I’m pathetic, I know. Maybe I just need to take your own advice and for once put myself first. I know I should cut you off, but for some bizarre reason, I can’t.
Last letter, I told you I hope you were suffering but that’s not the truth. The truth is, I really just hope you’re happy. I really hopeyou found someone else to love and that she makes you as happy as I couldn’t.
SEPTEMBER, 2030
Dear Asher,
I said I wasn’t going to write to you again, yet here I am. My life is looking better, and I thought after sending you so many pouty letters, I figured I would send one with some good news.
First, I’m happier. I truly am. I finally found a balance with work, well kind of. I’m working only two shifts a week, which puts me at part-time, but I don’t care. I like it a lot better. I started a side business, and my extra time goes to that. It’s called Citrus & Oak. My mom and Emma help out sometimes. My mom, by the way, has not progressed again. She’s staying where she’s at, needing some help but still able to manage a lot. She still goes to therapy and to the doctor often, but it’s not as much as before.
According to the doctors, this isn’t typical, so we’re thankful. Some of her medicine makes her sick, so she’s been using some gummies, if you know what I mean, to help. She’s been so funny and happy. We love it. It’s given us our fun mom back. It’s also made her really blunt, and she’s been yelling at me for throwing my life away for many reasons—hence starting the side business.
Livie and Alex are talking about adoption; it has been really good to see some hope in her eyes again. I can’t wait to see thembe parents. I don’t think I’ll be a mom. It’s just not in the cards for me, and I’m older now. It’s fine. I have beautiful nieces and nephews, and I can be a fun aunt. Maybe in another lifetime, I get the spouse, the baby, and everything else on my checklist. For this one, I’m happy with what I have, and I’m working toward staying that way.
Now, the main reason I’m writing this is because I really need to stop acting like a 20 year old and get going with my life. I loved the years we spent together—or apart, I guess—and I’m thankful for everything you gave me, everything you shared with me, and I’m sure, one day, when I’m old, I’ll tell all my nieces and nephews about the fling of a lifetime. In the meantime, keep saving people and living life large. So others may live, right?
I do hope you know that you deserve love. At the very least, I hope you find someone who can see how worthy of their love you are.
Goodbye, Asher.
Xo,
Hales
6
NEW YEARS EVE 2030
lovely by Billie Eilish and Khalid • PILLOWTALK by Zayn • Cold War by Cautious Clay • Someone You Loved by Lewis Capaldi • Breathe Again by Sara Bareilles
Asher
How doesone grovel when the fucking taxi won’t hurry up? How does one show up ready to beg when there’s a flight delay and now I’m running late? How do I tell her I was a fucking fool and that I love her too? How do I tell her it nearly killed me keeping her away, but that life was entirely too hard and she didn’t need more on her plate?
Like that. You just tell her, Travis’ words echo in my head.
“Here, here, here. Just drop me off.” I can see the venue in the distance; I just need to get to her. Ten minutes to midnight, and I just need to see her.
It has to be this year.
It has to be now.
I open the door of the taxi and run down the busy street until I’m faced with the doors I’ve come to know like the back of myhand, the place that's felt like home for the past five years. I pray to a god I don’t believe in that she’s here and that she’ll forgive me.
The room is, as usual, full of people dancing, spinning in circles and laughing. I search and search, skipping over everyone who isn’t her—the blondes, the redheads, the men. I skip the height that is not quite right but still look in case her body has changed in the year and a half since I’ve seen her. I look for her friend, but I don’t find lean legs, glossy brown hair, and pretty grey eyes. I don’t find Hailey anywhere.
She didn’t come.
Wow.
I walk the edge of the ballroom, seeking faces, but none are her. The music is boisterous, booming through the speakers and mimicking my heart.
Fast. Erratic. Loud. Obnoxious.
I should’ve just shown up at her house. I should’ve just come last year. I should’ve just kept my end of the deal.
She’s not here.
