The Beginning of the End

Sadie and Brett are lying in bed, exhausted and still a little smashed. Brett’s arm is around Sadie, and she can’t help but grin. This is where she is happiest; in her bed, with Brett. His strong arms make her feel protected, and the way that he runs his fingers up and down her arm makes her wish that every moment could be this way. She breathes in his scent, which she loves, and runs her fingers through his hair.

“I love you,” pops into her head. This isn’t unusual, of course; she has thought these very words about a million times. She wants to scream it so that everyone knows how in love she truly is. But until this night she has kept it inside, afraid of what saying it would mean.

Sadie feels as light as air; she knows that if she let herself, she could float away with all of the happiness that she has inside of her. Those post-exam/Liverpool eternal glory beers are making her head spin, but not in a sick and ready to vomit way. In a way that makes her feel electric, as excited as neon, but at the same time like everything is moving around her but she is staying so still, stretching the moments out and taking from them everything that she can.

She wants to tell him more than anything, but of course it’s indescribably terrifying. When you tell someone that you love them, you open yourself up to the possibility that they won’t love you. Of course, they could have always not loved you; but now you know for sure. At this point Sadie thinks that she almost doesn’t care, that the words have been held in for so long that they need to be said, no matter what. Love is supposed to be shared, and Sadie is tired of feeling it by herself.

Say it, she says to herself. Just say it. The world will keep on spinning.

“Brett,” she says to get his attention.

“Yes,” he responds, completely unaware that something significant is about to happen.

Sadie is silent for several seconds. Deciding to say “I love you” is incredibly exciting and intoxicating, but at the same time, it is incredibly difficult. Sadie wonders how it is possible that she could hardly hold the words in her mouth all of those times, but when she finally is allowing herself to say it, she just can’t. Let’s be clear, there is no turning back at this point. She isn’t reconsidering; the words just won’t seem to come out. Maybe her mouth knows something that her heart doesn’t.

“I think that I love you,” the words finally tumble out of her mouth.

At first, Brett doesn’t say anything. His mind was almost stopped moments before, but now it feels like it is moving at the speed of light. Is he trying to come up with a way to get out of this? Is he happy? Does he love her too?

“I love you too,” Brett finally says.

Sadie kisses him and Brett takes off her clothes, and Sadie should feel as if everything in the world is better than she had ever thought that it could be. But she doesn’t.

When she had told Brett that she loved him, those words truly meant something to her. But the way that Brett said it back didn’t give Sadie the impression that those words had any meaning to him at all. He didn’t even look at her. The words sounded hollow and emotionless; Sadie’s had been full of feeling and adoration.

Even though Brett has just declared his love for Sadie, she has never been surer that he doesn’t love her. And even worse, he doesn’t even care about her enough to tell her this. He is fine not loving her and lying to her about it, because it is easier for him. Brett had always put himself and his needs first; it wouldn’t have really occurred to him how much what he just did would hurt Sadie. It would hurt her for months as she replays this moment again and again. It also hurt her now, as she feels the disappointment wash over her. She wanted this, she got it, so why is it so unsatisfying? Is this all that there is?

Even though they just took a huge step forward, both of them are becoming more and more aware of this fact: that this is the beginning of the end.

There's Something That You Need To Know

I wrote this last night, and I figure that you all should see it. The time is approaching when I will have no choice but to go dark, so that you can enjoy my book more when you get to read it. But that time isn't now.

I will be writing more later, and probably posting another entry. Thanks for staying with me.


The harsh light of day streams in through the scarlet floral drapes, and all that Sadie can do is survey the damage. For months, Sadie felt as if all that she ever seemed to do was to pull herself out of the wreckage. Recently, she had started to rebuild. It all felt like it was for nothing.

Brett is still asleep. Sadie doesn’t dare wake him; she is sure that whatever he is dreaming about is far greater than the reality that he will have to face when he regains consciousness. It isn’t fair, she thinks to herself, that he gets these few extra moments unburdened by worry. But then again, the gravity of what had happened between them the night before would probably always be lost on him. In that moment of weakness, Brett had nothing to lose. Sadie feels as if she has lost everything.

If she had been honest with herself—and let’s face it, this is a rarity for Sadie—she would have always known that she would run back to Brett the moment that he asked her to. But this never really seemed like a possibility that she would have to entertain, since she had always thought that he would never want her back. Or in this case, need her back. Had she taken advantage of him, getting what she wanted when he was in a vulnerable state? Sadie feels wracked with guilt over this possibility, but we know better. Brett took advantage of her. He needed something, anything, to make him feel something other than grief over the death of his father. The heart attack had come without warning, and had completely shattered everything in his life. He is ready to graduate, he has a job lined up that was practically handed to him through his father’s contacts, and he was seeing so many women that he almost needed some kind of sex secretary to keep them all straight and prevent any embarrassing gaffes such as mixing up names or double booking (or double dipping, which is much more serious).

But none of these girls are Sadie, and none of them mean to him what she once did. Being with Sadie made him feel secure, and after his father had died, everything in his life felt shaky. He knew that even though he had broken up with her, she would be what he needed when he needed her the most. He didn’t really care about what it would do to her. We can blame him for this all we want, but it’s the truth. Death certainly doesn’t bring out the best in anybody, let alone Brett Hall.

Paul wasn’t just filling in for Brett until he came around, Sadie knows this for sure. She had liked him. She had liked him a lot. But what does it say about her that she ran back to Brett the second that he called? If it was as innocent as attending a funeral for a friend, why didn’t she tell Paul about it before she left?

She knows exactly why. Even though it seemed to many that she had never meant anything to Brett, she knows that she did. In this world, Brett Hall has never had much to depend on. And even though he probably doesn’t want to be with her right now—or ever—he knows that he can depend on her. Of course he would want her now, and when he phoned her, a part of her knew that all of this would happen. How could she tell Paul?

Paul. How the fucking hell could she do this to Paul? He had been so patient with her as she picked up the pieces of her life, but now it seemed as though all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Sadie back together again. She felt like the past seven months had been a waste of time. Why did she bother trying to move on, when all of the work that she had done seemed to have been for nothing? Why did she bother letting Paul into her life? But then again, there’s something to be said about being predictable. She had done exactly what she had told him that she would do. She had told him that she wasn’t ready to move on. She had told him that she was selfish and couldn’t be for him what he would want her to be. She had predicted this like she had correctly predicted the World Cup final. But unlike the glory that came with foreseeing the outcome of the most important football match in the world, in this case, it felt so fucking disappointing to be so right.

Sadie doesn’t know what she is going to say to Paul. Even more, she doesn’t know what she is going to say to Brett. She wracks her brain, trying to think of some way to avoid dealing with this. For some reason, stealing the identity of a dead person and becoming an advertising agent in New York City doesn’t seem altogether plausible.

But as she dreams of what her apartment in New York will look like, Brett begins to stir. He opens his eyes like people always do in horror movies when you think that they’re dead. Sadie was unsure as to why he always felt the need to do this, but she chooses to let this go at the moment. She stares at him nervously, knowing all too well that anything he says could make or break her. She hates to give him this power, but it’s the only way that she has ever loved him.

But what happens is completely unexpected, for Sadie anyway. Brett simply gets up and puts on his housecoat, which seems to be embellished with blueberries. Any human with eyes could see that these blueberries, which were applied with corks that doubled as fabric stamps, added a touch of whimsy, color, and a hint of summer's bounty to Brett’s plain white robe. Sadie made a bet with herself that this embellishing technique could be used on light-colored kids' clothing and sneakers—or even a tote bag or note cards for herself! Brett comments that he thinks that he smells blueberry pancakes (what is it with this family and blueberries?) and encourages Sadie to join him for breakfast.

Perhaps Brett simply forgot, Sadie wonders to herself as she pours syrup on her pancakes. Perhaps it was all a dream, since Brett has mentioned nothing. But something is different, and so familiar at the same time. He touches Sadie’s arm as he talks to her. He invites her to his soccer game against Holy Cross that will be played next weekend. When she returns to her room, he follows her and takes off his blueberry-embellished robe.

Oh, Sadie realizes. They are back together, and she didn’t even notice.

Brett was always better at avoiding things; Sadie should have known this. He wants her back, but he doesn’t even think that he needs to ask. Brett doesn’t ask. Sadie has given in to him so many times that he now wonders, what’s the point in asking? He just takes. If Sadie had more respect for herself, she would have stopped him. There were so many points when she could have. But how do you say no, when you have dreamed about getting back together for so long?

She can’t live with him. She can’t live without him.

There are so many parts of Brett that make her feel high and dizzy and wonderful. But for every great part, there is a part that makes her hate herself. Right now, self-loathing and complete joy are found in equal measure. She just can’t decide which one will win out this time.

Don Draper, Tim Riggins, Johnny Depp, and Billy Idol: Drunk

Jon Hamm drinks PBR-- Jill, what do we think that says about him?

I took yesterday off, since my book has been driving me crazy. I am hopefully going to get to 37,000 words today, and 40,000 tomorrow. After that you can see the end, can't you?

For some time, a feeling has been building in Sadie; it started out slowly, just a doubt in the back of her mind that was always pushed aside. But it has been growing and growing, to the point where there is no space for it anymore. It can no longer be pushed aside. In fact, it is almost begging to be acknowledged and paid its due.

Summertime is once again approaching, and Sadie and Brett began dating on a Saturday night in August. Even then, Sadie was worried about Brett, and whether his feelings could ever match hers. We always knew that they didn’t; but we need to remember that there are a lot of things that we know that Sadie does not. She has always suspected them, but stopped short at believing them. That would have been too hard. But the evidence is mounting, and can't be ignored. Sadie has given him all of the time in the world to fall in love with her, but his feelings still seem lukewarm. How long can she really give him? If he doesn't love her yet, will he ever?

Over time, her feelings for Brett have only grown. She fell in love with him quickly, and hundreds of times more after that. Sadie would never say that she loves everything about him; people are far too complicated for that. He has faults, of course: He is withholding, emotionally and otherwise. She never really knows what he is thinking or how he feels, mostly because he hides it, or most often, he doesn’t know either. He isn’t very affectionate or loving. He never seems fully there, his mind is always somewhere else. She has never been even close to figuring him out. He is sort of like a younger Don Draper, but without the seedy history and he isn’t quite as mind-fuckingly hot and mysterious. But Sadie would never fancy herself as a Betty Draper; she isn’t nearly as accommodating.

But to Sadie Desman, none of these things could ever matter more than the way that he makes her feel. When they are apart, she hungers for him. He is always on her mind; from when she wakes up in the morning to when she goes to sleep at night, she is wondering about him and what he is thinking. When she stands beside him and the world can see that she is his girl, it makes her feel better about herself. Yes, everyone may be wondering how a girl like Sadie Desman could get a guy like Brett Hall. They may conclude that Sadie is incredibly funny or really good in bed or something. To have strangers attribute skills such as these to you without knowing anything about you is powerful, to say the least. Brett is sexy; his abs could cut you if you got too close to them, which Sadie does at every opportunity. Being with Brett makes her feel alive and wanted, and it is something that she will truly miss once she is alone.

Other than Brett, almost everything in Sadie’s life is falling into place. She is set to begin her honours project in political science with her radical political thought professor, and is planning on attending to grad school after graduation. She was considering the social and political thought department back at York in Toronto, but after a particularly disastrous visit in which a David Boreanaz-crazed man in a vampire cape (she is not sure whether he attends the school, or whether he simply shows up on campus from time to time) had forced her to read his essay entitled “Reflecting Dichotomies of Subjectivity: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the Humanization of the Object.” He then tried to recruit her as a promoter of his Buffy the Vampire Slayer academic conference; as a fan of the show, Sadie was very disgruntled to see that postmodernism really can ruin everything. She refused to help him, and in a fit of rage, he sent her to the nearest museum and told her that it closed an hour later than it did, causing her to be locked in overnight alongside a Texan high school football player and a hot German. To make a long story short, Sadie ended up naked in a coffin while the German and Texan hid her clothes. It was quite the night, but will have to be a story saved for another day. But ever since then, Sadie had been having elaborate dreams where the German had sex with Count Dracula who bit him and killed him, all while the Texan (named Tim Higgins) watched. Needless to say, this image was off-putting.

But Brett is starting to take up far too much of her time. Not with his physical presence; she can hardly get enough of him. No, it is in her mind. All of the time that she has spent worrying that not only could he not care about her the way that she cares about him, but perhaps that he really doesn’t care about her at all. Just think of all of the Bon Jovi songs that she could have listened to with that extra time. Or all of the ironic Crocs that she could have thrown at George W. Bush effigies.

Sadie had recently taken to rolling up her pants for a masculine shabby chic look. Initially, as she was getting the hang of the style, it took her concentration away from Brett for a while. But soon, guidebooks for mastering the rolled cuff look—which were printed just weeks before the Huckleberry Finn Revival Festival, thank god—allowed Sadie to easily master the look, thus giving her more time to obsess over Brett. It was good and it was bad; she really could have used the distraction, but ultimately, she looked like she could avoid almost any flood while looking stylish at the same time.

Getting the roll right is harder than it looks, and the experts differ on technique. Some suggest rolling one inch of cuff three times for cotton canvas trousers, and a single two-inch cuff for dark jeans. For slightly looser pants, like chinos, it is advised that the cropped pants enthusiast creates a peg by pinching the fabric slightly at the front during the rolling process. Starting from the bottom, you flip once, making as small a fold as possible, then twist the front of the pants leg by about an inch, then roll twice more while holding the pinch tightly. The pleats should stay in place. There are several don’ts. No formal shoes. No rolled-up skinny jeans. No wool pants – the rolls won’t stay. No bootleg pants, which should be burned anyway. And since rolled pants are meant to look casual, nothing about the outfit should be dressy, at the risk of looking too studied. While you’re at it, stop trying so hard. Sadie was sure glad that she had this advice; who knew that it could be so complicated! Ultimately, Sadie decided that the best approach to any pants-rolling situation is to channel Johnny Depp for that moment and ask yourself, “How would Johnny Depp roll up the bottom of his pants?” Indeed, in life, one should always be asking themselves, “What would Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow do?” The answer is usually “get drunk and make a poor sexual choice,” which Sadie is usually more than happy to do. She has always said that a poor sexual choice is better than no sexual choice.
One could also ask “What would Billy Idol do?”, and then do the exact opposite.

Like anybody who is starting to worry that they are losing everything that they love, Sadie is looking to defend it with everything that she has. When you think that someone may not love you enough, you start to try to make them. She becomes afraid to argue or disagree with him, and pays more attention to her appearance than usual. She has been making herself crazy, analyzing everything that Brett ever says or does, to try to figure out how much he cares for her. Asking him how he feels would be showing too much of her hand, which is something that she knows that she cannot do. Sadie—Brett’s Sadie, to be more precise—is a cultivated performance. Her practiced indifference, and pretending that she doesn’t love Brett with everything that she has— and more—has really begun to tire her out. She is starting to wear away at the edges, and is giving herself over to Brett more and more. He sees the difference. He sees how much she loves him, even though neither of them has said those three words yet.

For Brett, Sadie is like a pros and cons list. Right now, there are more pros to being with Sadie than without her. He can talk to her in ways that he has never been able to talk with anybody before. It makes him feel nice to have someone that cares for him so deeply. He cares for her as well, and has grown to really depend on her when shit gets real. She never asks anything like that in return, which makes things easy for Brett. The cons would start to pile up if she asked too much of him, or if she became too inconvenient, or if there were other things in his life—like school or soccer— that need his attention more than she does. When the cons outweigh the pros, he will surely get rid of her. Sadie is all too aware of this.

Sorry In Advance

Please listen to this song as you read this entry. You guys aren't going to like it. I'm sorry.


In the so beautiful it would make anyone sad guest bedroom of the Hall household, Sadie is fast asleep and dreaming. She has played the scenes of their break-up so many times in her head like a movie, each time a little different. When she is awake, in those brief moments that she can remember the dream before it fades into oblivion, she reasons that she will re-play the dream again and again until she gets the outcome that she wants. But then she forgets it, goes on with her day, but still haunted by those visions that plague her in the night.

This time, her dream blends into reality in a way that she isn’t sure where her dream ends and real life begins. But that’s the way that Sadie likes it.

Sadie thinks that she hears her door open quietly, and feet padding across the hardwood floor. Even since they had broken up, Sadie has never strayed over to his side of the bed; she feels weight on that side again, and everything feels more right, somehow. She feels his breath on her shoulder, and a hand that winds itself in hers.

“There are so many things that I wanted to say to him,” he says.

“I know,” she hears herself say in comfort.

“Of course he died before I could. That’s exactly like him.”

“It was.” Sadie turns to face him, and cups his face in her hands.

“I hate him.”

“Hate is a strong word.”

“I mean it.”

“I don’t think that you do.”

“He never did anything for us. He abandoned us in life, and he abandoned us in death.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Sadie says as she runs her hands through his hair. He closes his eyes, remembering the feeling. His mind is swirling, but it’s better that way because when it’s still the pain catches up. He is tired of this pain. He wants it to get bored and go away.

Sadie doesn’t know that anything will ever be okay ever again. But that’s what being someone else’s strength is, isn’t it? As she thinks this to herself, she starts to feel weaker and weaker. If she ever had any resolve at all, it has faded away. She knows that she will give over every part of herself to him, to build him back up again. It’s just what you do.

The distance between them is closing. She can almost taste the salt of his angry tears; the tears that he would forget by the next morning, the same tears that would stay burned in Sadie’s memory until the day that she died. This is like a dream, and in that dream she can hear the lock turning until she hears that sharp noise that tells her that the lock has been broken. He had always been closed, but now he is open; as open as a field of wild grass, as open as a dam with water rushing through to the expanse. Sadie is a falling leaf that lands on the surface, and is swept up by the tide. They are open together.

The distance is so small that now when they kiss, no one could ever know when it began or how. The pain is passing between them now, diffusing through until it is dull but still at the surface. Sadie readily accepts it as if it were her own, but let’s be clear; she isn’t a saint, she isn’t selfless, and she isn’t being so nice. She makes sure that he can feel some of the hurt that he inflected on her, while they were apart—but even more when they were together.

Sadie is overwhelmed by the feeling of having everything that she wants and everything that she hates, all at the same time. He couldn’t have felt the presence of her tears, since his were the first to fall. She cries because it is finally happening. She cries for his pain, and the burden that she is shouldering because she doesn’t know what else to do with it. But most of all, she cries for the strength that she had cultivated, and she cries as she watches it as it is washed away as if it had never existed at all.

He pushes his body into hers, pushing away all of the doubt that had built up in her heart, weighing it down. Her body remembers his, oh yes it does. Her body welcomes him like an old friend, without realizing that he is not a friend at all. If her body knew even one millionth of what her heart knew, it would have built up a wall with spikes and fire. But she gives in to him, just like she always did, and as it is starting to feel like, just like she always will.

They both drift off to sleep again, with their hearts a little lighter. They are dreaming again, but what they dream of is never the same.

“I love you,” Sadie thinks that she hears him say. But in a moment of lucidity, she realizes that this final part was all a dream.

“And I know you have a heavy heart, I can feel it when we kiss.
So many men stronger than me have thrown their backs out trying to lift it.
But me I'm not a gamble, you can count on me to split.
The love I sell you in the evening by the morning won't exist".

E-Mailing Your Story (To Me) Will Not Save You

Sadie and Brett, stepping up 2 the streets

So, things are pretty terrible in these parts. All of my time is taken up by either this novel or the gym or work, leaving me no time to do anything fun. I often have to stay up really really late after work to complete my writing. I'm kind of freaking out here.

But luckily, you guys have come to the rescue. I straight up plagiarized from some novels from last year. However, I'm sure that you will find the effect to be more than pleasing.

I am now at 32,000 words.

Unfortunately, for those of you who are not Esmondes, you will probably not find this very funny. In fact, I didn't even attend the funeral that a lot of this is based on, but it has lived on in our collective memories for years.


The Redington Funeral home in Friendship, Maine, was a bustle when the Halls arrived in their black limousine. Businessman clad in black suits congregated outside on their cell phones, apparently unable to leave their work behind for one day to attend the funeral of a colleague. How can anyone become so cold? How does the gravity of the situation—a man dead, leaving his family behind—not elicit any sympathy from them? As they made their way through the crowd, Susan nodded at several of them. The looks of both sympathy and judgement that they gave her must have been humiliating; did everyone know that Jeremy Hall was an adulterer? Or did they just know what kind of person Jerry was, and wonder what kind of person that Susan could have been to stay with him? Sadie would never know; all that she knew was that she wouldn’t wish this kind of pain on anyone, not even the person who had broken her heart.

Sadie was disappointed to see that nothing seemed to improve when the service had finally started. A portly and bald man stepped forward, cleared his throat, and delivered what would famously go down in history (to Sadie, at least) as the worst eulogy of all time.

“I don’t know how you all feel about this, maybe this will help, maybe it won’t,” an inauspicious beginning, if ever there was one. “But I find, when I have lost someone, that it really helps for me to think about that person and how they relate to building materials. Now, maybe it’s because I’m losing my house in a couple of weeks because the churching business just isn’t what it used to be, all of these kids hooting and hollering with their Twitter accounts and their iPhones, turning their backs on the Lord. No apps can replace the church, no way Jose!” He stops to clear his throat. “Now, as we all know, my boss,” he pauses, his finger pointing toward the ceiling. ”My boss...Jesus, would be considered the cornerstone of any building. He is absolutely necessary in the successful completion of any type of construction. Try to build a house without him, you’ll learn!” The man chuckles at what he seems to think passes as a joke before continuing. “When I think about Jeremy, I think, Jeremy was the type of person that... you know... you could... build a house on Jeremy, he was just so solid. Jeremy, was... a foundation stone. And in the kingdom of our Lord, as we have learned, his house has many mansions. And all of them, every single one, is built upon a foundation. A foundation, made up of people like our beloved Jeremy.”

Everyone is staring at this man transfixed in horror, hoping that perhaps he simply got off to a rocky start and would follow this up with something at least moderately relevant and inoffensive. Sadly, all hope that he would turn a corner and amaze them with his speech was lost after what followed.

“I think that we can all agree that Jeremy was a natural at home décor. For those of you lucky enough to have visited Jeremy’s home—which I did once, and I will tell the story, don’t worry—it is obvious that the man just had a gift. Now, I had seen his wife Susan in church every week, and she had been alone since Jeremy was away a lot. I was able to swing an invitation to their home, hoping to score some alone time with Susan, if you know what I mean—” he has to pause as the room is filled with shocks of horror. “—But when I walked in and saw Jeremy sitting in the living room, well, I backed off, as any man would. Susan was holding onto one of their dogs on the deck—Jeremy just loved those dogs, didn’t he! Am I right, folks?” No one nods in appreciation or agreement, but the man who never really introduced himself just ploughs on.

“It wasn’t just dogs that Jeremy loved—he loved all animals! This was really exhibited by his love of hunting. Every time he killed one that he was really proud of he had it stuffed and displayed it in their lovely home where he may have picked out a throw pillow or two. Those dead animals that he kept around the house were really well placed! I mean, it was like a safari! I know that all of you hunters out there have gotten some advice from Jerry about where best to display animal corpses around your own homes. Like I said, a gift!”

The room was thunderously silent. The man at the lectern had at last stopped speaking, but it was unclear whether he was finished, or incorporating some sort of dramatic pause, or perhaps he was waiting for applause? Finally, he spoke again, quickly and unceremoniously delivering the details of the interment, as well as the location of the reception following the service. Then he stepped away from the lectern, and quickly left the room.

Brett had grabbed her hand part way through the eulogy and was yet to let go; while his grip was incredibly tight, she much preferred hand pain to what she knew that Brett wanted to do to this strange man. Susan is weeping quietly beside Brett, and it probably isn’t because she will miss Jerry’s home decorating tips. Sadie thought it best to help Susan outside; she had seen her dehydrated, and it’s pretty gross.

However, as soon as they walk through the doors to the hall, a bright flash disorients them. Before their eyes re-adjust and they are once again granted their vision, they can hear the sounds of what Sadie makes out to be “Pose” by Justin Timberlake featuring Snoop Dogg, one of the duds off of his inimitable FutureSex/LoveSounds album. Upon listening closely, Sadie discerns that the song appears to be about Justin Timberlake and Snoop Dogg pretending to be photographers, so that they can convince women to take their clothes off.

Noticing the disgusted looks on their faces, what appears to be hair styled in the shape of Emilio Estevez circa is uncredited—yet still impressive—role in Mission: Impossible, says, “This should set the mood.” It was amazing how that hair cut had started to become animated. Amazing, and disturbing.

“Set the mood for what? Who are you, and why are you bastardizing my father’s funeral?” Jake Hall roared at the Emilio hairstyle. The hair turns around revealing a man.

“Jim Jimerson,” he extends his hand. “Funeral photographer.”

“We didn’t book a funeral photographer,” Brett says, seething with anger. “Do we fucking look like we want to remember this day?” Sadie surveyed the group, and quickly concluded that no, they did not. Unfortunately for Susan Hall, she was not one of those people who look good when they cry. Her face was bloated as if she had spent the previous night consuming only Bud (not light) and the morning consuming only various kinds of carbs. In addition to bloat-face, her entire face was beet red.

As Justin pleaded with them to “expose those things you want to show,” Jim Jimerson seemed to think that “those things that they wanted to show” was an oddly robotic shimmy accompanied by the Charleston. He also asked them to put on fake moustaches, and then asked Jake and Brett to rub their crotches on Susan’s head. To put things lightly, Jim Jimerson was messing with the bull, and would soon get the horns. Sadie decided to lead Jim out of the Redington Funeral Home, worried about his safety if he were to be left alone. Additionally, she was impressed with his technique, and didn’t want to burn any bridges with Jim Jimerson so that she could make use of his skills for her future wedding photos.

The Covenant Strikes Again

A creepy mother-son moment that is not re-created here

I need to go to bed. Here it is. Let me know what you think with a pleasant comment, otherwise it might get turned into a character who is in love with animals.

I'm sorry that it's so long. But you all need to read the last part. Also, please note that the first scene was half inspired by the Covenant, and the other half by "A Case of You" by Joni Mitchell. It is quoted extensively.


The Halls don’t really seem to understand the concept of “searching for the one.” Looking for true loves means believing in true love, and believing in true love means that you must be capable of feeling it. The Halls don’t distract themselves with fantasies of things that to them, just aren’t that important. You can be happy with any number of people in the world. Isn’t that enough?

Sadie has been around for a long time in the family, and they kind of assume that she will be around for a lot longer. Why wouldn’t she be? She is from a good enough family that she doesn’t embarrass them, but from a family that isn’t as well bred as theirs, so there’s no reason for her to not want to join. Her and Brett seem to get along very well, and they see the way that she looks at him. Even two jaded and bitter people like Jerry and Susan Hall can understand how stupid it would be for Brett to get rid of someone like that.

But Sadie doesn’t feel secure at all as a part of Brett’s life, which is why she is so surprised when she has a conversation about it with his mother while Brett and Jerry were off smoking cigars and talking about whatever men talk about (most likely their penises). In fact, she is pretty surprised that his mother has the capacity to hold a conversation that isn’t about the pansy coasters she had recently pressed using flowers from her precious garden. According to Susan, colourful flowers floating between squares of glass make beautiful and useful coasters. Susan believes in this cause so much that she even pressed the flowers herself. She used a variety of pressed flowers or leaves you like; a collection of coasters is even more charming if each one is unique. Sadie had to admit that Susan was right; the coasters were both beautiful and useful in that they prevented condensation from attacking their beautiful antique coffee table. But that didn’t mean that she had any desire to spend very much time talking about it.

It had taken Sadie some time to realize how much of the time the Halls were drunk; perhaps when you’re that rich it becomes “classy drunk,” as opposed to the completely trashy and un-classy forms that she was accustomed to. They didn’t get into fistfights or cry or tell unsavoury stories involving Gold Bond, pink cardigans, and near-death experiences like her friends usually did. No, it simply made them chatty. But chatty in a way that they would have never been without all of those bottles of expensive red wine. They would talk about things that on any normal night, they wouldn’t even admit to themselves.

For reasons that Sadie failed to understand—she would later conclude that it was just better that way—Brett’s mother was wearing a creamy pink robe with a floral print and a fur collar. She was also smoking a cigarette, and drinking what looked like whisky. Sadie wasn’t quite sure why her voice was so raspy and cracked, since she never raised it above what kindergarteners would call an “indoor voice.”

“Jerry was a year younger than you when we met… Did I ever tell you that?” Susan asks Sadie.

“No, you never mentioned that.”

“He was the most beautiful man that I’ve ever seen.”

Sadie waits patiently for Susan to continue, since there is very little that she can say that would be appropriate right now. Her mind feels cloudy from cocktail hour, which often stretches into four in the Hall household.

“When I look at Brett, I see his father in him. They look so similar.”

“Attractiveness certainly runs in the family.”

“A lot of things run in this family, Sadie.”

“Brett mentioned that his aunt has diabetes.”

“Do you really think that I started this conversation so that I could share with you this family’s medical history?”

“I don’t know, maybe you wanted me to start searching for signs of pre-diabetes?”

Susan just slides on through, ignoring Sadie’s idiocy. It’s a gift, really.

“I see a lot more of Jerry in Brett than just his appearance. I see the way that he is with you. It’s Jerry all over.”

“Brett says that he doesn’t want to be like his father,” Sadie says quietly. There are some moments when you know that you’re about to hear something that you probably shouldn’t, that you can never really repeat, and that will change your life. Sadie could feel it in her bones.

“That’s the same thing he said about his father. Every child says that, but becoming like your parents is almost inevitable. It’s something you learn one day, that your parents weren’t perfect, neither are you, and you will repeat their mistakes because no one lives the way that they think that they will. No one is as good as they think that they can be.”

“I don’t want to say anything that Brett has trusted me with, but I think that you’re wrong about Brett and his Dad.”

“Think what you want, and make your own choices. I know a lot more than you give me credit for. Our family doesn’t find out things about each other by asking and talking. We find out by watching. I have watched Brett since the day he was born. I see the way that he looks up to his father, and how his image of him is completely shattering. He’s becoming a man, and trying to become the kind of man that he can be proud of. But if I know one thing about Brett, which he inherited from his father like his brown eyes, it’s that he will always do what is easy. It’s easy to marry the first girl he meets, but it isn’t easy to stay faithful.”

Sadie’s eyes strayed, as she worried that perhaps Susan’s words were even truer than she knew.

“You think that I don’t know about that?”

“I don’t know what you know.”

Sadie is starting to be uncomfortable, and wishes that Susan would have continued to talk about the coasters. Or perhaps, in an even better world, that she could get up and leave. She has always found Susan Hall to be disquieting; she thought that it was because of the quiet desperation that she hasn’t seen since a Tennessee Williams play. But now, she knows: she can see through people as if they’re ghosts. She knows their devils and deeds. She knows more about Sadie than she had ever thought was possible, and Sadie doesn’t like it at all. She feels as if she is lying naked in the sitting room, being eyed suspiciously by all of the tasteless dead animals that had been stuffed, probably in an effort to announce that the Hall family cares little about the welfare of animals.

“I see the way that you look at him. I know that you love him, and you’re afraid to tell him. Loving men like this is one of the hardest things that you can do. You need to know that one day, Brett will become Jerry. They are the same, and Brett is becoming more like his father every day. You really need to think about whether or not this is what you want.”
Susan gestured around the room, indicating to what Sadie hoped was not their large taxidermy collection. No, of course she was referring to her life. Does Sadie want her life? She sat in silence. She just didn’t know.

“Go to him. Stay with him if you can. But be prepared to bleed.”

* * *

“Didn’t you get my RSVP? I’m not coming to your pity party.”

“Fiona, stop being such an a-hole. It isn’t a pity party.”

“If you start playing ‘It’s My Party, and I’ll Cry If I Want To,’ I am definitely leaving.”

“I think that you are completely mischaracterizing what I just said. Isn’t it reasonable that I can’t be with Paul right now because I’m still not over Brett?”

“I get what you’re feeling—that you don’t want to jump into another serious relationship right away—but I’m really annoyed by everything else. It’s one thing for you to tell Paul that you want to take things slow, and continue on with the casual pace of your relationship, and let him decide if he can deal with it instead of the more serious relationship that he would prefer.”

“But wouldn’t it be completely unfair to go into this relationship knowing that I’m not ready? Isn’t it fair to warn him that I’m still not over everything that happened and that my paralyzing fear that something similar will happen again will probably completely cripple anything that goes on between us? I know that I’m better off without Brett— it isn’t that I am still waiting for us to get back together. But where’s the line? The line that divides one relationship and the next? How do I know that I can move on? I don’t know if I feel ready.”

“There will never be a right time. You will never feel ready. But you’ve been stuck inside your head for way too long, convincing yourself of how messed up you are, and not even considering that everyone has baggage of some sort or another. If you haven't discovered it already, Paul probably has baggage too. It's up to him to choose whether or not he wants to handle yours, and vice versa. And since he already knows at least a little about yours, and has pursued your relationship anyways, that's a pretty good sign that he'll continue to let you go at the pace you need, even if it hurts him. A different guy might not take what you’re offering.”

“Of course Paul has baggage, but his is probably in the luggage compartment or something. I carry mine around.”

“Well maybe you should stop.”

“If it were that easy, I would have a long time ago.”

“But Sadie, it is! Paul was right—misery has become your best friend. You don’t know what you would do without it. Well, maybe you just have to cast it off and see how it goes. Date Paul. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. But you can’t say that you didn’t warn him. In fact, if your warning him didn’t send him off, I don’t know what will.”

“I think that I was being fair. I’m not ashamed.”

“It’s not how I would have said it.”

“Well it’s a good thing that you’re not me, then.”

“So what are you going to do? I think that you know already.”

Sadie did, and for the first time in so long, she felt good. Why not, she thought to herself. Well, she could think of a billion reasons why she could say no to Paul. But she couldn’t think of one that could balance out how much she wanted to say yes.
“I guess that I’m going to date Paul.”

The words were hardly out of her mouth when her phone rang. While the number came up as unlisted, she knew exactly who it was. That number was recorded in her brain, no matter how many times she had willed it to leave her. Her fingers remembered it, and it had taken everything she had for several months to stop them.

She wants to tell Fiona who it is. She wants to present several theories as to why he is calling, and decided whether to answer the phone based on the options. But her mind and her mouth seem to have stopped working, and all that she can do is what she has been conditioned to do. She answers.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Sadie? It’s Brett.” She may not have known from his voice; it was hollow and completely un-Brett-like.

“Hi, Brett. How are you?”

“I’m good. The weather has been pleasant, hasn’t it?”

“It’s been raining.”

“Right. How’s school?”

“What is it, Brett?”

“Oh, uh… So… MyDadDiedYesterdayAndINeedYoutoComeToTheFuneral.”

How Beachy!

I'm about five eighths of the way through my writing for the day, but will have to stop before work. Shit is going to get real. Do I say this too much? Also, my incorporation of the Martha Stewart craft has probably brought more shame to the Esmonde name than normal.

“Sadie, I think that we should talk,” Paul says in an uncharacteristically nervous voice.

“Okay, what do we need to talk about?” Sadie asks, becoming incredibly nervous herself. Nothing good has ever really come from conversations that start in this way.

“Well, we have been seeing each other for about two months now, and I think that things are going really well.”

“So do I,” Sadie responds cautiously. Mentally, she is preparing for the worst; she can’t help it, it’s what she has been conditioned to do.

“I’m glad that you agree,” he clears his throat. “I think it’s time that we take our relationship to the next level.”

“Um, Paul,” Sadie laughs. “We already did that. A lot.”

“No, not that. Well, not just that. I think that we should be exclusive.”

“Like boyfriend and girlfriend?” Sadie responds slowly.

“I didn’t pass you a not in study hall with a yes, no and maybe box, Sadie. Do you have to phrase it like that?”

“I probably didn’t have to, but I did.”

“Well?” He waits. “What do you think?”

Sadie exhales slowly, wishing that every passing second didn’t feel like an hour. She hates being put on the spot like this; Paul wants an answer, and not answering is like an answer in and of itself. Sadie is now confused.

“I don’t know, Paul,” is all that she really has to say. “I really like the way things are going, and I still want to see you.”

“I don’t want to see anybody else. I only want to date you. Is there somebody else that you want to date?”

It hurts Sadie to look at Paul when he is looking at her this way. Immediately after he says this, he knows the answer. They both do.

“I just don’t want to rush into anything. I’m scared, okay? And having to go through what I went through with Brett again would probably kill me.”

“But I’m not Brett. I wouldn’t do the things that he did.”

“I know you’re not Brett, but you can’t stand here and promise me that you’ll never break up with me. Neither of us can promise that. When I was younger, my family got a dog from the animal shelter. Every time that we left her alone in the first few months, she would freak out and bark for hours because she was sure that we had abandoned her, just like her last owners did. It’s called separation anxiety, and, well… I know exactly how that feels. This isn’t just about me not being sure if I have completely moved on and am ready to start something new. It’s also about the fact that I don’t know if I can be what you need right now. I feel so damaged. Is that really something that you want to tie yourself to?”

“Are you saying no? You won’t date me?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I don’t really know what I’m saying. I guess that I have to think about it.”

“Well, I guess that’s not the worst thing that you could have said.”

“No, Paul, it isn’t. Do you have any idea what it means to me that I am considering this?”

He shakes his head.

“I’ve tried to hide from you how hurt I was. How profoundly heartbroken I have been for the past few months.”
“It isn’t exactly a secret. You may have tried to hide it, but I always knew. A person can’t look as sad as you often do without something pretty scarring having happened to them.”

“I didn’t know that you knew that.”

“I always did.”

“Well, I guess that what I’m trying to say is that I do want to date you. You’re so smart and nice and understanding and everything that anyone could ever need. Dating you would be good for me, considering everything that has happened. But dating you right now would be so selfish. It would be putting my needs over yours. You’re good for me, but I’m definitely not good for you. Do you really want to date someone that’s like my dog?”

“Well, no. I think that you’re like your dog a lot less than you think you are. And can I just say that the dog comparisons are a little off-putting? Anyway, I think that you’re just so used to this misery that it’s almost become a friend to you. You don’t know how to deal with being happy because you’re just so used to being unhappy. But things can be better for you. They’ll be better for you with me. And maybe I can’t promise you that we will never break up. One day, we probably will. Should we just throw away everything that we have because there’s a chance that things might not work out? Does that mean that we shouldn’t try?”

Sadie felt lost and confused. She had never experienced this type of urgency before, where another person seemed to need her in the way that she had always needed them. Being wanted is something that gets taken used to, particularly when all you know is what it feels like to be taken for granted. Yes, of course she wanted Paul. He was as close to perfect as people could come. But was she ready? The right person at the wrong time is still the wrong person. How could she waste someone as wonderful as Paul?

But she knew that Paul wouldn’t be around forever. No, he would move on if she didn’t give him what he needed from her. How would she feel if he dated someone else instead of her? When she considered the possibility, she knew that there was only one thing to do. She had to say yes.

Like the floral arrangement in the seashell that Sadie had displayed in her living room, there is always a chance for new life. Something that must have been undeniably disgusting had once lived and died inside that shell that she had collected at the beach of Brett’s summer home. But she was able to give it a whole new purpose, as well as add a touch of beach to her home, with this blooming shell arrangement. It really made waves. Just because something is over doesn’t mean that it is dead; it can be something different. Not better, not worse, just different.

Things never happen the way that we want them to or the way that we think that they will; Sadie knew this better than anybody. Just as she made the decision that finally felt right, things were in motion that would ultimately turn everything upside down once more. Sadie doesn’t know this yet, but soon, oh yes, she will.