“That we shall.”
“Excellent. Until tomorrow.” With that, he walks out of the room and disappears into the hallway. A few seconds pass and I still don’t hear the apartment door open or close. I get up to investigate when Liam reappears back in the living room doorway.
“Sorry, before I go, can I make one small request?”
“Sure.”
“If you do fill in the journal and you include your time in Italy, can the literary version of me be a bit more muscular and have a tan? I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a tan.”
I smile as Liam turns and leaves without another word. The apartment door closes shortly thereafter and without meaning to, I move to the coffee table and pick up the journal. I also bring my hand to the outside of my pajama pants pocket, where Ryan’s letters are safely tucked away.
A few minutes later, I’m sitting at my dining room table with the journal open to the first blank page. I have no idea what to write or if I’m going to write at all. Maybe I’ll fill it cover to cover and keep it for myself. Maybe I’ll throw it away. Maybe I’ll hold it tight to my chest as I take a direct flight to North Carolina.
No matter the content, I have to write something. I can’t keep going on the way I am. Here in Italy, I’m in this beautiful limbo. I’m living but I’m not. I’m growing but I’m stunted.
I close the book and look at the picture on the cover. Ryan took it the morning of the rehearsal dinner when we had just finished up with breakfast. We’re in our pajamas, laughing in pain and nearly falling off the couch as Duke scrambles between us, his paws digging into our stomachs.
I run my fingertip along the surface of the photo.
This isn’t what the cover of a romance novel should look like. It isn’t passionate or dramatic. It doesn’t show off a scantily dressed hero and heroine, embracing each other with a lush backdrop. It’s less. It’s more.
I close my eyes and think back to Liam’s advice. I do what he says. I try to clear my head and imagine the life that I want. It’s not easy, my mind is a jumbled place with endless chatter, but I somehow manage to find quiet. Calm. I picture my life five years from now, envisioning the highest and truest version of myself, living a life built on contentment from the ground up.
I see myself and who’s there with me and my eyes snap open as I look down. As unprepared as I am to admit it, the life that I want is a mirror image of the photo staring up at me. Terrified acceptance fills my consciousness and for some reason, in that moment, memories of my dad flood my mind and heart.
I wonder what he would say if he was here, what he would want me to do. I think of him smiling. I think of him hugging me. I hear his voice saying he loves me and that he’s not far away. He tells me he wants me to be happy. That’s all he’s ever wanted.
I start crying in earnest but there’s joy there, too. I cover my face with my hands, wanting to see my dad so much that I can hardly breathe. I sit back a while later and wipe my face with the sleeve of my T-shirt. I know that I grieved for him in all the wrong ways. I know that all he feels for me is love. And even though he can’t be here physically, now I know where I can find him.
I take a deep breath and let my newfound freedom rush through me, returning the courage that I’ve held back from myself for far too long. I stop thinking. I stop worrying and questioning and without second-guessing, I open the journal, pick up my pen and start to write.
I can’t believe I’m leaving Italy. Six months have flown by and I’m now decrepitly dragging my two massive suitcases out of the cobblestone courtyard.
Liam notices my difficulty and steps forward to help, grabbing them by their handles and loading them into the waiting cab. My heart feels heavier than my overstuffed luggage as I watch him, knowing just how much he’s changed things for me.
“Is that all of it?” he asks after closing the trunk and walking back over.
“I think so.”
“You have the journal?”
“Yes.” I reach into my tote bag and feel around for the large sealed envelope holding the journal. “It’s addressed and ready. Once I get home and talk to him, I’ll take it to the post office and off it will go.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I can already picture you riding off into the sunset with Ryan as I gallop into my own wasteland of a love life, most likely on a sickly donkey.”
I shake my head and step forward to pull Liam in for a hug. I feign a crying sound and tighten my arms when he tries to pull away.
“You know, for someone with as much bark as you, I expected a tougher skin.”
“I’m all talk,” I say. “You should know that about me by now.”
“I do,” he assures me, “and I also know that you’ll be fine once you’re at the airport and on your way.”
I lean back to look up at him. “Your flight home isn’t for another week. Are you going to have pizza in the mornings without me?”
“Not a slice,” he answers solemnly. “It wouldn’t be the same.”
“How will you survive?”
