She frowns, slowly moving behind the counter. “Give me a minute, okay, hun?”
“Yeah, sure.” I swallow, consider turning and running away, but I don’t know why. There’s a heaviness creeping over me, threatening to knock me over.
A little less than ten minutes go by, and the woman comes back, a sealed envelope inside, something hard within it. “Sorry about that. Here.” She passes it over, speaking gently. “So sorry for your loss, she was very loved here.”
My smile is tight, and I nod.
“Take care of yourself, Ari.”
“Thanks, Cathy.” With that, I leave the building but freeze right outside.
Cathy.
How…
I shake it off, more confused now than I was before.
I drive back to campus, my knee bouncing the entire time, and rush up to my room. Thankfully, Cameron isn’t home, so I lock my door and set both the box and letter before me.
Minutes, maybe even hours pass, and I don’t move. I pace my room, comb my hair a dozen times, never once taking my eyes off the top of my comforter.
My phone rings, but I ignore it.
My stomach growls, but I ignore that too.
“Fuck it.”
I jump onto the bed, tear the envelope open, and pour the contents out.
My mouth gapes when another sealed envelope falls out, a folded piece of paper falling on top of it addressed to me.
A letter.
It’s a letter.
It takes a moment, but I find the courage to open it, setting it down before me.
Grabbing a pillow for support, I bury my mouth against it as I hug it to myself, and I hold my breath.
And then I look down and read.
* * *
Dear Arianna,
* * *
I’m not quite sure how to start this letter so I’m just going to dive right in and tell you that you, sweet girl, are a gift I never thought I would receive. You are the gift. The one that has allowed me to breathe for the first time in a very long time. Because of you, my daily struggle has lessened and I’m finally able to put my white flag to rest.
What does that mean? Well, it means that my mind and heart are finally on speaking terms with my body. And if I’m understanding the secrets my body has shared with me, I’ve left him.
I’ve left my son.
If you haven’t guessed, this letter is from me, Lori Riley, Noah’s mother.
* * *
I gasp, my hold on the pillow tightening.
* * *
I know you don’t remember me, but we’re good friends, you and I, but we can come back to that. Back to Noah.
As you once knew, I was all he had in this world. For all of his life, it was simply him and I and while I wouldn’t change a thing about the lives we lived, I came to regret a lot of it. With that regret came resentment, and it pointed straight back at me.
See, I failed to realize that by loving him, by pouring every ounce of energy I had into our lives and his future, I didn’t leave room for more, something I didn’t realize until after I had my first stroke Noah’s senior year in high school.
From that day on, in the back of my mind has been fear.
Fear that something would happen to me and my son would be left all alone in this world.
And then I had my second stroke, the one that landed me here.
The fear became crippling, but I tried to hide it, and I held on with every bit of power I had left. Some days I could barely speak at all, because my body was trying to tell me it was time. That I needed to make peace and let go, but I couldn’t. Not yet. Not when in doing so, Noah would be left with nothing but heartache. I never felt like such a failure.
I was a woman who not so long ago was proud of the job she did raising such an amazing man on her own, and all of a sudden, I hated myself. I was drowning in helplessness I saw no way out of. I was going to wither away slowly before my son’s eyes, trying to hold on.
Defeat consumed me.
And then I met you.
* * *
Tears pool in my eyes as I grip the paper, pulling it closer.
* * *
I felt I knew you before I met you and I loved you the moment I did.
As I said to you the day you asked me to help you make my son a gift, you put life back into my boy. It had been so long since his eyes shined. Since his smile was real and not placed there for me to see. That’s not to say he wasn’t happy. He was. He did what he set out to do and earned his place at Avix U, something I know deep down he did for me. So yes, he was happy, but his happy came in moments that didn’t last past nightfall. My son walked with the weight of a man on his shoulders, and because of that weight, he closed himself off from the things a person needs to keep going.