“Be safe.” I press one last kiss to the top of Elodie’s head as she stands on my front doorstep. It’s five o’clock in the morning, and a cab is waiting at the curb to take her to the airport. I wanted to drive her myself, but Remy is still sleeping and part of me didn’t think I could get through dropping her off, not knowing if I’d ever see her again.
I know I’m a fucking coward, but I guess this is what happens to me when I feel like my heart is being ripped in two.
“Kiss me,” she commands, lifting up on her toes and pulling my face to hers. Our lips meet and I swear, every time we kiss it feels like it won’t ever be enough.
But this kiss is the end. It’s goodbye. It’s likely the last time I’ll ever feel her lips against mine.
I know there are such things as airplanes and long-distance relationships. But last night as I held her in my arms after we made love,a part of me made peace with the fact that Elodie and I just weren’t meant to last. Maybe her role in my life was to show me the possibility of what I could have if I just opened myself up and faced the baggage I’ve been carrying around like a security blanket my entire life.
And maybe I was supposed to help her find joy in music again, to realize her talent and passion and give her the space and opportunity to pursue it.
When we part, the sight of her tears almost makes me drop to my knees and beg her to stay.
But I can’t. I refuse to be the reason she doesn’t follow this through.
I thought I’d be taking her on a date tonight, telling her how I feel, and asking her to create a life with me. Instead, I’m standing here trying to figure out how to let her go.
“I’ll call you,” she says, but all I can do is nod in response, not sure if I’ll answer. Would it make this harder? To hear her voice, hear her excitement at the prospect of her new life?
Or would a clean break make this easier?
I wish I had the answers.
“Bye, Henley.” With one last glance over her shoulder, she makes her way down the sidewalk, handing her bags and guitar case to the cab driver. She took what she needed, and I told her I would ship the rest to her once she got settled.
A few moments later, the cab pulls onto the road, and I watch the taillights disappear.
Fuck. She’s really gone.
I head back inside, startled by the quiet of the house, my home that didn’t feel like one until Remy and Elodie entered it. Everywhere I turn I see reminders of her—the décor she added over the past few months, the couch where she’d sit and write songs with her guitar inhand, and even the spot in the hallway where I saw her bare ass for the first time.
At least that memory earns a chuckle, even if it hurts.
As I walk down the hall, I debate going into my daughter’s room that Elodie helped me decorate but decide against it, not wanting to wake my baby girl before she’s ready. Her sleep is the number one factor that decides her mood. Instead, I head to the next room and open the door, finding the bed where Elodie used to sleep empty but freshly made.
Of course she made the damn bed before she left.
But it’s not just the perfectly placed blankets that catch my eye—it’s the book and envelope sitting in the middle of it.
I rush to pick up the book, opening it to reveal images that steal the air from my lungs.
“Fuck.”
Teal and purple papers are decorated in Elodie’s beautiful handwriting, “Remy’s First Year” etched onto the front page. As I flip through the book, I find pictures that Elodie has taken over the past three months—snapshots of Remy’s first bath when I was absolutely terrified that I was going to do something wrong, images of me holding her against my chest on the couch, and in the baby carrier when we went to the movie night at the winery. There are even pictures of her and Remy from their days together at the park or just hanging out at the house, followed by a page that has the lyrics to the song she wrote about my daughter.
As I flip through the last picture and note several more pages that are still blank, my eyes drift to the envelope and I trade the book for that instead. When I pull the paper out and see a handwritten letter from the woman that has claimed the formerly hollow space in my chest, I worry that whatever she’s left in this note might just break me.
Henley,
I was saving this as a Christmas gift for you and Remy, but since our time together was cut short, I wanted to make sure that you still received it, even though I had planned to add more.
Capturing memories is something very important to parents, a detail I realized at a young age while helping my mom with her daycare. Children don’t stay small for long, and some of those days are long too, so it’s easy to take the small moments for granted.
And even though Remy was a surprise for you, I wanted you to have something to look back on, to have documentation of the moments that changed your life.
I also wanted her to have the pictures, and maybe selfishly, a way for me to live on in her memory and the part of her life I got to contribute to.
I can’t thank you enough for trusting me to take care of your little girl, to care for her and watch her grow. It is, hands down, one of the best accomplishments of my life so far.
