The Memory of Us: A Standalone Soulmate Romance

by Claire Raye

  “Thanks,” he replies, but the word comes out stilted and I step closer to him, sliding my hand into his. I squeeze, trying to provide him with the comfort he provides me.

  “We know you love the story,” I reply to Melanie, rolling my eyes as I try to slip away without much more excitement. I need to be cognizant that us being together will cause people to react this way, and as much as I’m thrilled by it, it will take Elliot some time to get used to it.

  I’ve spent the better part of the year interacting with readers about their love of Elliot, so it’s easy for me to separate the fiction from the reality, but this is Elliot’s first exposure.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll have more time to swoon over Elliot later. We don’t want to scare him off right away.” I wrinkle up my nose and nod my head a little, encouraging her to head back behind her desk all aloof and annoyed.

  Again I squeeze Elliot’s hand, but I can tell this interaction is making him uncomfortable, so I begin to make my way over to the elevators. I can feel the eyes of the lobby on us, watching us and either wondering who we are or already knowing who Elliot is.

  If I can feel this, I know it’s magnified for him and I hate that he wasn’t prepared for this, that I didn’t prepare him for this. But I don’t know what to say now or how to move forward from here. So we both step into the elevator, silent and awkward, not speaking.

  “Are you okay?” I ask when the doors close, realizing I should’ve done more to prepare him for this. It’s like any form of art, people fall in love with it. They fall in love with the characters, they see themselves in the characters, they want the life they live and they want the simplicity of existing in a world where realism is suspended.

  “Yeah,” he says softly with a simple nod. “It’s a lot. I guess I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect people to know who I am. Or I guess to not really know who I am.”

  His words sting a little. Who I wrote into the book wasn’t really who he is in real life and now there’s this expectation thrust upon him to be all of it and more. To be the romanticized version I created and to impress people with who he is by being absolute perfection. No one can live up to that.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I should’ve told you about how people responded to your character.” I shake my head, covering my face with my hands as this now all feels far more overwhelming than it was before we found each other.

  “It’s exactly that. A character. That’s the part that’s hard to separate. I’m not the person in your book even if that character was based on me. People have expectations of me now, expectations I never even considered.”

  Everything he’s saying is true and my heart begins to beat rapidly, my palms growing sweatier with each word he says. I never thought what I wrote would be seen by anyone, let alone become a bestseller, but here we are. I now need to deal with the ramifications of all of that. As much as writing has become part of my life and something I’ve longed for, and the reason Elliot and I found each other, it could ultimately be what drives us apart.

  “I’ve learned to separate myself from it. The book is based on our story, but the female main character isn’t me and I know that. The public can take from it what they want and that’s something neither of us can control.” My words are quiet, but firmly rooted in my belief that while this book is mine, it doesn’t define my life.

  “I guess it’s something I have to come to terms with,” Elliot responds, shrugging, but not looking at me.

  I feel nauseous and out of control. I didn’t think it would be this hard, but that’s also because I created this little world and I’ve been living in it ever since.

  Things are about to get far more real than either of us are prepared for.

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Elliot

  I thought I’d been prepared for this, but man was I wrong, and as we walk into Nora’s agent’s office, I once again have to fight the overwhelming urge to bolt. To run and get the hell out of here.

  All morning, I’ve been psyching myself up for people finally discovering who I was and how we managed to find each other. I knew from how well Nora’s book had sold that people were invested in our story, hell I was invested in it, but I think I underestimated just how much everyone loved it.

  Because as we sit here listening to Sara ramble on about how amazing it is that we found each other again and how great it is that the book coming out was the catalyst for that and how the timing for book two couldn’t be more perfect, I actually start to feel a little sick.

  “So, we should definitely tee up something with the morning shows,” Sara says, clapping her hands once as she stares at both of us, a huge smile on her face.

  “What?” I blurt out.

  Nora turns to me, squeezing my hand, which is still in hers. “It’s okay,” she whispers, but really, I don’t think it is.

  “We’ll have you both go on,” Sara continues, her words coming a mile a minute. “And you can talk all about your story and how you lost each other and then found each other after Nora’s book came out. Not to mention your future and how book two will tell that story. Ah, this is perfect, and I think we should also consider pitching it as a possible TV series, Netflix or something would be perfect for this!”

  I shake my head, my brain a swirling mess of everything that’s just been said. They want to make a fucking TV show about our life?

  “Wait,” I say, holding up a hand. I glance at Nora, who’s sitting beside me. I can tell she’s worried about where all this is going and what I’m about to say, even if she is excited by it all at the same time.

  “Is there a problem?” Sara asks.

  “Yeah,” I exhale. “This…this is our life,” I tell her.

  “Exactly!”

  “But it’s private.”

  Sara shakes her head, still smiling at us. “No, not after the book dropped and especially not after you found her. Do you realize the marketing potential behind this? It’s off the charts.”

  I stand, dropping Nora’s hand as I shove a rough one through my hair. My heart is racing inside my chest as I start to pace a little, trying to work out a nice way to say I don’t want any part of this without pissing off this woman or hurting Nora.

  “Look, I just need some time,” I eventually say, hands up as I glance at Nora and then Sara. “This is obviously a lot for me to take in and I…I don’t know, I just need some time.”

  Sara nods her head at me and for a second I think she’s going to give in. But then she turns to Nora and starts to speak. “We should definitely do another book tour, bigger this time and include the story of how you two were reunited. It would be great if Elliot could come along, I mean he’s certainly easy on the eye and you two make a gorgeous couple, so this is all…it’s just freaking perfect!”

  I feel like my head’s about to explode and I know I need to get out of here before I say something I’m going to regret. “I need some air,” I blurt out, before turning and walking out of the office.

  I make it all the way down to the street without anyone stopping me, stepping outside to inhale a big lungful of air as I force myself to try and stay calm. I knew Nora was semi-famous because of her story. It was an immediate best-seller and I was seriously proud of her for finally achieving her dream.

  What I can’t cope with is having us, our relationship, as the sole focus of that dream. I hate the idea of people knowing everything about us, or being privy to our most private details, even if they are a fictionalized version of them.

  “Elliot?”

  I turn and see Nora standing at the building’s entrance, her arms crossed in front of her and a worried look on her face.

  “Hey,” I breathe out.

  She steps toward me. “I’m sorry.”

  I reach for her, pulling her into my arms. She buries her face against my chest, her arms still wrapped around herself and we stand in silence for a few minutes as the noise of the city swirls around us.

  “Are you okay?” she eventually asks, pulling back a
little to meet my eyes.

  “It’s just a little more intense than I expected,” I admit.

  Nora nods. “I know, me too actually.”

  I brush loose strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ear. “She’s a ball of energy, that agent of yours.”

  Nora smiles a little. “Yeah, she really is. She’s probably the reason the book did so well in the first place, she just didn’t stop promoting it any chance she could get.”

  I tilt my head at her. “Pretty sure your writing and your story were a big part of that success.”

  Nora pushes up on her toes and brushes her lips against mine. “Our story,” she whispers.

  I cup her face in my hands as my eyes search hers. “It is our story,” I agree. “And it’s precious to me, private.”

  She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as she stares back at me. “You really don’t want any part of this?”

  I shake my head, my thumbs brushing along her jaw. “I want this,” I tell her, leaning down to kiss her softly. “I just don’t know if I can handle all that,” I add, my eyes flicking to the building behind us. “It’s a lot more than I expected.”

  Nora licks her lips, nodding as though she’s taking in my words and what they mean. “I’ll tell Sara it’s just me in all of this okay, you’re off-limits.”

  I have to bite my tongue before speaking as I realize what she’s really saying. Not that our story is private, just that I am and I won’t be a part of the publicity campaign for it.

  “So what,” I eventually say, trying to stay calm. “You’re still going to write about us, do the book tour and the TV show?”

  I feel her tense against me. “The TV show isn’t even a certainty.”

  “But you’d like it to be?”

  Nora lifts a shoulder, that bottom lip between her teeth again. “I don’t know,” she says, even though we both know she’s lying. “It would be kinda cool to have my own TV show.”

  I drop my hands from her face, standing back as I take a deep breath in, turning and letting it out on a long slow exhale. Clearly this is different for her and at this point, I’m not even sure what I can say to try and express how it is I’m feeling.

  “Why…” I stop, taking another deep breath before turning to face her again. “Why can’t you just write something else?” I suggest. “A different book?”

  A flash of anger crosses her face. “Because I want to write this book,” she says, as she holds out her arm and points to the tattooed words.

  Words I said to her thirteen years ago.

  write what you love.

  “Even if I don’t want our story to be public like this?”

  “It already is, Elliot,” she says, her hands up in question. “People already know and love our story and now they want the second part.”

  “I see,” I say, looking away from her. “So what I want doesn’t matter?”

  Nora steps toward me, placing her hand on my stomach as she looks up at me. “Why are you so against this?” she asks, her words quiet.

  I look down at her, see all the confusion and questions in her eyes. “Why can’t you understand how this is different for me?”

  She stares up at me, not saying anything now.

  “Look, let’s just go,” I say, not wanting to continue this conversation in the middle of a New York street. “I need to think about getting back to Chicago too,” I continue as we both turn and start to walk back to her apartment. “There’s some stuff at work I need to take care of.”

  Nora walks silently beside me, neither of us touching each other as we slowly make our way back to her apartment. It’s the first time I’ve raised the issue of going back home, even though both of us knew it was inevitable. We still haven’t talked fully about how this whole thing between us will play out either. Where we would live or whether we would try and make the long distance thing work.

  I have a job and a home in Chicago and it’s pretty obvious that Nora is happy here in New York, close to her family and her beloved agent. And even though writing is something she could do anywhere, it feels like that possibility isn’t as certain as it once was.

  It’s late by the time we walk into Nora’s apartment and she mumbles something about taking a shower before disappearing into the bathroom.

  Exhaling, I collapse onto the couch, pulling my phone from my pocket as I search the airlines for a ticket back to Chicago. I know I can’t stay here indefinitely, at least not without sorting a few things out first. And even though the idea of leaving her, of going back home, even for a short period of time, makes me feel sick, maybe some space right now is what we need.

  Maybe we need a chance to see how we feel about this whole relationship we’ve just jumped right into after a thirteen-year gap. I’d thought looking for her was always the hardest part, that once we found each other, everything else would be easy, but I can see now I was wrong.

  Back when we were on that beach in San Diego, the possibilities had felt endless, as though there was no end to the dreams and the life we could have together. But it had just been one night. One night and one powerful connection that was then lost for over a decade.

  And maybe now we’d found each other again, that connection wasn’t as powerful as we thought.

  Exhaling, I book a one-way flight for tomorrow afternoon, knowing I need to rip the band-aid off sooner rather than later.

  Once it’s done and I’ve confirmed the flight details, I throw my phone on the coffee table and stand. The shower is still running and I’m not sure if it’s because she doesn’t know how to face me with what she wants to happen in all of this.

  And as undecided and unknown as all of this is, the one thing I do know is I don’t want to lose her. After all this time, I can’t lose her because of some stupid disagreement.

  So I walk toward the bathroom, pulling my clothes off along the way. When I open the door, she stands with her back to me, her head in her hands and I can immediately tell she’s crying. I step into the cubicle, turning her and pulling her into my arms.

  This time she wraps hers around me, holding on tight as her fingers dig into my back and her sobs grow louder.

  Brushing her wet hair back from her face, I press kisses to her forehead, holding her close as I whisper, “I love you, Nora, no matter what happens, always remember that.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Nora

  Elliot’s arms wrap around me, the weight of them a comfort in a world of unknown. Everything about what we’re doing is an unknown and I think we’re even starting to wonder what the hell we’re doing. Is this really a viable relationship? Something that was built on one night over thirteen years ago? Society screams at us that what we’re doing is wrong and that we can’t possibly be that connected to someone without ever really knowing them. We have to date and let things play out, we have to move in together and learn each other’s quirks and intricacies that come from knowing someone for years. This is the way it’s supposed to be done, but what if I say fuck it? What if I don’t care what the world is telling us and what if what we had on that beach in San Diego was the start of an epic love story that has only just come to fruition? What if we walk away from this and we’re struck down by the memory of what we once had, what we could’ve been?

  I do love him. I feel it in every part of my body. My heart races, my hands shakes, my stomach flutters and it’s like a current flows through me when I’m near him. It makes me feel alive.

  He makes me feel alive.

  We have lives we’ve created over the last thirteen years: jobs and friends and families, but do we really? I’ve always felt like my life was placed on hold even when I told myself to move on. I waited even when I wasn’t waiting.

  I think most people get sick of waiting around to find their soulmate and settle for the easier route of commitment. No one jumps in headfirst because of the risk.

  Maybe I want to jump in headfirst.

  Maybe I want the risk.

  I hold onto him
with a fierceness that tells me to never let go. Our bodies are intertwined and tangled, all legs and arms and a desperate need to be together. Like this could be the last time ever.

  The bathroom fills with steam, the room as warm as the air passing between us, but the tile is cold against my back when Elliot pushes me against it. I commit every feeling, every action, every image to memory.

  The glass shower door fogs up, blocking out the outside world and for a moment it’s just us.

  “I love you,” I whisper, my voice practically lost in the sound of the running water. “You will always have my heart, Elliot.”

  He pins my hands above my head, his face buried in my neck as neither one of us says anything more. We’re together in a peacefulness that feels like it’s about to disappear, like our relationship is about to take its last dying breath. He enters me and I gasp out his name. It’s a plea of desperation, a cry of knowing what’s to come.

  The Über comes early, too early and too soon, and I want to beg him to stay, but nothing has been resolved. We tried to talk about it last night, discussing other options for us continuing this, but it all came back to my book and the subsequent tour. Elliot doesn’t see the need to share what has come of our story. I even told him it doesn’t have to be our story. In the end it’s fiction and I can write whatever ending I want.

  “I support your career, but I can’t be a part of it,” he told me and I agreed. He doesn’t need to be a part of it, but I do need him to understand that people are counting on this story, including my agent and not writing it isn’t an option.

  I have a contract to write the second part of our story and I owe it to everyone who bought my book to give them the ending they deserve. It doesn’t even have to be my real life ending and given the way things are going now, no reader will want this ending.