8. Hannah

EIGHT

"Good night," I call back to Mom and Chelsea.

They're going to stay up and watch another episode, or more likely three, of the new makeup artist reality show they found. It's entertaining, but unlike the two of them, I have an alarm going off in the morning.

Between the dining area and the kitchen is the staircase leading upstairs, but I take the short hallway next to it and head toward the back of the house.

My bedroom is the only one on the main level, across from one of the two bathrooms. The first and third generations of the family have bedrooms upstairs, sharing the other larger bathroom.

The floorboards, a light wood that is original to the house, creak beneath my feet.

I pass our little laundry room, and then on my left is the bathroom, and on the right is my bedroom.

It's a small room, but it's a corner room, so I have one window overlooking the side yard and one to the back yard, giving me lots of light when I happen to be home during the day and want to hide away with a book.

The space was actually meant to be a study, not a bedroom, so the entire wall that the door is on is covered with built-in bookshelves.

I step into my room and shut the door, and as always, it feels like I'm walking into my own personal library.

After pulling the curtains closed, I climb into bed.

As is customary, I brushed my teeth and changed into my sleep pants and tank top before the last episode. It's something Mom and I started doing back when I was in high school, so if we stayed up too late watching TV, we could go right to bed.

Small flickers of moonlight sift through the curtains, reminding me of a time I slept in a different library.

Pulling the blankets up to my chin, I close my eyes and let myself remember.

When we realized we'd been locked in, Maddox and I came together like magnets. Like there was no other outcome than us combining the way we did.

We used benches as a bed, and… after, I used his chest as a pillow, and we used his hoodie as a blanket.

I think about the paper football he had in his pocket, how he propped it against his chest and told me to make a wish and flick it onto a chair for the wish to come true.

I wished for Maddox to be the man that I marry.

And when the paper football went off course, he kicked it into place.

At the time, it felt like a sign. Like some sort of good omen.

But ever since then, I've decided it wasn't. That maybe his interference messed with our destinies. Like he rewrote our timelines with that one kick.

It's foolish, of course. Destinies aren't real.

But what if he hadn't helped it? What if it had continued off course and landed on the floor?

Maybe I would've gone to sleep that night with a little less confidence. And therefore wouldn't have put so much weight on our time together.

I roll onto my side and curl my hands under my chin.

I never forgot about Maddox. But as time went by, as I watched his life morph into that of a professional athlete, the memories felt less and less real. Because he became someone I didn't know anymore.

He became such a distant figure I never even considered what I'd do if I ran into him again.

Of course, I knew he lived somewhere in the Twin Cities since he played for the Biters for five years. But we ran in such different circles it didn't occur to me to worry about it.

But just because I kept an eye on his career, doesn't mean I was pining over him, just curious.

I've dated since then. Gone out with some really nice guys. It's just bad luck that nothing has worked out.

I wasn't waiting.