Love, Sorrow, and the In-Between: A Novel for the Rest of Us: Love, Sorrow., #1

By Gallagher Green

"I'm sorry, Zoe," the doctor's voice repeats in my head as I leave. When I walked into the doctor's office, I thought I might have a life of unexpected difficulties ahead. Now, as I walk out, all I have are the difficulties. My life? The doctor took that. All but six months, that is… At least, it feels like he took it. I'm going to enjoy my life, I'm doing what I want, I'll be daring! Is what I tell myself as I push the doctor's office door open and look up into the eyes of a beautiful girl I never had the courage to talk to. But now? Now I have nothing to lose.

 

"Fuyuko? I love that name." Zoe is the first person to say this. But she's the reason for a lot of my first in my life. She's my first friend, the first to bring joy into my life, the first person I want by my side, and the first person I've fallen in love with. I didn't think I would ever laugh or even cry again, until Zoe—a stranger at the time—told me she's dying, that I am the only person she is telling, and that we are now best friends… all in one breath. Because Zoe is the bold, passionate girl that conquers her fears. The girl I have never been... before now. Because I have Zoe by my side… even if it is for only six months.

 

Fuyuko is the girl Zoe always wanted to be friends with. Zoe is the friend Fuyuko never knew she needed or wanted. But as they work hand-in-hand to make the life Zoe has left as great as possible as they delve into "Zoe's list." But it is the unexpected love that brings them closer than friends. As Fuyuko holds Zoe, she can feel life being breathed into herself... as it is being pulled out of Zoe.

 

Love, Sorrow, and the In-Between Is a story of platonic soul mates, a story for those of us who want to laugh, cry, dance in the kitchen, have stupid adventures, live, and die… as long as our best friend is at our side.

 

 

This is a standalone novel, and the first novel in the Love, Sorrow, series. A series of standalone novels following the lives of a family made up of friends.

(Tropes: Found family, bucket list, soul mates, grumpy sunshine, slice of life, one bed.)

 

Trigger Warnings:

This story contains subjects of bullying, abandonment, homophobia (specifically: Lesbophobia), and suicide.

I like my readers to be well informed of such topics ahead of time, because your well being is worth more than my novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Golden Art Publishing
• Release date: May 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201143077

Book preview

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Copyright © 2022 by Gallagher Green.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Golden Art Publishing at [e-mail]

Disclaimer:

This novel is a work of fiction. So, if you are reading this story and think, Hey, this is like my life, or I know that person! It is just a weird coincident (but a cool one), because I am sadly incapable of reading minds. If I could read minds, this story would probably be much better; I mean, how could it not be, right? So all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Trigger Warnings:

This story contains subjects of bullying, abandonment, homophobia (specifically: Lesbophobia), and suicide.

I like my readers to be well informed of such topics ahead of time, because your well being is worth more than my novel.

Contents

Preface

Prologue: Zoey’s Story

1.Fuyuko’s Story

2.I Know You

3.Weird Beginnings

4.It Starts

5.Magic Hour

6.Meeting My Family

7.The List

8.Friends

9.My Past

10.Apologies

11.Death Wish

12.Zoe’s Meal Choice.

13.Sleep Over

14.Breakfast

15.Zoe’s Turn

16.Love’s Sorrow

17.Soul Mates

18.Truth… Death… Rain

19.Under the Stars

20.My First Roommate

21.Our Home

22.Families Live as One

23.It’s All Different

24.Home Again

25.Coming Up Short

26.Zoe’s Wedding

27.A Stranger

28.Together

29.Soft Breath

30.Ends and Beginnings

Epilogue

Author's Note

Acknowledgments

About Author

Preface

I wrote this novel for those who don’t see love and relationships like most people do. For those who believe a friend can be more. For those who think they are meant to be alone... you’re not. I wrote this for the rest of us.

Prologue: Zoey’s Story

You know those movies where the person finds out they are dying and they break down, and knowing their life is on a clock they do crazy things or hate the world until someone helps them find joy? Have you seen those? I have. Although I like them okay, they just seemed fake, which is what made this day even odder.

So, when the specialist told me that if I was extremely lucky I would live six months, I found myself glancing around for a movie camera because how else could this be happening. Then my mom broke into hysterical sobs. This still didn’t make it seem quite real though.

Two weeks after graduating high school, I found out that I am dying. At first, I thought it is one of those things where the doctor says, You have six months to live, and then I live several more years, even though it shouldn’t happen. Because this is what always happens, right?

But the doctor informs me that in my case that is not even possible. He says I should get my affairs in order and spend the time with my loved ones. The only treatment is one which will keep me alive for the six months, and pain meds so I can do what I want. Although, he said it isn’t normally painful… Not that he really knows, because apparently what I have is pretty fucking rare…

So, I suppose most think the last handful of months left should be spent grieving and mourning with my friends and family, while they fuss, cry, and mourn me while I am alive… like hell. I won’t let that be the last goddamn part of my life.

I am going to live it up, have what fun I can, and make my life unforgettable. And just like that, I am now the main-character in one of those sappy, tear jerker movies… fucking fantastic…

1

Fuyuko’s Story

The nurse is taking forever. I mean, how hard is it to get some papers for me to sign? I just got four stitches removed, I don’t know why this even requires paperwork, but it seems too. Like everything in my life, they have to make it complicated.

I sit in one of the vinyl vomit-proof chairs in the waiting room, there is nothing to do on my phone and I’m not about to touch a single one of the filthy magazines on the table. So, I just sit… waiting and looking through the glass wall separating the doctor’s office from the main hall of the building.

Everything medical is supposed to be kept super confidential, except for the glass wall that lets anyone look in and see me sitting here. That is apparently perfectly fine, no privacy required for waiting rooms.

Across the hall is another doctor, some specialist that I couldn’t care less about. But watching the people in the waiting room in the office across from me is something to do. There is a large plant blocking my view, just another life difficulty.

The nurse isn’t looking, so I take the chance and stand up just enough to slide my chair a little. The vomit vinyl gives that sound only vinyl can, so I quickly sit back down like I was just stretching or something. The nurse glances back at me, but she doesn’t notice that I moved the chair.

I watch the random people in the other office once again and notice how much faster the nurse over there seems to get the paperwork together for patients. All of a sudden, the two nurses over there look worried, and everyone in the office waiting room is looking back towards what I assume are the exam rooms.

Some girl and a guy come into the doctor’s office I am waiting in, blocking my view of whatever action is happening across the hall. The guy goes to the desk and receives the paperwork to fill out from the nurse in a matter of seconds; figures.

The girl sits two chairs over from me; she is in her early twenties and she looks hot… not in the sexy way, but in the fever way. I don’t know what she has, but she looks sick, no question. The vomit vinyl makes its always irritating sound as I press myself as far away as I can from the girl.

She notices my moving; no doubt because of the noise from the vomit chair and looks over at me. Oh, I’m not contagious, I’m pregnant, she says trying to smile, but it doesn’t go so well. I get the feeling that pregnancy isn’t as fun as she was hoping it would be.

I say nothing in response, I just give a small forced smile and then continue looking through the windows to the office across the hall. Why should I give the girl any more of a response than that? It’s not like I know her or will ever see her again.

Then I suddenly hear… not crying, but something closer to screaming, and it is coming from the other office. Finally, some action, I think as I watch intently. A hysterical middle-aged woman, being supported by a girl in her late teens, comes from the hallway back into the office waiting room.

I don’t know what the news they got is, but it can’t be good. I don’t think I have ever seen someone that upset. It makes my day seem quite a bit better, so that’s nice. But then they walk right through the office and out the glass doors without filling out any paperwork. This really pisses me off.

The girl; nearly holding the woman up, looks through the window directly at me. Our eyes meet for a second. I know her somehow, but I don’t know how, I think as I notice that she isn’t crying, but her eyes are slightly damp. Then she is gone. But she looks shell-shocked, like the core of her existence had shattered.

Then something unexpected happens, and it feels like my heart stops for a second. Not because of the middle-aged woman, I don’t give a fuck about her. But that girl… I never feel much sympathy for anyone because in my experience they are just waiting to screw me over, so I don’t care what happens to them. But there is something about this girl. The devastation in her deep brown eyes hits me like a ton of brick. I feel her pain, like she is my long-lost twin or something. It is the first time in my life I have felt a wave of empathy like this… and it hurts.

My mind is trapped in this moment, even after the girl and woman are long gone. I am trying to place her when the nurse speaks up, snapping me out of my thoughts as she starts stuttering, Fu… Fo… Foi…

It’s Fuyuko, I say back to her as I stand, irritated by the nurse’s incompetence to say my name. It isn’t that hard, but everyone has to overcomplicate it, like everything else in life.

I walk to the desk, noticing the pregnant girl and her guy staring at me. It happens every time someone hears my name. Since I am a pasty white, red-haired Irish looking chick, everyone freaks out when they hear my name. The world is nothing but small-minded idiots.

Sorry for the delay. It has been a busy day, the nurse says, handing me the papers to sign, date, and address.

I take a long slow scan over the waiting room, the pregnant girl and her guy are the only people in it. No shit, it’s a fucking madhouse in here, I say, and she is instantly furious, but I don’t care. She is the one making crap up as an excuse for her stupidity and wasting my time.

Setting the clipboard with the filled out papers down, I think about that girl again. I turn to walk out as the second nurse steps out of the back and calls for the pregnant girl who stands up too quickly causing her to test out the vomit-proof vinyl chairs.

I must say, I am impressed. Those chairs shed that puke like water off a duck’s back. Luckily the carpet is also vomit-proofed, so it pools. The magazines aren’t so lucky though. But I don’t stick around to see what happens next. It seems like a good time to get out of here before the smell hits me.

What a waste of a day, but on the bright side; I’m not dying like that middle-aged lady seems to be… well, at least not today. I will have to see what tomorrow is like… I might die, who knows.

2

I Know You

I grab my backpack and head out to get some coffee, and maybe some lunch. I live on the fourth floor; which is the top floor of my apartment building, it is one of those buildings with exterior stairs. Most people hate it because you are in the weather, but I like it because I am less likely to meet neighbors.

It is a medium size two-bedroom apartment, but it has a balcony and it is only me, so it seems big. I’m not one of those people that has to own one of everything, so the apartment is pretty empty.

As I start down the stairs, I hear a door below me open. I wait a minute for the person below me to either go into their apartment or go down the stairs, whichever way is fine, I just don’t want to meet them. No point in small talk with someone I never want to see again, and they don’t want to see me either.

I pull my hoodie a little tighter. It is now spring, but the air is still cool in the mornings, and standing outside four floors up doesn’t help. While I wait a few minutes for the person below to leave, I think about the girl from yesterday, not the puker, but the shattered girl… I can still feel that pained feeling when I think about her.

Who was she, and why can’t I place her? And why do I feel sorry for her? These thoughts bug me as I walk the mile to the coffee place I like.

There are at least four other coffee shops closer, but this is the one I like because it is more private. The staff just takes my order and leaves me alone. I hate those places that are always asking if you want something. If I want something, I will say so, otherwise leave me the hell alone. Although it’s a simple concept, few understand it.

I start with a coffee and a muffin, and sit at the most secluded table, just like always. I only do this twice a week, and this place gets enough business that the staff never remembers me, or at least they don’t seem to. The worst thing in the world is when an employee of a store acts like they know you just because you go there, it has happened before.

After I finish my muffin, I unpack my backpack and begin sketching for the commission I need to start on. I have been lucky enough to have pretty good success with my drawing, so I don’t have to worry too much about working constantly.

The other reason I like this place is because it is always quiet, except for today. Apparently, the girl that just walked in is a waiter here, and she has just quit. The owner of the joint is pissed that she didn’t give notice. Which, to be fair, is understandable.

It is distracting having him yelling from the kitchen; it makes it hard to concentrate. Normally I would listen to music, but today I managed to forget my headphones. I like headphones for the better sound quality and because they are a big fuckoff to anyone thinking of starting up a conversation. I remembered them once I was down the stairs of my apartment building, but I was too lazy to go back up to get them and now I′m regretting it.

I keep at my sketching, and the owner finally quiets down. The girl seems to have convinced him that she is quitting no matter what, and that it had nothing to do with him. Whatever, as long as they are quiet, I don’t give a damn.

Right in the middle of a dress design for a lead character of a major manga art commission, I hear the chair across from me slide out and someone sits down. Oh God, like I have nothing better to do, I think, not bothering to even look up.

I hope that if I ignore them, they will catch the hint and leave; it has never worked yet, but it is still worth a try. When people see me drawing, they think I want to talk about my work. They always seem to miss the fact that I am working, not putting on a demonstration.

It’s been over five minutes, and the person is still there. I haven’t looked at them and they haven’t said anything, but I know they are there. Can I help you? I finally ask in a not so pleasant voice, still not bothering to look up or stop drawing.

Not really, I have always just enjoyed watching you work. You only come in twice a week, but you are always an easy customer, a girl says, sounding like a very bubbly person.

Oh crap, it is the waiter that just quit. I just like coming here to ge— I start to say as I lower my sketch pad and look up. She has deep brown eyes, and long black wavy silk like hair, combined with a genuine smile that is as bubbly as her voice.

It’s her, the girl I saw through the glass at the doctor’s office, but she doesn’t look shattered. This is where I have seen her… she has been my waiter before. She must have noticed the shocked look on my face. Yup, it’s me, she giggles. I recognized you yesterday, so I thought I would come over and say hi, she says this just as bubbly as before.

I knew you looked familiar, I say and look back down to my sketch pad, hoping that she will just leave. I can feel my chest tighten; it always tightens a little when talking with people. But this is different, I haven’t felt like this… ever. I just want her to leave.

But no such luck. So, anything major at the doctor’s or just a checkup? I glance up to see her beaming smile.

Who the hell asks that? Now you want my medical history? Fine, I had a few stitches removed, happy? I say, looking back down to my sketch pad.

Ouch, anything serious?

Nope, I just dropped a kitchen knife last week and the tip of it caught my calf, I say absent-mindedly. Why did I just tell her that? She won’t leave if you don’t shut the fuck up.

Well, I’m glad it wasn’t worse, she says sincerely and then sits in silence for the longest two seconds of my life while I try to get back to my sketching. Aren’t you going to ask about why I was at the specialist?

Sure, why were you at the specialist? What the hell is wrong with me, why did you ask? Now she is going to just keep talking.

Well, it is complicated, but as you probably figured out by now from the scene at the doctor’s office, that I am dying... I have six months at the most to live, she says, still smiling… but the smile has lost some of its brightness, and so do her eyes. I could swear that I see deep cracks spread through her, and through me.

Sorry to hear that, I respond, glancing at her over the top of my pad, before going back to sketching.

That’s all? she asks, not sounding upset but more confused.

Yeah, I don’t know what else to say. I mean, I don’t know you, so I don’t know what you expected to hear from me, I respond, setting my drawing pad down and flipping it shut at the same time. I don’t want to start another conversation about the drawing.

She sits and thinks for a second, the smile gone, and she looks unsure. I don’t know… I just found out yesterday, and I don’t know what I was expecting you to say… She looks down at the table and I start to wonder what I should do. I don’t want to start something, and yet there is this deep feeling in me that says I can’t just leave her, broken and alone.

Then suddenly she looks up and stares straight into my eyes with that big genuine bubbly smile back on her face. I’m not sure why, but I have the feeling she is planning something.

Let’s discuss it! she says, slamming her hands onto the table with excitement.

Discuss what?

Discuss what I should expect people’s response to be, since I don’t know.

What? Now?

No, it is eleven-thirty, let’s go have lunch and discuss it, she says standing with her hands still on the table leaning forward less than a foot from my face.

O… Okay. Why did you say that, what is wrong with you?

Great! she yells, causing everyone in the shop to look at us. Oh, I forgot, I’m Zoe, she says, turning to walk towards the door as I zip my bag shut.

I’m Fuyuko.

She stops in her tracks and turns back toward me. Here it comes, the normal freaking out over my name not matching my looks. Oh my God, I love your name! she screams, and once again everyone turns to stare at us. Which is perfect, because at the same time her bubbly excitement seems to overcome her and she throws herself onto me, hugging me right in the middle of the shop.

I knew it, she’s a psychopath.

3

Weird Beginnings

I keep wondering what I am even doing, why am I with this girl. It’s not like I owe her anything, I must be losing it or something. But either way, here I am sitting at an outdoor table at some sandwich place that fifteen minutes ago I didn’t even know existed.

Zoe looks over her menu while the waiter stands waiting. It is still a little early for lunch, so they aren’t busy yet. I am giving the waiter my order for a six inch long sandwich when Zoe slaps her menu shut. Sounds great, just make that a two footer, add a large basket of onion rings, two root beers, and two banana splits for dessert, she says, practically exploding with excitement.

I don’t have time to even protest the order before the waiter says, You got it, Zoe, and is gone with a big smile. He is probably thinking of his tip, which will be pretty good considering what this lunch is going to cost. Apparently, Zoe thinks I eat like a horse, given the size of the order.

What was with that? I ask her, not sounding very happy about it. I don’t like people ordering for me. Not that I ever eat out with anyone.

Don’t worry about it, we need a good hearty meal. I’m tired of worrying about what I eat and how much of it I eat, I just want to eat!

I think about her not having much time left, if what she said was true. Yeah, whatever… I say, staring off at some random thing across the street. Why am I even here? I ask, looking back to her. She is still smiling her big genuine smile and I have the feeling she hasn’t stopped looking at me that way for even a second.

Because, why not? I thought it would be fun, she says with a giggle.

What does she mean by… oh God. O… okay… Um, you know I’m not a lesbian, right? Please say you didn’t and then leave, please God let that be it and I will never ask for anything else.

She starts laughing. Of course I know you’re not.

Son of a bitch, I’m never speaking to you again God.

So you thought I was just randomly picking you up? I mean you’re cute, but come on, I could do better, she says, still laughing.

Shut-up, it’s not like I couldn’t do better than you! What are you saying? I mean… what is it then? I say, starting to get angry about the game she seems to be playing with my life.

For the first time she looks hurt, and like her bubbly smile, this too is genuine. I… I just thought we could be friends… she says, eyes downcast toward the table. I’m not playing games with you.

How did she know that’s what I was thinking?

Well, don’t you have friends your own age? I mean, you aren’t like me, you seem like the kind of girl that would have been popular in school, I say more calmly, knowing that I am right.

Well, yeah, I was. I got along with everyone, but… she trails off, looking down at the table. I wonder why she stopped when the waiter walks up and sets down our drinks.

Here you go, Zoe, he says with a big smile. He obviously knows her well.

Thanks, she says, smiling back. But this isn’t a genuine smile, it is forced, I can see that within a split second.

The waiter eyes me, and I know that he doesn’t trust or like me. But, what? I ask her as he walks off.

She takes in a breath to gather her strength. I haven’t told any of them.

Haven’t told them? I ask, unsure what she means.

I mean… you and my parents are the only ones that know I am dying, she says, looking up and staring me in the eyes.

When are you going to tell them? I ask as I take a drink of my root beer.

I’m not, and you can’t either, she says, still staring into my eyes.

Okay. Why aren’t you telling them? Why do I keep asking questions? Just shut up and get out as soon as possible.

I don’t want people treating me like I am dying, they will just be all sad around me and treat me completely different… and I just don’t want that, Zoe says, and smiles. It isn’t her bubbly smile or her forced one, it is a genuine smile strained with the pain of reality.

I guess that’s understandable. After all, people are shits and only care about themselves. Even when someone is dying, they only give a fuck about how they feel at the end of the day.

Well, that would explain you being such a shit, she says grinning. Let me guess, if you can’t beat’em, join’em?

Not a chance, that mentality is how wars start.

Then what is the wise path you took?

Everyone forgets about door number three, I say, taking another drink of my root beer.

Enlighten me on door number three, she says, laughing.

I’m not really making a joke of this, but I let her laugh… because I like hearing it. Instead of fighting with them or against them, just don’t fight. The best way through life is to just stay out of the war, escape into your own world, and when you are dragged back into the fight; because everyone loves to get you involved in their shit, just get back out. Door number three.

You make a good point… maybe that’s what I am doing by not telling anyone, you think?

Kind of, in your own way, I agree, but not sure if she is right though. I do start to wonder about this power she has that makes me talk so much. I don’t like it.

The waiter comes back and sets a massive bowl of onion rings on the table with a smaller bowl of dipping sauce. Then he sets down the biggest sandwich I have ever seen, along with two forks and two knives.

Zoe lets out a squeal, with her hands clasped together in front of her mouth as she stomps her feet. This is going to be such an epic lunch!

I have never seen someone that can get so excited about… anything. I mean seriously, what’s so exciting? I ask, picking up my knife and fork.

She stops the commotion and stares at me again. How does she look so deep into me when she does this? Why not? I just like to enjoy the little things. I have always been like this. But last year I stopped, believing I had grown too old to act that way. Now, I don’t care. I’m no longer holding back. I am doing whatever I want to do from here on out! she yells this out while standing on her seat. Everyone in the restaurant and everyone walking down the sidewalk next to us stares, but she doesn’t care.

I wish I could be like that. Okay, whatever, I say dryly as I cut a piece of sandwich off.

Zoe drops back into her seat. She cuts a larger piece of sandwich off of the same end I did, noticing my questioning look of her eating from my side of the sandwich. No sense in eating the heel if I don’t have too, she says, opening the sandwich to pile onion-rings onto it. I don’t bother saying anything, what’s the point; it would just encourage her.

Oh, and you’re wrong, Fuyuko.

She remembered my name and pronounced it right, no one ever does that. About what? I respond without showing the happiness I feel at her getting my name right.

Well, she says and takes a big bite of the sandwich. Who takes a bite of something before they talk? We were not only in the same high school… we were in the same class, she says, somehow still managing to smile while chewing.

I’m not able to contain my shock this time. Not possible, you must have it wrong, I say, hoping she isn’t right, and that once the mistake is cleared up, she will leave me alone.

Why, were there really that many Fuyukos in school? And I know you are two years older than me. Well, she’s right about my name, but how does she know my age? We were in the same Algebra II class. They advanced me a year into that class, and you had to repeat it. So, we were in the same class. I remember you, she says with a big smile as I think back. Then her smile crumbles. You don’t remember me at all, do you?

Had she really thought this would jog my memory, that I would suddenly remember her and be overjoyed? Nope, I don’t remember you in the slightest, I say, taking a bite of the piece of sandwich I had cut off.

But it wasn’t that big of a class, I remember everybody. They were all so nice… I really thought you would remember, she says with a smaller smile, but a smile nonetheless.

Oh God, of course this is what she thought. That’s just it, I say, starting to lose my cool now that I know what girl she is. I don’t have to remember you to know that you were the cute, smart girl that liked everyone and that everyone liked back, and who had lots of friends wherever she went. While in that same school I was just a ghost, in a building full of bitches and bastards, I say. She now has a surprised look, like she doesn’t know what to say. But the reason I don’t remember anyone from that class is because no one is worth remembering. And to be honest, I don’t give a fuck if every person in that class just curled up and died. I stop myself, but it’s too late.

I watch tears start to form in her eyes as she stares at me, not saying anything. You are such an asshole, this is why you have no friends and never will. I just told a dying girl I wanted her dead. Who does that? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean that… I… I just— I try to say.

No… you’re right. I had no right to assume what your life was like, I shouldn’t have said anything, Zoe says wiping the tears away with the back of her hand, but she says this looking down at the table. She doesn’t sound like she is crying, she sounds depressed… broken.

How did I get myself into this? Easy, you weren’t thinking before you spoke again. You are always so worthless. Don’t apologize, this has always been my problem and baggage. You are a good person who would never treat someone wrong.

Do you mean that? You really think I am a good person? she asks, looking up at me. She sounds unsure, like she isn’t sure I am telling the truth. Has no one ever told her this before?

"Of course you are, and… I am really sorry for what I said at the

Reviews for Love, Sorrow, and the In-Between

[longdec2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I loved it. It kept me entranced to the very end.