Epilogue
Nico
Two months later . . .
Mom,
I’m not sure how to start this letter or exactly what to say, but since I’m leaving for California today, I needed to say something.
I guess that something is this - I miss you.
Or maybe it’s that I miss who I thought you were.
I thought you were someone who loved and supported me. Who defended me and cared about me and my well-being. I thought you were someone I could count on, especially after what happened with Patrick the first time, when you told me “never again.”
I miss that person - my mom.
I don’t know what made you make the decisions you did - to let that man back in your life, accept the lies he told you, and then kick me out and abandon me. I can’t reconcile that with the person I thought I knew.
So if you ever find that person again, please tell her that I love her and miss her.
I’m not leaving my new phone number or address, because as much as it hurts, I can’t trust that you won’t give that information to Patrick. But I hope things change for you. And if they do, I hope we find our way back to each other again.
Goodbye, Mom.
-Nico
“It’s awful, isn’t it?” I grab the paper back from Alex and frown as I scan the words I finished writing only a few minutes ago. Guilt weighs heavy on my shoulders, and I shake my head and look back up at him. “I-I can’t . . . I can’t give this to her.”
He’s not smiling, but his expression stays soft, and he gently takes the letter, folds it up, and sets it on his desk. Then he pulls me into his arms and holds me tight.
“It’s honest and real and your truth, right?”
I close my eyes and nod. “Yeah. It is. I just . . .”
“I know,” he says quietly. “I know.”
“I don’t want to leave without saying goodbye to her. But I can’t face her,” I admit. I hate how my voice sounds fragile or something. But Alex nods against me, and it gives me more strength. “I really do hope that one day, she’ll realize what she did and . . . and what that did to me.”
Alex nods again, and his hand rubs up and down my back. Then he says, “I’ll go with you to drop it off.”
I want to tell him he doesn’t have to—that I’ll go by myself. But I probably shouldn’t do that. Last time I went to that house alone, bad things happened. Patrick is still in jail, and he will be for another several months. But the truth is, I don’t actually want to do this alone, either.
So instead, I step back from him, swallow back all of my uncertainty, and then tell him, “I’d appreciate that.”
I pick the letter back up and refold it so it’ll fit in my pocket.
Then he and I sneak downstairs together, trying to be as quiet as possible since it’s not yet six in the morning and his mom is still sleeping, grab the keys to the truck, and head out.
He drives, which is good because I’m fretting, my leg bouncing up and down and my hands wringing in my lap.
Within only a few minutes, he turns into the driveway to my mom’s house, flipping the truck’s lights off. There’s just enough illumination from the sky barely starting to brighten, so I know he can see as we drive slowly down the long dirt driveway.
I wonder if I’ll ever be back here again.
We’re leaving today, in just a couple of hours, actually.
His mom is driving us to California, all of his stuff (and what little I have) already packed in boxes sitting in the garage.
We just have to load up and go. My job is waiting for me there.
My job and my tiny apartment and my new life with my boyfriend, whom I love very, very much.
And I can’t see ever having any reason to come back, except maybe to visit Alex’s mom.
So this goodbye feels final to me, and despite the fact that I’ve had two months to come to terms with everything, it still hurts that my mom never even tried to reach out to me again or to apologize or anything at all. It still hurts. A lot.
Alex sets his hand on my thigh as he stops the truck next to my mom’s car. “You want me to walk up there with you?” he asks gently.
I shake my head. I’m not alone, but I have to do this part myself. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” He squeezes my thigh and then lets go.
And I don’t give myself any time to think.
I quietly open the door, step out into the warm, humid September morning, and shove my hand into my pocket as I start toward my childhood home.
I don’t let myself stop until I reach the door.
Then I pause, blink back the tears I’m refusing to let fall, and pull the letter out of my pocket.
The screen door doesn’t creak like it used to. Maybe she got the hinges fixed.
For some reason, the thought makes my chest feel tight, and I hurry to slide the folded letter into the thin slot between the door and the doorframe. Then I turn and jog back to the truck.
Alex has us heading back down the driveway before I can even really process that this is it. We’re halfway back to the road when I twist around and look behind us.
That house.
It’s nothing special at all. A tiny, old house with dead flowers and peeling paint outside and a broken story inside. I’m not really going to miss it.
But I might miss what I wanted it to be.
Just like how I’ll miss who I thought she was.
I screw my eyes shut against all the painful emotions and face forward again, leaning my head on the cold window. “Can we not go straight back?” I ask quietly, glad when my voice doesn’t tremble.
The truck bumps around at the dip at the end of the driveway and then stops.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Alex says. “Where do you want to go?”
I open my eyes and glance out the window, out to the east. The sky is mostly dark, but right at the horizon, it’s starting to change colors. Deep pink and orange, spreading out across the line of trees.
“To the river.” I turn and meet his gaze, and I manage a tight smile. “Let’s go to the river one more time.”
His expression softens. “That sounds perfect.”
It really does. I nod, then close my eyes again and settle my head back against the headrest as Alex pulls out onto the road.
Not more than fifteen minutes later, he’s holding my hand as we navigate the narrow trail through the woods, mostly in the dark, and emerge along the riverbank at our spot.
The narrow stretch of sandy beach ends in the shallow river ahead of us, flowing quietly along.
We stop together and sit silently, and his arm loops up around my shoulders.
Far out ahead of us, over the tops of the trees on the other bank, the sky lightens a little more, the deep pink and orange spreading upward. It’s beautiful and almost feels magical, which is silly. The sun rises every day. It’s not magic.
It still feels special to experience it, though. And maybe it’s even extra special because Alex is with me and because today is the start of our new lives together.
I smile and lean my head against Alex’s shoulder. “I’ve never watched a sunrise before,” I admit, keeping my voice low for some reason.
Alex hums softly. Then he turns his head and kisses my temple. “I have, but it was a long time ago,” he says, “when my mom took me camping up north. I can’t really remember where.”
“Hmm.”
“This is better, though.” His arm tightens around me, and I find myself smiling again, a pleasant heat in my cheeks.
Out across the river, the sun finally peeks up over the trees.
It’s just as amazing as I imagined it would be—the light slowly inching up into the sky and bringing a hopeful warmth with it.
Shadows from the trees form, stretching all the way across the river at first, then beginning their gradual recession as the sun lifts higher and higher.
I almost wish we could stay here all day. Just him and me, here at our spot on the river.
Or maybe that’s not what I actually wish, because I’m ready. I’m ready to start the next phase of our lives together. I’m ready to let this be a memory—to let all of this and everything that happened to me at my old house with Patrick and with my mom just be a memory.
And I’m ready to see what the future holds. Our future. Together.
I’m looking forward to it.
I’m not sure I ever thought I’d say that.
Alex seems to be thinking much the same as me, because he lets out a quiet, contented sigh and then says, “Ready? My mom wanted to get on the road early.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of us moves right away, though. We sit there for one more short moment, soaking it all in.
Then I turn my head and look up at him, and he lifts a hand to cup my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin.
He smiles and leans down to kiss me. It’s a soft kiss.
Hopeful and bright in the way all of his kisses are.
When he pulls back, he’s still smiling, and he tips his forehead to rest against mine.
“I love you,” he tells me, his voice catching.
My heart stutters, the extra beat fluttering in my chest, and I quickly capture his lips again, kissing him back. It’s another short kiss, but more intense, and this time, when we part, we’re both breathing hard.
He shakes his head with a laugh. “It’s going to be a really long drive to California. Promise me you’ll be good.”
“Me?” I arch my eyebrows at him with a smirk. “I’m always good.”
“Right.” He grins back at me, his eyes sparkling in the morning sunlight, and then he pushes himself to his feet and offers me his hand. “Ready to get out of here?”
I stare up at him for a second, then I nod and take his hand. “Yeah, let’s go.”