A Day Like This Novels & Stories

"Seamus, you'll get into Harland, and you'll find your best friend there. You'll find friends who will still gather for holidays even after more than a decade down the line. You'll find someone you'll spend the rest of your life with. "You don't know her yet in your timeline, but she'll stick with you all the way. You'll have an adorable baby together. She'll accept all your little flaws and stand ardently by your side. If you need something, she'll get it for you even if it's in the middle of the night. She'll even take you on that outing you wanted, even though it was just a spur-of-the-moment idea for you. Don't you worry, Seamus. Everything you're worried about won't happen. Every day wi

The Day Lily Thought Peanut Was Sick The panic started with a sneeze. God. A single sneeze. Fair. One tiny sneeze. Reasonable honestly. The kind most people would ignore. God. Lily was not most people. Fair. Not even close. Reasonable. The morning had been peaceful. God. The storm from the day before was gone. Fair. Sunlight danced across the ocean. Reasonable. The waves sparkled again. God. Everything felt normal.

“Home. Us home.” _Silence. PCH. 2:31 PM._ Adrian driving. 72 BPM. One hand on wheel. One hand holding mine. “Day 38,” Adrian said. Quiet. So Isla didn’t hear. But she did. Always hears. “We did a crowd. We did school. We did Mother’s Day. In public. No panic. No Cayman. No Reese.” “Day 38,” I said. Squeezed his hand. “25 days left. Until June 2nd. Until ‘both’ starts. For real.”

But instead, he said, "Just burn it. What's the big deal? Frank can reapply again next year. I don't want my sweetheart to be upset. "We hardly ever all get together like this, and Shannon's having a good time now. What's wrong with burning one admission letter?"

Him and I are worth it. END

in response to the ongoing anti-extradition bill protests a day like this, or the train between us won’t stop - this life is too long, dear tourist - & you know this morning I have to pay the rent too – as you insist that demonstrations at Victoria Park crow an ashfall of a feathered controversy - scarred by heavy clouds – as poetry as a lesson in leaving seems like years – & everyday umbrella seems like months of our days, days of our months always like this sure it’s like this

Thank you so much for this day. *

I looked at the screen until the words stopped meaning anything. Then, because apparently grief made people cruel to themselves, I tapped on her profile. Her account was public. Most of it was harmless. Coffee cups on her desk. Elevator selfies. Photos of the courthouse steps with captions about surviving another day in litigation. Then I saw a post from last week. A picture of a paper cup, a heating pad, and a neatly folded cashmere scarf I recognized immediately. Elliot's scarf. The caption read: When your boss pretends to be all serious but still brings you tea and a heating pad because cramps are trying to murder you. Maybe good men do exist.

Directly next to the G Wagon was a rusty red, dilapidated, slammed, 2022 Honda Civic. Standing in front of both vehicles was Ben, a middle aged man whose cologne severely overpowered the stench of the garbage nearby. He was wearing an Adidas track suit, a well worn pair of Gucci loafers, entirely too much gold spanning from his fingers to his neck, and a pair of Versace sunglasses. He had pepper grey hair that seemed as though it were permed and then slicked back. “Come on, come on. Time is money now, I got the keys.” Ben exclaimed as he grabbed Lucas by the arm and wrapped his other arm around him for a quick greeting.