“It’s fine. I’m over it now.”
I didn’t mention that typically when you write about something, it’s because you’renotover it. I just let it be for the moment.
“Anyway, the one big difference between my story and real life is that once I discovered his side behavior, he left us. There was no ultimatum; he just told my mom he was done and then took off. But when he moved away—to California, he said—he didn’t give me an address or anything. I only had his cell phone number. I kind of guessed he was going out that way to live out some midlife crisis or something. And, just a few months later,he stopped returning my calls. He’d leave my texts unread. He even forgot my birthday, which I know sounds juvenile to complain about, but—”
“That’s a big deal. Don’t pretend it’s not,” I told him. “My dad’s not a big part of my life anymore, but he always at least sends me a card for my birthday. Sometimes late, but still. I’m sure I’d be upset if he missed it.”
He nodded. “My mom took it hard at first, but then she heard he was involved with someone new, and I think we both went through the stages of grief. What are they? Like, denial, anger, all that?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “And eventually you get to acceptance.”
“I think I’m getting there,” he said.
“Maybe you will. By writing this story, you know?”
Beckett shrugged. “I guess.”
“I understand that.” My words hung in the air.
“I also just really enjoy it,” he said, biting into the sugar cone.
“The writing?”
“Yeah. It’s like this thing that I used to do when I was a little kid. I’d have nightmares about monsters, and my mom said, ‘Why don’t you draw them?’ So, I used to draw the monsters that were in my bad dreams, and somehow by doing that they became way less scary.” He smiled. “This was when I was, like, five, by the way.”
“No judgment,” I replied. “Anyway, I completely agree. It’s helpful to write about the things that hurt us the most. It’s like therapy.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you miss him?”
He let out a half snort. “No.”
“Any siblings?”
“Also no. Just me and my mom.”
“Sounds familiar,” I said, smiling down at the water. “How’s your mom doing now?”
“She’s good. It took her awhile to process all of it. She never went afterhim for child support or anything. She just said if he wanted to be gone, no sense in keeping him tethered to us. But she has a guy who she’s dating now. Bruce. He’s nice to her. That’s all I care about.”
“So, why Aruba?”
“Hm?”
“Why’d you choose to come here to write?”
“Oh. My dad left the day after Christmas. I’ve been struggling with this next part of the book, and Christmas is kind of a shitty time of year for me since it brings up all these memories of him leaving. So, I figured I’d book a trip to a place that was the total opposite of New York in winter. Clear my head, you know? Just open myself up to the universe and see what it brings me.”
“And how’s that working out so far?”
His mouth curved up into a smile. “Surprisingly well, actually,” Beckett said. He popped the last bit of ice cream cone into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. I followed the food, watching his neck intently as it moved down his throat. He pulled me in close, and I held my empty ice cream cup out to the side so he wouldn’t crush it in the space between us. “Never in a million years did I think I’d meet someone on this trip. And an author, at that? Like, seriously?”
“It is pretty cool,” I agreed.
“I don’t usually believe in all that meant-to-be stuff, but this feels…”
“Different?”
