Mason sighs, a gentleness falling over him. “I know you don’t, but no matter what happens, someone gets hurt, sister. It’s inevitable.”
“Yeah, I know.”
My parents have always said you should follow your heart, that it will never lead you astray, but mine’s malfunctioning.
Because if your heart is the leader, your body and mind should fall in line.
Mine have not, and I have no idea what to do about it.
Cam and I spend the day unpacking while my mom works her magic in our little kitchen, restocking and organizing all the crap we simply tossed into the cupboards in a hurry. She cooks steaks and mashed potatoes, and the boys come over for our first dinner back.
A few hours later, once everyone has gone home, I lock myself in my room.
I open my window to better hear the pitter patter of the rain and pull the calendar from under my bed before settling on top of it.
You can do this.
I give myself a little pep talk, and then I flip it back to September.
Outside of a few test reminders and game day reminders, as if I needed them, there isn’t much, so I flip to the next page.
My mouth falls open, and I draw it closer to my face.
After the first week, there’s at least two days colored in, little hints to plans I had made written in. Plans I have no idea if I followed through with or not, but the little doodles on the notes section in the bottom makes me think I did. But then I turn the page again, and I nearly lose my breath. October was nothing compared to November.
Cooking with Noah.
Movie night with Noah.
Road trip with Noah.
Noah’s game.
About halfway through the month, I stopped writing in his name, but the plans look very much the same. The entire month is filled, the doodles on the bottom of unrecognizable foods and familiar movie lines, a mountain and splashes of water.
Of hearts with smiley faces.
I turn to December, and there’s a pull in my chest.
I shake my head, reading over everything, and unease coils around my shoulders when a few days in, it begins to look very different.
The words ‘I’m sorry’ are scribbled a few times, broken hearts and small flames littering the edges.
“Something happened,” I whisper to myself.
But what?
Did he leave me?
Hurt me?
Were we even dating or was it… what were we?
And then I get to the last entry on the page.
December twenty-third, so after the accident, the words pick up the CB, with an address attached.
I Google it, finding it’s a printing company not far from campus. I try calling, but they’re closed.
The rest of the night I’m stuck wondering what I could have possibly ordered, and by the time morning rolls around, I’m more than ready to find out, but classes begin today, so whatever it is will have to wait.
Noah
* * *
I woke up this morning with a little less weight on my shoulders.
Nothing is good, not by a longshot, but she came to me without direction. She looked at me like she used to.
She felt me like I feel her.
All over, in every part of her, she just didn’t understand it. I should have kept my mouth shut and kissed her but kissing her would be the cruelest form of torture, and I’m not so sure how much more I can take. My mom’s not here to talk me through this, and I won’t bother my friends with problems they can’t find a way to fix.
It’s been the longest six weeks of my life, but I’m hoping it gets better.
We’re back on campus now. Back to the hustle of college life and I’m hoping everywhere she goes, everywhere she looks, she sees me as I do her.
I see her in the fountain we sat on the night I found her at the bar.
I see her at the coffee shop and on the picnic tables.
In the library and on the track.
The gym, field, and every other inch of this place, because I’ve held her hand across every part of it. I’ve kissed her in every corner.
I’ve loved her in secret, but I’m not so sure how much of a secret it was.
I think she knew.
I hope I showed her what she meant to me.
What she’ll forever mean to me.
If she isn’t mine in the end, I’ll still be hers.
It’s torture.
But it’s true.
There’s no coming back from a girl like her.
The hope is I won’t have to, but as I step out of the coffee shop, I’m reminded of why I left hope behind long ago, after my mom’s second stroke.
Ari stands off to the side of the building, a peppermint latte in hand, no doubt, extra hot like the one burning my left palm this very instant, Chase a foot before her.