“And text,” I add.
When we arrive at the house, Oakley insists on getting out with Chester. Wes agrees on letting her hang out in the backyard for a few minutes, and we end up preparing some tea and going to the patio where I have the fire pit. We sit on the loveseat next to each other. I lean my head on his shoulder. We stare at the slightly cloudy night sky. The moon hides behind the clouds. Only a few twinkling stars show themselves.
“When I was in Esperanza’s Home, I’d stay up late watching the sky and counting the stars. Sometimes I’d wonder if you were awake or not.”
“Probably,” he answers. “I lived at my parents’ house around that time, and I stayed on their terrace almost every night.”
He kisses my forehead. “Thinking of you.”
“Are you sure you have to leave?” I ask, watching Oakley who is laying her head on top of Chester’s. “I don’t think she wants to go.”
“Sorry, I’m going to have to break her heart. We have an early flight.”
“Ten more minutes.”
“You know I can never say no to you,” he says, taking me into his arms and hugging me.
We sit in a still and comfortable silence. I don’t think or question anything; I just enjoy the moment before we say goodbye.
Twenty-Five
Abby
I tried my best to stay calm and go on with life as usual, but on Tuesday morning I broke down and called Evelyn. She had an opening at eight thirty, right after she dropped her daughter at school. Thankfully we don’t have any deliveries arriving at the gallery today and Anita is due to open the place at nine thirty.
“Good morning, Abby,” my therapist greets me as I enter her office. “You seem tired.”
“I didn’t sleep well.” I lift my to-go cup.
It contains matcha green tea with some added turmeric powder. Sleeping has been impossible for the past two nights. Thankfully, it’s not the nightmares, but rather the butterflies fluttering around my stomach keeping me up. The thoughts of Wes, our future.
If we have a future.
Sunday night I tossed and turned. I over analyzed every word, every gesture, and every step we said, did, or took on Sunday. Wes didn’t leave until two in the morning. I fell asleep in his arms. After he left, I couldn’t sleep at all.
Wes isn’t in town, but his presence is, as his little notes continue to arrive. This morning I received a bracelet with a sun charm attached to it. The note said: To remind you of our first date.
One minute I feel like everything is happening too fast. The next it seems overdue. It should’ve happened three years ago—maybe six—I don’t know. My mind keeps remembering the first time I felt something for Wes. Although, that feeling was different. There was an attraction then, but now, I desire him in a primal way.
“How was the date?”
I sigh, tapping my knee. “We went to San Diego.”
“San Diego?” She chuckles and frowns. “That’s a little far from here. Isn’t it?”
“Wes’ philosophy is to go big or go home. He has a habit of making everything spectacular—perfect.”
“Is that why you tried to be perfect for him?”
I sit back and think about the question only for a moment because she’s right. “Maybe. I never thought about it that way. He gives, without expectations. He’s the pillar of the family. The one who ensures that everything works just right. I don’t want to be that to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to be me. For him to treat me like he’d treat any other woman.”
“Do you think he’s not doing that?”
“I’m not sure. Last week, when he came to my house. I opened my shirt for him to show him my skin. It’s … imperfect.”
“What did he say?”
I explain to her in detail how he kissed his finger and traced the lines. He was angry. I felt the heat of his fury radiating from his body.
“His touch.” I shiver remembering it. “I wanted him to continue. To kiss me. His hands … I wanted him. Just as much as I wanted to push him away.”
“How come?”
“I desired him so badly. In a way I wasn’t sure could ever happen.
“My reaction came from fearing his rejection.” I chew on my cheek. “This is the first time in years that I want sex.”
She looks through her notes. “We haven’t touched on that subject in a few sessions.”
“Me having sex?”
“Yes, the last time you said: I’m not attracted to any of the men who approach me. Not that they aren’t good looking. I’m just not that into them. Why waste each other’s time?”
“How can I be into men who flinch when they see my hands,” I argue defensively.
“With Wes it’s different?”
The question strikes me, and I know the answer to why I don’t waste my time with other men. I sort of hate that Sterling is right—that I never moved on from Wes.
“He’s different. Even now, knowing what happened to me. He doesn’t push me, and yet he’s not holding back either. Although, I still feel like he wasn’t entirely himself. Not one hundred percent.”
“Then you should talk to him. It’s never too early to begin a conversation. About sex, your feelings, your expectations—the direction you’d like things to take.”
My stomach churns because maybe I’ve made a mistake, and I’m not sure if I want to discuss it with her. There are so many things going on inside my head.
“I’m planning on it,” I say without telling her what that implies. “On telling him everything that I’m feeling and thinking. I’ll let it settle while he’s away. In a couple of weeks, he should be able to tell me if he’s willing to continue with me.”
“You two are together?”
I open my mouth and then close it. “I’d be in denial if I say no. We didn’t fall into the same pattern. It was just simple to pick up from where we left our relationship. The attraction between us remains. Since the first time we saw each other, we connected on some subatomic level. Our souls respond to each other in a way that I can’t explain.”
“Love and soulmates are hard to explain. There’s no logic to it—just feelings.”
“I’m terrified of opening up too much or not enough,” I continue. “That I’ll offer my entire being and he’ll only give me just a smidgen. Or vice versa. How do I stop these terrifying fears from growing?”
“Can you define them?”
“I’m not sure how I’ll react, and yet I want him to forget what happened to me and just be himself. Touch me like he would a normal woman.”
“Is that what you want? For him to touch you, make love to you?”
“I think so.” I say pensively, then change my tone. “Yes, that’s what I want. Not today, but one day soon I want us to love each other in every single way possible. For him to help me recover those pieces of myself that remain in the past because I don’t have anything to replace the memories with.”
“Maybe it’s all about trust. Trusting yourself. Trusting that these feelings mean something worth examining, pursuing. Trusting his instincts—and yours. Trust that if this love fades or even if it never begins, you’ll be all right.”
“Do you know any other words besides trust?” I joke.
I take off my shoes and gather my legs, hugging them to my chest. “What if I let him in and he leaves? Would it be too desperate to ask him that?”
“Ends are the beginning of something new. We survive them. Breaks are painful but mendable. Taking this big of a risk is worth it. You’re taking a chance at happiness. It might seem scary because you have to trust yourself too, not just Wes.”
“You think I don’t trust myself?”
“Do you?”
“This time around, I do. I’m willing to take the chance. Hoping that we can find some kind of normal. A place where we both can give and receive what we need.”
“Do you plan on telling him what we talked about?”
“A
ll of it. Is it wrong that I don’t want to hold back?”
That I didn’t hold back?
“How do you feel about it?”
“Nervous, but in a good way. This might end in disaster, but at least I can say that I tried.”
“If you feel uncomfortable while he’s touching you, remember you’re in control of your body. You don’t have to continue. It’s about doing it for yourself as much as for him.”
“I have the power to say no.”
Twenty-Six
Wes
It’s three o’clock on what feels like the longest day of the year. Gaming conferences are exciting and the best places for networking in the business. I just wasn’t ready to meet that number of people in such a short time. Today I’m thankful for the elevator that opens directly into my private office. It’s a luxury, and I enjoy the privacy and freedom that it gives me.
My office in San Jose is my favorite out of all the ones I’ve visited in the area. The huge room occupies the corner of the building with floor-to-ceiling windows that allow for incredible views of the city. On the two remaining walls there’s a door, a low bookshelf, and a single oil painting—the sunset that I bought last week from Abby.
The black glass surface of the desk is uncluttered since most of my personal belongings are in Tahoe. I only have a couple of framed pictures in this place. Once I settle in, I text my assistant that I’m back in the office. Right as I am about to press send, my phone rings. It’s Mason Bradley.
I answer immediately, “Hey.”
“Got the latest prototype of your next game. When are you releasing it?”
“November.”
“Fuck, that shit is going to be huge during Christmas. Will you create an upgrade when we get the VR running?”
“The plan is to have a new version of every game we release. If I had the man power, I’d have a new one every year. When we release the console, we’d be talking about version 5.0 of the games.”
“How’s that going?”
“I’m hiring new designers and programmers in September,” I explain, opening the timeline I drew up yesterday.
“How about the interns?”
“We’re keeping most of them. A few of them are going back to college. I’m hoping to get them back next year.”
“Do you want me to recruit students from CALTECH?”
“Yes. We can always use new interns and hire the ones that perform well for us.” I click my email and send him the same requirements I’ve been sending to my old professors at Stanford—along with the new estimates based on our numbers.
“Seems like the company is growing faster than the guesstimate.” He whistles.
“The games we release are innovative,” I explain. “I used the right people to develop the games who could draw as fast as I needed it. You’re helping me a lot with developing the new consoles and the VR machines.”
“When can you come to check out the first prototype?”
Opening my calendar, I respond, “In a month, if that works for you.”
“It’ll be good timing. I’m tweaking a few things, but by then I should be free.”
“Free?” I’m not sure if I should ask what that means.
“We have a couple of missions that I’m overseeing from home. I don’t want to be far if they need me to jump into action.”
“Hey, if you need any help with computers, I’m your man.” I keep offering my assets. Sometimes he borrows my plane or my properties to let his guys rest if they’re in Europe or Southern California.
“Just don’t back out when I call you into action,” he laughs.
“Hey, I’d do anything as long it’s legal and would save lives. If it weren’t for you and your team, we wouldn’t have Abby.”
“Saving lives is part of the job. I can’t promise you that we do it by the book,” he says carefully. “By the way, I heard Abby’s doing great and that she found a piece of land.”
“She is, and we did. I wish you’d told me about her,” I say, staring at the new frame I set on my desk yesterday with a picture of her siting on the beach next to Oakley. “We just reconnected a week ago.”
“I’m glad. Just don’t forget to invite us to the wedding.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I cough, choking on the word wedding.
If Abby hears that, she might bolt. I can’t afford to lose her.
“Whatever, man. I’ve got to go. I’ll email you my report this Friday.”
Once we hang up, I send a text to my assistant who enters holding a small box. The return address is Abby’s. I open it right away and frown when I find a tin. Next to it there’s a note with my name.
The tin contains sugar cookies.
— — —
Wes,
Thank you for the date. It was more than I expected and yet, just right for us. But before we move ahead, I think you deserve a little warning. If you’re going to fall in love with me, there are a few things you should know beforehand.
Be aware that I cry often, and not always because I’m sad. Sometimes it’s during a movie when there’s a happy ending or a couple finally realizes that they’re meant for each other. Or I might cry because old memories escape from the box where I placed them.
Some days it seems like I have my life together, but it’s not as perfect as it might look. I’m terrible at asking for help. That doesn’t mean I don’t need you—just that it’s hard for me to reach out. I’m afraid of being abandoned or never being enough.
You can tell me a million times that you love me, but I might only believe you once. I might never get over the fact that people leave me, and I’ll always dread your departure. Please be gentle with me. I’ve grown to expect the worst, but I’m learning.
I’m full of flaws and imperfections—and I’m proud of each and every one of them. After all this time, I’ve learned that people-pleasing is not my reason for existence. I wasn’t put on this earth to seek approval from others.
I’m here to be loved.
To love.
I yearn for more. For substance. I burn to feel the touch of a passionate, loving man. I want him to rip my heart open and fill it with love. I want him to walk with me while we enjoy the complications and blessings that this world has to offer. I need him to be the light during my darkest days and let me shine while we dance through life. I want him with me while I grow, struggle, and sometimes fail.
I want him to love me because he loves me—not just because I love him. To love me because I’m irrevocably myself with scars, flaws, and a heart that loves to love.
You should also know, that when I fall in love, I’ll love all of you. Each scar on your skin, the freckles on your back, your expressive midnight blue eyes, and the dimple on your chin. I’ll fall in love with the way you look while you’re solving a problem, a puzzle, or while you’re sleeping. I’ll fall in love with the way you care for everyone and love so deeply.
Love is simple. Loving is difficult. On those days when you drive me crazy, I promise I’ll remember how it was to be without you. I swear that I won’t give up on you, as long as you don’t give up on me.
Thank you for waiting for us, for giving me a chance to grow, and for being you.
Love,
Abby.
I read the letter a couple more times while eating her cookies and finally, I decide to text her.
Wes: Where will you be around eight thirty?
My heart beats fast, waiting for her answer while I also plan my next move.
Abby: That’s in three hours. I have no idea. Home?
Wes: Okay. Talk to you soon.
Abby: Are you okay?
Wes: Never been better.
Wes: Take Abby to dinner, make sure she’s home by eight thirty. Not earlier or later.
Slugger: This better be good.
Wes: Trust me.
Slugger: You got it, but you owe me.
Twenty-Seven
Abby
After dinner, Sterling invited m
e to go with him to Martinis and Margaritas, a bar located a couple of blocks from the gallery, but I call it a night. I’m not in the mood for getting hit on or staying up until he finds tonight’s girl. Wes is my excuse. I’ve got to be home in case he calls. According to his text from a couple of hours ago, I should be hearing from him soon.
I really hope he calls because I need to hear his voice. I’m tempted to text him as I drive home, but I hurry and drive fast instead. I hate that my garage is detached so that I have to enter through the backdoor, but other than that, I love my quirky and beautiful old house.
When I enter, Chester runs toward me but stops and barks a couple of times and rushes to the main entrance. The doorbell rings, and I open before checking my app. I bite my lip as I watch the man in front of me.
“You’re here,” I whisper.
And perfect. He’s clad in tight black jeans. The aroma of his exquisite scent peppers the air. I close my eyes momentarily and take a small step backward. I frantically search my brain, trying to remember if he mentioned coming. But from what I can remember, he only asked about my plans.
“Hey.” He clears his throat.
The low voice sends shivers down my spine. And desire, which I haven’t felt in so long, awakening like a bear after a long hibernation.
“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you.” I reach up with my hand to touch his jaw the way I used to do when we hadn’t seen each other in a while.
His midnight blue eyes darken. When I caress his handsome face, he catches my hand pressing it against his lips. The rest of the world disappears when he smiles at me.
“It’s good to see you,” I whisper. “To what do I owe this surprise?”
“You called.”
I blink at him, confused and break our connection looking at the floor trying to think about his answer. Did Sterling tell him something about today? I was feeling just a little under the weather. It was a hard day overall. A woman in her mid-twenties who looked a little bit like Ava came into the gallery. Her resemblance gave me an anxiety attack, so I cried for a bit. My heart still hurts for the girl who couldn’t escape and for those like her who are dead and forgotten.
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