Danielle,
I’m going home for a little while to take care of my dad. This wasn’t meant to make you feel bad, just to let you know that I won’t ever throw out your pages.
—Porter
My now-shaking hand pulled apart the other pages that stuck to my palm sweat. I could see my name clearly standing out on each of the pages, part of his daily notes that he wrote to himself. I picked up one toward the middle that had a bit more writing than the others.
She likes to pretend that she’s tough, but push one button even marginally and you can see the shift in her eyes. She doesn’t take honesty very well, no matter how much she claims to. Sometimes she’ll sit and read a book for hours while she’s supposed to be working, forgetting to eat until her stomach growls.
Last night we went to a party and I found her curled up on a couch by herself, Luke nowhere in sight. He can really be careless sometimes. I helped her get home, and the whole time she thought I was her best friend, Zoe. She wrapped her arms around my neck, her face resting on my chest. I can’t put myself in these situations anymore. I can’t be this close to her and avoid feeling something.
She passed the desert island test, saying she wouldn’t bring anyone along with her into the misery. Though, if I were playing, I wouldn’t mind bringing her along. If nothing else, she’d be able to make a backhanded comment about the weather that would make me laugh. God, she makes me laugh.
Today we went to the movie set. I don’t need to bother reminding you what happened—there’s no way you’d be able to forget. I should feel guiltier about how much I enjoyed being able to kiss her. Luke is a decent enough guy, but it might be criminal the things I would do just to replay this day over and over.
I think I embarrassed her today. She was writing in one of my notebooks (a fact that still baffles me since she was so against it in the beginning) and she was writing a speech for her environmental policy office. It was great—insightful and well-written. I’m convinced she can do anything. I wish she realized that.
I showed up at her speech today. It was even more incredible than when I read it at the store. I almost admitted everything, almost ruined everything we had going.
I’m in a bad place with her. A desperate infatuation with a girl I can’t have. She helps me to forget about home. I can’t jeopardize that comfort with my own feelings.
“Do you need a tissue, sweetheart?” Misty asked, pulling me out of my daze. I wiped under my nose, which was embarrassingly snotty, and shook my head.
“I’m fine,” I sniffed. “I think I’m going to head out. I’ll see you later, Misty.”
She nodded. “He’s going through a lot now, sweetheart. Give him a few days to process all his family stuff, and he’ll get back to you.”
“Thanks, Misty. For everything,” I said.
“You’re welcome, doll. Get some sleep, and I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.
I headed out to my car, gripping the notebooks across my chest. He left these behind because he didn’t think I felt the same way. I needed to show him how I felt, how he’s made me see things so differently in the past few months. In what might be one of my worst ideas in a long time, I went home, searched the White Pages online, and looked up the Kohls who lived in Valley View.
FRACTURE:
the act of breaking; state of being broken.
I didn’t know whether to be thankful or terrified that it was extremely easy to find Porter’s dad’s address. I drove without a plan. All I knew was I had to tell him that I felt the same way—that his journal entries weren’t one-sided. I could tell him the moment things changed. I could tell him that I wished he wouldn’t have pulled away at the cabin when he held my wrist. Or that I should have never let him leave city hall without closing the few inches in between us.
Valley View was only thirty minutes away, and before I knew it, my GPS told me I was less than a minute away. As I turned down his street, my pulse raced and I had every urge to turn back. The only thing that kept me moving forward was the thought of Porter taking care of his dad alone. If I could provide him even with a minimal amount of comfort in this time, I had to be here.
The blue dot on the GPS landed over the house across the street from where I was. It was a small ranch, run down by the rough weather. Porter’s Jeep was parked in the driveway, which made my stomach jump into my throat and back down again. He was here.
I sat outside, watching for any sign of life inside. It took a few minutes before a figure walked by the window in front of the house. I knew that silhouette anywhere. Porter carried a worn chair and set it directly in front of the window. I swore he saw me as he looked back up, but he turned around and left the room. Another few minutes passed before he came back by the window, this time helping someone into the chair he’d set up. His dad. He held on to his dad as he struggled to walk, and then he sank into the chair with relief. He patted Porter’s arm in thanks, and he knelt down to speak to him.
My chest tightened, and I realized what a mistake I’d made in coming. He needed to spend this time with his family. It was insensitive and unthinking of me to come at all. I gripped the wheel until my knuckles turned white and then turned around to search on the floor of my car for one of his notebooks and a pen. By the light of the streetlamp and my phone flashlight, I drafted my own letter back to him.
Porter,
I’m sorry to leave this note for you during this hard time. I know you are healing and processing, and I feel like an asshole far be it from me to interrupt that. I just wanted to tell you that I read your letters. I’m moved by your letters. I’m moved by you. Is that corny? I don’t care anymore. Telling you is too important to worry about sounding like a cheeseball.
I’ve been lying to myself and to you for the past few months. Everything that I’ve loved so much about this semester, about staying in Denton, was because of you. You encouraged me and supported me in trying new things (even if some of them, like Espresstout, might be a bad influence ☺). You watched me, wanted to learn more about me, and challenged me to see the world in different ways.
You are the first person I want to talk to about my day. And it was that way almost immediately. If I could make you laugh, I felt like I hit the freaking jackpot. I still feel that way.
You wrote about the movie set day and how you would do criminal things to repeat it. Well, I must be a convicted felon at this point, because I replay it in my mind all the time.
I broke up with Luke. You probably heard that I am no longer in a relationship with Luke. I don’t say that as someone who is looking for someone to get back in the game rebound with. I say that as someone who found it no longer fair to be in a relationship with someone when her heart was slowly belonging to someone else.
You can take this or leave this. I understand that you might need time—not only to process your family situation but to decide what to do with this information. I just knew that I couldn’t sleep or function if I didn’t tell you how I felt.
I might have made a fool of myself, but hey, my favorite movies are rom coms. I got some faulty advice on grand romantic gestures.
—Danielle
I folded the notebook up and found a sticky note in my purse, writing his name on it. I waited until both figures left the front room to sneak out of my car and onto his front porch. I set the notebook professing my feelings down on his dad’s old welcome mat and felt a weight lift off my chest. No matter what he did about it, I could sleep knowing that I told him.
* * *
The day after my midnight run to Valley View was the final day of meeting for Lit Theory. I came with my paper in hand. Some might call it sloppy with my thoughts running all over the place, but isn’t that the nature of the assignment? It’s not supposed to be easy to decide what makes life worth living, especially when you have so many things to live for now.
Mr. Harrisburg sat in his normal spot with a final word on the chalkboard. “Sharing,” it said. Oh. God.
“As humiliat
ing as you all may think this day is, I think it’s the epitome of everything that your assignment called for. An open and honest discussion on what it means to live and be happy. Now, while I did ask for you to compare your life ideals to a nineteenth-century American author, you don’t have to give the class a biography of this author’s life. What I’m asking is for you to share the most important section of your paper, the part that you think sums up your life experience the best,” he said.
Everyone kept their hands down, naturally, because they all hated the idea of sharing anything remotely personal with the class. Mr. Harrisburg almost pleaded with me when we exchanged glances, and I felt this responsibility in that moment not only to him for putting up with me this semester, but to myself to redeem my initial poetry-hating answer at the beginning of the semester. I’d learned a lot about myself in this semester and a lot about the people around me. I felt like the only thing I could do in this moment was to start reading my closing statement. I nodded at Mr. Harrisburg, and he motioned for me to stand up.
“This semester has been pretty tough for me. For the first time in my life I had a serious boyfriend, an adult job, and the pressure of being successful in college. It was nothing that I had expected six months ago. I was supposed to go to Ohio State but lost it in my own carelessness and refusal to be responsible for my actions. I hated my cousin for having the guts to do everything that I didn’t, and I felt unlovable. Coming to DCC would have been the ultimate step back for me as of last year, but now I consider it the biggest personal leap forward that I’ve ever taken.
“A friend told me that I seemed like a Thoreau kind of gal. After reading a lot of convoluted passages about being one with nature, I started to realize what my friend meant. Thoreau speaks a lot to the value of your dreams, and how regretting a decision, but learning from that decision, is a part of a full life. His most famous and overused quote on everyone’s Pinterest inspiration board is ‘Not till we are lost, do we begin to understand ourselves.’ Being lost, being without the plan I’d armed myself with my entire life, got me out of my comfort zone in ways that challenged me and forced me to grow as a person.
“This semester taught me about how I view people. My predisposed judgments are harsh for everyone around me, including myself. I’d set up these expectations that were impossible to reach in an effort to have what I thought was my dream. But it wasn’t until I took a moment to step out of my own selfishness that I realized that my happiness was directly reflected by those around me. I’m happiest when I can make my little brother laugh, or when I kiss my dad good night before I go to bed. The times when I can see my best friend and know that it’s us against the world no matter what. I make my own happiness, and for me, my happiness is sharing love and support with those around me.”
Mr. Harrisburg winked at me as I sat down, and I felt a calming relief wash over me. I’d said my piece and felt like I left one last meaningful thing hanging on the Denton walls. When it was time to leave Denton, I would be ready to go without any fear. I knew what I wanted, I was happy with my family situation, and the future held nothing but promise. That’s all you can ask for, right?
FEELING:
the undifferentiated background of one’s awareness considered apart from any identifiable sensation, perception, or thought.
Zoe’s quest to be the best friend in the world was never difficult. She was my superhero during every major life event, and I was so thankful to be taking her along to Claire’s wedding as my extra-beautiful, super-snarky date. She looked gorgeous, her wild hair pinned back into a ballerina bun with a loud floral print shift dress that only Zoe could pull off. I kept things safe with a pink satin dress I’d worn for homecoming one year and high heels I still had no clue how to walk in.
“I don’t understand how you’re so comfortable being an outfit repeater,” she said from my bed. As always, I was the one fussing last minute over my look while Zoe could pull together an outfit with her eyes closed and look like a freaking runway model.
“Not everyone has such great luck thrifting and making their own outfits as you, Zoe Cabot,” I said. “I’m wearing my hair differently. Doesn’t that count?”
She groaned and rolled off the bed, looking at her phone clock. “We’ve got to go. Scoot your booty downstairs, girl.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” I said. I glanced at my phone, seeing if any recent texts had come in. Nothing.
“Still nothing from him?” she asked.
I shook my head quickly. “No. But that’s okay! He’s dealing with things. I understand that.”
No matter how many times I kept telling myself that, I was dying for him to even acknowledge that he saw my letter. It made me wonder whether he even saw it at all. Maybe a neighborhood dog had come by and picked it up, destroying all the evidence of my embarrassing love note. Or maybe he was just ignoring it altogether. That seemed to be the most likely of the scenarios.
“Girls! We’re going to be late!” Mom yelled from downstairs. We both bolted down to deflect the wrath of Mom and popped in the car.
Zoe threw on a pair of headphones, listening to her current podcast obsession. I opted to stare out the window and let dramatic and moody thoughts surface about my letter. I had to make peace with the fact that my letter came too late. That he was washing his hands clean of all the drama around our situation. Or maybe I was always the one thing out of reach—since I had a boyfriend, his roommate, he knew he could never date me, so flirting with me was a feasibly safe thing to do. Then, when I decided to separate from Luke, he didn’t find me as alluring.
That had to be it. Why else wouldn’t he have texted?
Thankfully, since Marcus and Claire were both from around Denton, we only had to drive to Cleveland proper for the wedding. I passed the time counting different California license plates along the way (racking up a surprising seven). Noah and I also played a really hard-core game of slug bug on every trip, and I could feel a small welt forming on the top of my shoulder in the shape of Noah’s fist. Some things never change.
The wedding was in a church as beautiful and extravagant as I would have figured for Claire. Beautiful light pink and white décor draped the old-timey church, stained-glass windows and all. One of Marcus’s gorgeous friends escorted Zoe and me to our seats, and she immediately started to analyze the stitching on the drapery in our aisle.
“How much do you think it costs to rent out a place like this?” Zoe whispered.
“Too damn much,” I said.
“Oh come on, it’s really pretty,” Zoe said, leaning into my fresh slug bug bruise.
I winced. “It is really pretty. But it will be your job as my maid of honor to make sure I’m not spending a ridiculous amount of money because things are pretty.”
“Marriage on your mind, Dan?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Definitely not,” I said. The music started playing, and Marcus walked out to the front of the altar. All the bridal party filed inside, followed by the tiniest flower girl I’d ever seen. After a dramatic shift in music, the crowd stood up and turned to face the door Claire would eventually come in.
When the doors opened, even I gasped. She looked stunning in a mermaid gown with her dark hair curled in flowing tendrils to the middle of her back. She had a genuine smile on her face—a look that I hadn’t seen in perhaps my whole life. This was her happy place. Being in a room with undivided attention and no one to compete with was her dream scenario. A few months ago, this realization would have made me angry. But I’d learned that there are better things to spend my energy worrying about than my cousin’s actions.
The ceremony went by quickly in almost a blur. I couldn’t believe that my cousin, my relative almost my age, was getting married. Was married. She walked back down the aisle as Mrs. Marcus Debernardo, and I clapped along with the crowd.
We were directed to a reception hall down the street from the church to start the dancing and dining. Zoe and I made the most of the DJ’s open requ
ests, asking for some great NSYNC and Britney Spears classics to sing our hearts out to. We only garnered a few stares. Even my mom was a good sport, sneaking Zoe and me some champagne on the down low. Everything felt perfect, dancing around with my best friend, my mom and Noah joining in when they felt moved by the song. I was in a perfect bubble of happiness.
As we left for the night, I vowed to sleep the rest of the way home. All the champagne had worn off, and I felt sluggish and groggy. Once my head hit the window I was out. I didn’t realize we’d made it back to Denton until we hit our cliff of a driveway. Zoe turned to me, grabbing her head.
“Emergency trip to Moe’s?” she asked.
“Most definitely,” I agreed.
We made a quick transfer into Zoe’s car so we could make up for all the champagne with a large pot of coffee and bottomless fries. Moe’s sounded better and better as my stomach started to growl. Don’t get me wrong, Claire and Marcus had a beautiful dinner for us all, but the wedding portions were too small to feed my humongous appetite. I could already imagine Laurie coming to our table with fresh blueberry muffins as if she could detect us from a mile away. By the time we pulled up I was practically drooling.
Zoe turned to me in the parking lot, grabbing on to my hand. I furrowed my brows and started to open my door.
“This is where I leave you,” she said.
“Huh?” I asked.
“I have it on good word that there’s a boy waiting for you in there with an exceptionally delicious pepperoni pizza,” she said.
“What?” I said breathlessly.
“You’re not the only Denton girl who swapped numbers with Porter Kohl at the beginning of the year,” she said, shaking her phone. “Get in there.”
I wrapped her in a giant bear hug. “You are seriously the most incredible friend in the whole world.”
“Don’t forget it,” she said. “Now seriously, am I going to have to pull you out of this car?”
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