Chapter 0123


    Karl


    The sun is barely hovering above the horizon as I pull up in front of Abby’s apartment building on


    Friday morning.


    I can’t help but smile as I think about the day ahead of us. My ck car idles, the hum of its engine


    drowned out by the pop song ying on the radio—a song I can easily imagine Abby singing along to,


    although I don’t personally care for that kind of music myself.


    With a deep breath, I turn off the engine and grab the to-go cup of her favorite coffee from the cup


    holder.


    She opens the door almost as soon as I knock, as though she was standing there, waiting. There’s a


    look in her eyes that makes it seem as though she’s still on the fence about going. But the second her


    eyes meet mine, the tension in her shoulders eases. Just a bit.


    “Good morning,” I greet, handing her the coffee. “Figured you could use this.”


    She grins, taking a sip immediately. “You read my mind.”


    There’s a slight silence for a few moments. My eyes scan the inside of her apartment, where a bag sits


    on the floor behind her; it’s packed haphazardly, no doubt. She’s never been the neatest traveler.


    “Oh, one more thing,” she says before I can say anything. She slips her phone out of her pocket and


    begins tapping furiously on the screen while her coffee cup bnces precariously in the crook of her


    elbow. “I have to tell Ethan—”


    “Ethan will be fine without you,” I say, snatching both the phone and the coffee cup away. “And so will


    the restaurant. Just enjoy your time off, Abby.”


    She res at me for a moment, that signature stare of hers, but finally rxes and lets out a deep sigh.


    “You’re right.”


    We hit the road within a few minutes. The morning sun streams through the windows, casting her face


    in a warm amber glow. I plug in my phone and shuffle through a ylist I know she’ll love.


    “So, long drive ahead. Music?”


    “Surprise me,” she says, her fingers nervously tapping on the coffee cup.


    I hit y, and the first chords of a nostalgic song—one that yed at our wedding—fill the car. She


    “Come on, it’s a ssic,” I defend, bobbing my head to the beat.


    Abby’s lips twitch upwards into a smile, but it quickly fades. I watch from my peripherals as she averts


    her gaze to the window, asionally sipping out of her coffee cup. She thinks I don’t notice, but she’s


    swaying back and forth to the song, ever so slightly. And that’s enough for me.


    We’ve been riding infortable silence for about half an hour when Abby suddenly points to a barely


    visible building off the main road.


    “Remember that ce?” she asks.


    I nce in the direction she’s pointing, spotting the outline of an old, worn-down motel that has seen


    better days. “Ah, the Woodpecker Inn,” I say, a smile forming on my own face. “We stayed there more


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    than once.”


    “Yeah.” She pauses, her voice taking on a more nostalgic tone. “You proposed to me there, didn’t you?”


    I smirk, shaking my head. “Your memory is betraying you. I actually proposed at that fancy restaurant in


    the city. What was it called—La Be Vita?”


    Abby gives me a sideways look. “Karl, you’ve got it all wrong. You proposed at the Woodpecker Inn,


    right near the firece where we used to—”


    Her voice trails off momentarily, leaving space where our memories belong. The firece at the


    Woodpecker Inn… I try not to think about it, because if I do, I’ll get too distracted and possibly run the


    car off the road.


    “I know what we used to do near that firece, but no, Abby, I proposed at La Be Vita. I remember


    because the hostess almost kicked us out for disturbing the peace after you said yes.”


    We go back and forth like this, both of us stubbornly clinging to our own versions of the story. The


    tension is yful, almost electric, a reminder of simpler times. I’m about to pull out my phone and call


    one of our mutual friends to settle the argument when Abby’s eyes widen, and she bursts intoughter.


    “We’re both idiots,” she exims.


    “What?” I ask, genuinely confused.


    “We’re both wrong,” she says, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “It was the lighthouse.”


    “The lighthouse?”


    “Yes!” she says, shooting me a sideways nce. “The one near your pack’s territory. With the


    restaurant attached?”


    The realization hits me like a bolt of lightning, and I burst intoughter too. “You’re right. The


    lighthouse! How could I forget?”


    “We had dinner at the restaurant there, and you proposed at the top,” she says, her voice taking on an


    almost mncholic tone. “And then we went to the Woodpecker Inn.”


    For a moment, there’s a softness in her voice, a glimmer of something that I’ve missed desperately. We


    lock eyes for the briefest of moments, and it’s as if the years peel away.