Buttercup felt that loss the way other kids might feel in losing a pet.Everyone thought of her as this emotionless robot, but the opposite was true.Buttercup knew more than most people and felt more, too.Her big feelings clashed with her big brain, leading her to one erroneous conclusion—that she was a burden, impossible to love.It’s like her father told me after she left: She’s a sunflower who believes she’s a cactus.
Everything he writes creates big feelings—the stories make me laugh, feel sad, and cry.But they also resonate and bring me to some alarming truths—he’s absolutely right.I felt trapped, where I couldn’t thrive, forcing my frustration and negative self-talk, until I believed a lie.
Dad loved me.Ivy loved me.Henry loved me.Even Maggie loved me in her own way.I think.
Why didn’tIbelieve it?Why didn’tIlove myself?
I don’t put the notebook down until the middle of the night, and even then, I can’t sleep.
I leave the house early, but instead of driving to the campus for work, I go to Henry’s.
It’s barely 7:30 when I park outside the museum.Nerves arise as I sit there, twisting the steering wheel and practicing my Ins and Outs.It’s probably rude to come over without asking first, especially so early.I fear that Henry might not like the intrusion.
But I must see him.As I slam the door shut to the Land Rover, the museum door opens.Henry and Olly spill out—Henry with his messenger bag strapped over his chest and carrying an extra-large travel mug, and Olly bouncing on his sneakers with his backpack and lunchbox—ready for school and camp.They don’t see me at first, but carry on with an animated conversation as Henry locks the door.He runs a hand through his hair while Olly pushes his glasses up his nose.Then, Henry extends his hand, and Olly automatically takes it.
It may be the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
They look up at once, see me standing there, and flash me identical lopsided grins.
I stand corrected—that’sthe most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
“Venus!”Olly booms, glancing both ways and then rushing across the cobblestone street.He latches onto my side.“Dad showed me the picture of you climbing that tree.That was awesome!”
“Thanks,” I say.“Um, good morning, Henry.”
He leans in and kisses me on my cheek.He smells like coffee and soap, a pleasing combination.“Good morning.Everything okay?”
“I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but?—”
“Dad, it’s Derek and Pepper,” Olly says, pointing to a man walking his dog on a grassy area nearby.“Can I say hello?”
“Yeah, sure,” Henry says with a light wave to their friend.“That’s Derek.You met him as DeeDee.”
I wave enthusiastically and call out, “Thank you for prom!”
“Anytime,” he waves back.
Returning my attention to Henry, the words I want to say jumble in my head.
Henry glances at my wiggling fingers and says, “You’re not intruding, Venus.You’re always welcome… Is something wrong?”
“I read your notes about us,” I manage, fighting back the emotional surge over his stories—our stories.“There were so many times growing up that I felt alone, like no one saw me.Butyoudid—more than I truly understood.And not just when we were together, building lean-tos or planting sunflowers.Yousawme, Henry.My anxiety, my frustration, my hurt.The stories prove it.”
His head shakes, and his smile falls.“I saw you, but I did nothing.The stories only prove all the ways I let you down.”
“No, you didn’t let me down.I mean it.I never wanted you to join my fights or save me.I would’ve hated you coming to my rescue.Gosh, Maggie would’ve banned me permanently.Where would I’ve been then?I would’ve been friendless, hopeless,anddifficult.I don’t want you to regret it… I want you to… I just…”
My words fail me as energy pulses through me.
He sets down his things, freeing his arms to slip them around me.“So, you have big feelings, and you ran to me?If I didn’t know any better, I’d call that romantic.”
Tension slips away in a breath as I nestle against him.“Not romantic.Necessary.I wanted to tell you right away that you’re an excellent writer, very insightful, and that I believe people could benefit from our experiences.”
His forehead presses gently to mine.“If you want me to write it, I will.”
“I want us to tell thefullstory, Henry,” I say, letting another burden fall from my shoulders and crash at our feet.“You thought I was brave for speaking my mind, but there were times when I said nothing, and I should have.To Dad.To Ivy.To you.I shouldn’t have suffered the way I did in school—I don’t blame myself for it, but I regret my silence.I regret not telling Dad.I thought making it harder on me made it easier on everyone else.That wasn’t true.I don’t want to run from that anymore.I want my family to understand.I want my story told.And I want you to tell it.”
He nods through the concern evident on his face.“We’ll tell it together?—”
