by Willow Aster
My Little Bird—
I’m so proud of you. I heard about your book. I will be the first in line to buy it.
I love you.
Ian
It’s been a year since Ian and I broke up. Exactly a year. And he still hasn’t given up. I still get letters, although they have gradually become less frequent. Around graduation, he sent a CD of songs he’s written for me over the year. They were heartbreaking, excruciating songs about love and loss and longing. I cried for days and then put the CD in a box, high up on my closet shelf and haven’t revisited it.
I’ve been working on a letter for the last two months. A letter that I work on every night before bed, saying all the things I’ve wanted to say to him since everything fell apart. I pick up the notebook that I’ve been writing it all in and read where I’ve left off:
I can’t do this anymore. I need you to stop. The letters, the gifts, the flowers, all of it. I can’t take it anymore. It’s killing me. Each time you send something, another piece of me whittles down further. I can’t be with you. I wish I could, but I’m just not able to get past it. All these letters from you feel like a way to appease your guilt and I’m hereby releasing you.
I forgive you, but I can’t forget.
I will love you forever, but I can’t be with you.
I rifle through the pages of the notebook that details all the thoughts of love and loss and longing I’ve felt and realize I can’t say any more than this. It’s all been said. I put it in an 8 1/2 x 11 envelope and before I can think it to death, I seal it and address it to Ian Sterling. I will mail it on the way to my party. Check.
Andy calls to make sure I don’t need a ride to the restaurant. I assure him I don’t and that I’ll see him there. I’ve been going out with Andy for a few weeks now. The first time he kissed me, I cried. We were outside, so I was able to blame it on the wind, but since then I’ve been putting distance between us. He knew I was on an I-hate-men tangent when we met and somehow weaseled his way into being my friend. I tell him I’m not ready for a relationship, but he keeps doggedly pursuing. I know a big talk is due because I have no desire whatsoever to kiss him again. Or touch him. Or really even look at him. I know I should have never gone out with him to begin with, but Tessa keeps telling me I have to start getting out.
Everyone is worried about me.
Maybe this letter/book to Ian is what it will take for me to move on … be okay. I don’t know. I don’t really think I will ever be okay, but I’m exhausted with peering at the world through this negative, cloudy, hateful veil.
I despise the distrust I have for everyone. I guess it was time I developed a more cynical skin, instead of being so gullible or ‘idealistic’. If I’ve learned anything from Ian—and Asher, too, for that matter—it’s that the world isn’t this beautiful, happy place that I always imagined. It’s full of gross ugliness on every side. No one can be trusted. Everyone will disappoint. And it’s up to me to watch out for myself. No one else is going to do it for me.
Well, except for Tessa. She doesn’t count in my harsh new worldview. She is an entity all her own, and I don’t know what I would do without her.
Jared and Tessa are waiting for me in front of the restaurant. I hug them both, and then they lead the way. Jared would have to count as an exception to my All Men Are Evil campaign. For at least six months after Ian and I broke up, I watched Jared like a hawk, just waiting for him to make a wrong move. He hasn’t. He genuinely loves Tessa and treats her so well. I can’t help but love him for it.
The party is nice. I’m grateful for the school friends I’ve made from NYU. A couple of friendships I know will last forever. My editor, Louise, is great too. Everyone wishes me well, and it’s a fun night.
I’ve become used to that hollowed-out feeling in my chest that’s present even when everything is good.
I duck out after telling Andy that I don’t need a ride home. Before I tell him goodnight though, I pull him aside.
“Andy, I know this isn’t the right time to talk, but I—I can’t go out with you anymore. If you’re not okay with us just being friends, let me know. If you are, great. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you in any way.”
He nods and says, “I saw this coming.”
And with that, I walk outside and breathe in the brisk night air.
“Hey, beautiful.”
I turn around quickly at the sound of his voice. The rasp that I hear in my dreams.
Ian is standing just outside the door. He points to the window of the restaurant. “I saw you in there with your friends … I was torn about what to do. Should I go inside and ruin your night just by my presence?” He laughs a harsh laugh. “Or do I disappear and pretend you’re not within 100 yards of me? What to do? I’ve just been standing here in a conundrum. You caught me.”
I stare at him. He looks better than the last time I saw him. His hair is back to its short, haphazard chaos and his face is a little bit fuller, almost back to how it was when we were happy.
Finally, I speak. “What are you doing here?”
“Jagged flew me in for their new recording … I’m laying guitar tracks tomorrow. I’m supposed to meet them here in a few—”
Andy walks out of the restaurant and comes to a screeching halt in front of us. He looks back and forth from Ian to me and back to Ian. He recognizes Ian and moves in closer to me.
“Sparrow? How ‘bout that ride?”
“I’m fine, Andy. Thank you, though. Really,” I add when it seems he doesn’t believe me.
“Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll call you later.” He nods to Ian and walks away.
“Is that your boyfriend?” Ian asks, his face expressionless.
“No.”
“He wants to be,” Ian says emphatically.
“Yeah.”
Ian nods and releases a long sigh. “Can we go somewhere, Sparrow? Anywhere? Did you eat dessert?”
“You said you’re meeting the band here.”
“Screw the band. I’m seeing you. I can’t miss a chance to be with you. I would have called to tell you I was coming, but the whole phone number issue…damn, I wish you’d give me your number. I did write to tell you. Maybe you haven’t gotten that one yet?”
I shake my head no.
“Ahhh. Well, what do you say? Come with me? Let’s catch up? Celebrate? You have a lot of celebrating to do…”
Out of all the people in the world that I would want to celebrate with, way down deep, Ian is still the one. But I say, “I should get home. It’s … been a long day.”
His face falls. “I understand,” he says thickly. “I’ll be here until Monday … I’ll make time for whatever works for you, Sparrow, if we can get together.”
I do a number on the inside of my mouth, biting hard to keep from falling into his arms and going off with him into the night.
“I hope it goes well,” I say softly. “It’s good to see you, Ian.”
“So good to see you, Sparrow.” He reaches out and touches my arm. “I still love you.”
“I still love you, too, Ian. It just doesn’t mean anything anymore.”
I walk away before I can fully digest the sucker-punch look in his eyes that my words just caused.
I’m dragging into the grocery store the next morning. It was a long, sleepless night. Someone says, “Sparrow Fisher?”
I turn around and don’t recognize the guy who’s walking in with me.
“Are you Sparrow Fisher?”
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I’m Leo Naik. Bass player for Jagged.”
I nod. “Oh yeah, sorry, I didn’t recognize you. Have we met before?”
“No.” He laughs. “Sorry, I just realized we haven’t ever met. I feel like I know you, though. Ian talks about you all the time. I’ve seen a ton of pictures. That guy is crazy over you.”
I look away uncomfortably.
“He was fucked up last night, man. What did you do to him? He was piss drunk by the time we got to the restau
rant—we had to drag him home. He talked about you all night long.”
“Is he okay?” I ask. “He never gets drunk. Ever. He barely even drinks.”
Leo leans in close and says quietly, “I’m worried about him. Dude’s messed up—he was on the floor all night, huddled in a ball, talking nonsense about you.”
I shut my eyes and put my hand over my lips. When I open my eyes, I edge toward Leo and get in his face. “Don’t talk about it, okay? Ian’s private, and he wouldn’t want anyone to know this.”
Leo holds up his hands. “The guy’s my friend. I’m only telling you because—well, how crazy is it that I ran into you here, today, after the night I’ve had with your ex? I’m getting some Advil and taking it back to him. If there’s any part of you that wants to give him another chance, get your ass back to him and give the poor guy a break.”
I back away from him, anger taking over. “Mind your own business. You don’t know me,” I snap.
“Oh, I know plenty. I’ve had to hear about you for a long time now. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’re great and all, but you’ve fucked him up royally. He walked away from his career and everything over you.”
“I never asked him to do that. And the next time you’re chatting about me, why don’t you ask him how we got to this point?”
“All I know, is Ian Sterling will never get over you.”
With that, he walks away and leaves me staring after him, wondering how in the world my life ever became so complicated.
Every time I leave the apartment, I halfway expect to see Ian around every corner. I’m on guard and jumpy. Saturday morning, I open the door to get my mail, and there’s a note taped to my door.
Sparrow Kate—
I was hoping I’d see you again. I’ve decided to leave today. I know if I stay any longer, I’ll try to twist your arm into seeing me. I finished my work early and have the opportunity to play on Cape Cod tonight. I’ll be staying there a few extra days. If you’d like to get together before I head home, I can stop back through here. I’d like that very much. I promise I would behave.
Ian
I shrug off the disappointment that runs through me. My fickle will is loathsome.
I sent him away.
I’m mad that he went.
I can’t love him.
I can’t hate him either.
Ian Sterling has ruined me. And he’s ruined me for anyone else.
- 27 -
4 months later
I don’t make any New Year’s resolutions this year. I’ve sworn off of them. Anything that makes me feel guilty or requires much thought or is too responsible—I’m giving my responsible brain the year off. I resolutely resolve to not resolute to anything, period. We’ll see if I’m onto something.
The letter taped to my door four months ago was the last time I heard from Ian.
I’ve played it over in my head a thousand times:
He left that note with high hopes that I would see him again while he was in town.
He didn’t hear from me and went home even more discouraged.
When he got home, my huge letter to him was waiting.
He’s finally given up.
I know I asked for this, but a part of my heart breaks all over again with the realization. In some ways, though, it has helped to have the quiet. I feel better for getting all of my thoughts out and finally closing the door for good. But, oh, I miss him so much. I realize now that I don’t have it, how much every little morsel of information from him was still causing me to hang on for dear life. Now it’s a dull ache rather than the biting one that used to come with each letter. It’s for the best that I completely ended it, but it doesn’t stop the torment I feel every single day.
I’m dating someone new. His name is Carl. He’s cute and fun and doesn’t expect too much from me. He’s a writer, too, and we met at a luncheon for up-and-coming authors. We were seated at the same table and had a nice conversation. We went out to dinner and a movie tonight and had a really nice time. His kisses are even nice. They almost help me forget. For just a few moments at a time, I can almost forget.
Tessa is over at Jared’s, but she picked up the mail before she left and I thumb through it. My heart starts pounding when I see a letter from Ian.
Sparrow,
It’s Ian.
I started writing this letter a while ago. In the meantime I got your letter. That set me back a bit. Thanks for sharing some of your feelings—I understand most of them perfectly. I sure know how hard it is to put a true, complete expression of your thoughts and emotions on a piece (or a hundred pieces) of paper. Here’s one more attempt.
I know your intention in writing was not to open up a dialogue (too bad). You want it to just be over and done with. Finished. Ended. No more. Nada. Kaput. Fini. Amscray. The End. Quit. Stop. Go away. Take a hike. Bye-bye. Period. Exclamation point! (Am I getting your drift?)
So anyway, I’m not really writing to respond, though I would love to. There are so many things I wish I could make you understand—me, my heart, my motives, my true intentions toward you (what they were, what they are now, what they could be), what I mean when I say, “I love you”—but I can’t.
I can’t make you do anything against your will.
I’m not sure when I first started to understand that fact. Maybe I always have. But I know when I saw you in New York last, it became vividly clear to me. I felt as if I was looking right through you and yet not seeing you at all. As if every part of you had turned away.
And I knew then that I was powerless to do anything about it.
God knows I would have done absolutely anything to make our relationship work.
I’ve spent the last year (plus some months) hoping and praying for the miracle that would reunite us and give me the chance to love you and share my life with you again.
Now I’ve come to believe that it may never happen.
There’s nothing I can do.
If you don’t want to be with me, you won’t.
I’m trying to let you go.
I’ve decided to start seeing someone else. I don’t know how to fall out of love, but apparently, it’s possible. We’ll see.
It’s taken me months to write this. It doesn’t say a fraction of what I want to say, but I guess some things will just have to go unsaid. Maybe we’ll talk again someday. It’ll be up to you.
With shaking hands, I hold the letter and slide my back down the wall until I’m on the floor. My tears drop on what he’s written, leaving blurred ink in its place. I cry for everything that’s lost. I cry that he gave up. I cry for the anger in his words. I cry that he’s found someone that has made him consider letting me go. I cry for the day I ever met him and thought I could handle someone like him. I cry that the girl he met that day in the restaurant is long gone.
And I cry because I don’t know what to do with this person that’s left.
- 28 -
6 months later
Tessa tapes the last of her boxes and stands up, brushing the cardboard residue off her hands. “I think that’s the last of it.” She wipes her forehead and looks at me with a grin. “I think we should go out on the town tonight. Eh? What do you think?”
I know she’s trying to cheer me up and I’m determined to show her that I’m going to be all right. Tessa, Jared, and our fabulous red couch are moving to New Orleans tomorrow. Jared got a job with an excellent law firm there. They’re engaged, but no wedding date any time soon. Tessa wants all the bells and whistles for her wedding, or as she says, ‘all the balls and whistles’.
I am going to miss her desperately, but I’m so happy for her. She’s excited for a new start. We’ve agreed to call and text all the time, visit each other lots, and Skype whenever possible. Still, it won’t be the same. I’ve had her by my side since fifth grade.
“Yes. Yes, I definitely think we should. And we should stay up all night and watch movies. Jared can do all the driving tomorrow. That’s what he gets for taking you so f
ar away.”
“Yeah! That’s right!” She yells back. “Okay, let’s get cleaned up and go!”
We are into our second drink when she brings up the topic of me moving back home. “Have you given it any more thought?”
“A lot of thought, actually. I think it’s time. With you leaving, there’s really nothing else keeping me here. I miss my parents and California. And with book sales going well, I think I could finally afford to live in California on my own. I’ve mentioned it to Louise, and she doesn’t see why we can’t handle everything through email and video chats, so … I’m going for it.”
Tessa looks relieved. “I think it will be a good move, Ro. You need a change. I know home might not seem like much of a ‘change’, but maybe it’s just what you need.”
I nod.
“There’s one other thing I want to talk to you about. Please don’t get mad at me.”
My brows crinkle up and I laugh. “You know it’s impossible for me to be mad at you, Tess.”
“Well, just hear me out and know I’m saying this because I love you.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“I just want you to be careful,” she says.
“Okay … what do you mean?”
“Well, I know that you’ve gone through hell over everything with Ian and you seem better than you were—which I’m SO glad about—but I’m just worried about the way you’re going about getting better lately.”
My skin flushes and I look down at my glass and wipe off some of the condensation with my napkin.
“Ro,” she says softly, “I don’t think you’ve done anything wrong. God knows, I would have done far worse in your situation. I’ve done far worse NOT being in your situation…” She giggles and reaches for my hand. “It’s just not you, Ro. It’s not you and it won’t ever be. Some of these guys you’re bringing home—I don’t trust them. At all. And I won’t be around to kick their ass if they hurt you—not that you would need me to at this point, I’ve seen you in Taekwondo class. I’m just worried about you. Don’t let what he did to you turn you into someone you’re not.”