shining there as I move to kiss her for the first time, just like she'd asked of me, draws me in. It feels so real, I can feel the hammer of my heart, the shake in my hands. I feel the warmth of her lips against mine the first time I kissed her. I feel it all just like it was a moment ago.

Then, too soon, I feel the regret of the moment I walked away from her, leaving her alone in her uncertainty, facing her confused looks, sad eyes, and broken trust every time I saw her after that.

I feel the hope explode in my chest, just like the strawberry popsicle flavor explodes on my tongue, when she forgives me as we sit on the dock in Minett, watching the boats fly by. That moment when I realized that perhaps I hadn't ruined everything.

I ache from her curious touches, her innocent need, her growing confidence as we explore one another in the dark, quiet moments in the night. I crave her. No matter how hard I try, I just can't pause the memories or grab hold of any particular moment.

Images of her making Liam smile, dancing with Sam, and clicking away fanatically on her camera the entire time flash through my mind as they all tumble together.

I see the tears pouring down her face as she holds me. I see her speaking to the church, to Liam's parents.

I see everything she does, has ever done for me— for us, but I'm completely numb.

And then, I see nothing. For a moment, it's only darkness.

I struggle to pull the memories and moments of her back, relieved when her voice floods my mind when her touch floods my senses.

Only this time, I hear her anger, her stress, her grief. I hear her fighting for me, pushing me to care about something. About anything. I see her holding on to me within an inch of her ability, I watch her strength fading, and I know at that moment, I have a choice.

So I let go of the shaky control I felt over all of my grief, my anger, and my pain. And, just as I move to grab on to her, on to everything she's offering, I fall through the darkness.

My body jerks wildly as I jolt awake, and I grab fistfuls of the sheets at my sides, lungs heaving. I look around, disoriented. A dim light flicks on, and I relax slightly, finding myself in Elle's cabin, back in the present, confused, dazed, high on the adrenaline from falling, and covered in sweat.

"Greyson? Are you alright?" A small hand slides up the slick, sweaty skin of my ribs, so I turn my head, the sleepy voice settling my wildly thumping heart.

Thank God I'm not alone. I don't know why I thought I would be; she hasn't left me yet.

"Just a bad dream." Bad memories. "Come here, Elle."

And just like so many nights before, I pull her close. I press my face into her body, holding her tightly, blocking everything but her from my mind, as I try to drift back to sleep.

I focus only on inhaling the scent of her, absorbing the feel of her, while her soft voice rolls over me and her gentle hands soothe me.

And, as I drift into sleep, I wonder how much longer she'll hold on for. Didn't she promise me forever?

But right now, forever feels like a long time, and I'm not sure I'll last that long, so I don't know how she will.

It's my last thought before sliding into dreamless oblivion. 

- - - 

Welcome to book 2 from the Every Other Memory series. I am so excited to be publishing the first part of this book already, considering I just finished book 1 at the end of September!

My updates will be a bit more spread out than my other project, as I'll be writing and posting in real-time, rather than working ahead on this book. 

I'm balancing my full-time job and a move abroad this quarter, so please be patient with me! 

As always, I hope you enjoy the story, and please let me know in the comments what you think, or consider voting! 

Xx Toria