“I’mnot.Besides, what if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if you’re wrong about him? What if—what if he leaves too?”
And there it is, forever hibernating in the deepest, darkest part of me. My greatest insecurity, finally coming to light.
Pop lifts my chin with his hand. “Okay, I’ll play along. Let’s say you go and it doesn’t work out. What then?”
“I… come home.”Brokenhearted, again. I don’t think I can handle it.
“Okay. And what if you never go? What then?”
“Then… I’ll never know.”
“Never know what exactly?” he presses.
Burrowing deep within myself, I search for the answer to his question, immediately hating the understanding it brings.
“I’ll never know if we could have become something great together.”I’d be giving up on a future before it’s even begun.
There’s beauty in new beginnings.
Could this be the beginning I need?
He pulls me in and wraps his arms around me. “I love you, kiddo. I just want you to be happy. No regrets. Regret tore your mom apart. I don’t want that for you.”
“I could just text him,” I muse, resting my chin in my hand. “I don’t have to go all the way to Maple Cove to find out how he feels.”
Pop scoffs, snapping his head in my direction with wide, disbelieving eyes. “You can’t be serious.”
I chuckle, unable to keep a straight face any longer. “I’m not. I just wanted to see your reaction.”
He lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. “Oh, thank goodness. Don't scare an old man like that.”
I pull out the orange journal, flipping to the back where the pages are untouched. Clicking my black pen open and closed, I stare down at the blank page. I guess there’s only one place to start, and that’s with the truth.
Mom,
For a long time, I thought you didn’t want me because I wasn’t good enough. Your choices pushed me to become someone who works hard, someone who can depend on herself to be strong. I will always wonder who I’d have been if you’d never left, but I wanted you to know some good came from all of this, too.
I understand now that it was never about me. I’m not sure I’m done being angry, though. I’m trying to understand, but a lifetime of hurt can’t wash away in a few letters. In fact, I’ll probably need therapy. So this will take me some time, but I’m trying.
You said in your letter that you wished you were stronger. I wish you were stronger, too, because I really needed you. Gram and Pop did a great job, but they weren’t you.
I wipe my cheeks with the backs of my hands. The sun breaks through the clouds, bright rays splashing against my skin, warming my little corner of the apartment.
Anyway… I’m facing a choice, Mom, and I’m scared I’ll make the wrong one. I’m even more scared of running from it, though, because what if I miss out on something amazing? I suppose I can understand why you found it difficult to trust your heart. The unknown sure is scary.
Pen pausing, I stare at the line, considering my next words. I catch my bottom lip between my teeth and release a slow breath.
But I think living with regret may be scarier.
Placing the ribbon between the pages, I close the journal, content to let my thoughts stay tucked away with my mom’s. Between those pages are all the notes she wrote to me—notes she never thought I’d see, but wrote anyway. Now mine is there, too.
Fifty-Eight
WHO ARE WE TO DENY HIM THAT?
Liv
Me: Any interest in happy hour?
