Something about the way he mentionedplanning trips with his girlfriendmade the tiny hairs on my neck stand up. Tone wasn’t clear in the written word, but it almost felt as if he resented me or the attention he gave me for distracting him from early signs of his mother’s illness.
I flipped through more letters, wondering how much he’d had to drink when the letters became messy and incoherent. A sudden lump in the back of my throat made it hard to breathe when I realized he ended all the letters the exact same way.
I’m so fucking sorry.
I knew he was upset they’d kept her diagnosis from him until we’d come back from vacation. I was always grateful that Linda gave us those few extra days to be young and in love with no worries, knowing how Dominic would react to the news, but he’d never seen it that way.
Page after page was more of the same. Guilt over not making her quit smoking sooner, second guessing all the times he thought she had a simple cold, questioning if that was the start of it. Furious that he’d gone days without seeing her and talking to her because he was “too busy with Thea.” If he would have just noticed something, if he’d been paying more attention, he was sure he could have stopped it earlier, and she would still be alive.
No one loved their mother more than he did, which was why I’d been so nervous when I’d first met her. But I’d soon found out that I had nothing to worry about because Linda was one of the best people I’d ever met. She’d taken me in right away like I was one of her own. Her big heart would have broken at what her son went through after she was gone.
I’d known he was grieving, and he’d reiterated over and over how much he’d wanted to be alone, but I’d never understood how tortured he’d been. Because he’d withdrawn so far from me, I hadn’t gotten a grasp on how deep his self-loathing went. Instead of being angry that he’d left, I thanked God that Joe had given him a place to escape to and had kept an eye on him.
My hand flew to my mouth at the next three pages. All were identical with one sentence scrawled down the middle and covering the length of three lines.
I deserve to be alone.
Lots of people lost parents they were close to, but didn’t leave the person they claimed to love to grieve alone. After twenty-something pages of Dominic begging his late mother for her forgiveness, and citing me as the reason why he hadn’t taken care of her like he thought he should have, I finally understood what had happened to us.
He’d felt guilty for being so happy with me and not paying enough attention to her. Therefore, in his mind, her death was his fault. He had mentioned a few, “I should’ve done this,” or “Had I realized that,” to me while she’d been in treatment, but actually losing her had made it sink all into his head so deeply he hadn’t wanted to be a part of his own life or part of anything that made him happy.
That included me.
I turned two blank pages and moved on to the next letter, my heart seizing when I read my name at the top.
Dear Thea,
We aren’t together anymore, and I honestly was too drunk to remember actually doing it, but I cheated on you last night. Or, at least, that’s what it feels like. I woke up in someone else’s bed, and almost threw up on her carpet when I realized she wasn’t you. I’m the worst kind of person, and I never deserved you. I knew that when we got together, but I was too selfish. I still wanted you all to myself.
I’m really losing it. First writing to my dead mother and then my ex-girlfriend. I never thought I’d see the day when I’d call you my ex-girlfriend. What I’d give to have you nagging me to eat and sleep right now. I’d gladly take all your love and comfort and never be stupid enough to let go of the best thing that ever happened to me.
But I was, and I did.
I miss you so much I can’t even think. I played an old video of us on my phone today just to hear your voice. I want to call you but I’m too ashamed to speak to you. I’ve hurt you enough and for that I’ll always be so sorry.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
No, Dominic. It absolutely wasn’t.
Tears I didn’t know I was crying dripped onto the pages as I read about our first date, about how he waited to tell me he loved me because he was scared I’d freak out at hearing it so soon, how the first thought in his head when he woke up was speaking to me. He wrote a ton of I’m sorries, but never mentioned trying to reach out to me.
Dear Thea,
Congratulations. I heard you’re engaged. I didn’t really expect you to wait for me, but in the back of my mind, I’d always hoped. I don’t know who the guy is. My aunt is usually good with details, but she was missing that one. I hope he treats you right. I hope he gave you one of those over the top proposals, and it was everything you wanted it to be. When I was about to propose, there was no way I’d have the patience to plan anything like that.
You didn’t know that. When we came back from Florida, the reason I was itching to leave you that day was because I wanted to ask you to marry me. I headed to my mother’s house to pick up my grandmother’s ring and planned on shooting right back to your apartment to ask you. I figured I’d call your dad afterward for his permission and pretend I hadn’t asked you yet. I didn’t want to be disrespectful, but I couldn’t wait another second.
I’d actually wanted to ask you for months but was too scared. If you’d said no, I would’ve been destroyed.
I never wanted that weekend to end, or have one of us ever have to go home the next morning. I wanted you all the time, every single day.
My poor mother died thinking I was going to ask you. She was so thrilled when I told her you were the one. She handed me the ring right away, making me promise I’d have it cleaned before I gave it to you. Once I found out she had cancer, all my plans were blown to pieces. I thought once Mom was out of the woods and on the mend, I’d propose and we’d all have two things to celebrate. That never happened, so in the end, we had none.
Be happy, sweetheart.
There were only so many big reveals a person could take in one week.
I rested the book in my lap and covered my face with my hands. I’d need to dig my inhaler out of my purse if my breathing didn’t slow to a normal, human pace.
