Ronan
ronan
ME:
What’s your favorite flower?
WILLOW:
White lilies. Yours?
ME:
Never thought about it. Is that your question?
WILLOW:
Favorite guilty pleasure show?
ME:
Don’t make fun of me.
WILLOW:
I would never.
ME:
I’m obsessed with Love Island.
WILLOW:
No way!!
ME:
You said you wouldn’t make fun of me!
WILLOW:
I’m not…
Love Island? Really?
ME:
Trin got me hooked.
Favorite song?
WILLOW:
Make You Feel My Love by BD.
ME:
Why do you like Bob Dylan so much?
WILLOW:
He’s my mom’s favorite artist, and when my dad left, we didn’t have a lot of money. But she had all his records, and we spent hours listening to them.
His music feels like home, you know?
That was heavier than I meant for it to be. Let’s make it lighter. What’s your fave book?
ME:
I like learning about your past. It tells me more about you. Anytime you want to talk, I’m here to listen.
I’m in a book club with Trin and Brynne. We’re reading a cowboy romance right now that’s pretty good. But my all-time favorite is probably The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern.
WILLOW:
You’re in a romance book club?
ME:
It didn’t start that way, but they swindled me into reading nothing but romance. Do you read?
WILLOW:
Not as much as I used to. Maybe you could lend me a book?
ME:
You could join the club. All the cool kids are in it.
WILLOW:
Maybe.
ME:
Do you believe in soulmates?
WILLOW:
Wow. What a question.
ME:
You don’t have to answer.
WILLOW:
Short answer: I don’t know.
Do you?
ME:
I think so.
I want to, at least.
WILLOW:
It’s getting late…
ME:
One more question.
You ask.
WILLOW:
Do you regret your decision?
ME:
What decision?
WILLOW:
To play pretend with me.
ME:
Not at all. Do you?
WILLOW:
No.
I like hanging out with you.
ME:
Me too.
Goodnight, shortcake.
WILLOW:
Night, Ro.
ME:
Let me know when you make it to work in the morning.
WILLOW:
Why?
ME:
So I know you made it safely.
WILLOW:
It’s five minutes from here. I’ve been making that drive for years.
ME:
Just humor me please?
WILLOW:
Fine.
Such a bossy man.
ME:
And such an obedient girl.
T he notebook was a mocking presence on my nightstand. Willow told me to read it, but I couldn’t help feeling like it was an invasion of her privacy. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t pique my curiosity, though. The words written on those pages called to me, begged me to read them.
It had been hours since we said goodnight, and in the dead of night, I felt safe grabbing the notebook. I sat up and flicked the lamp on. My fingers trembled as I opened it to a new entry, and I stared at the loopy writing. It was so pretty and girly, so unlike my little blocky letters.
Gracie put a label on my father today. Narcissist. I’d never heard the term before, but after she explained what it meant, I realized it was a perfect fit.
And I hate that it was a perfect fit.
I hate that this is the hand I was dealt. I hate that I couldn’t have a normal functioning family with parents who truly love each other. I hate that I learned what heartbreak was at a too-young age. I hate that I’ve been terrified of real relationships my entire life because of it.
I moved onto the next entry, my throat tight with emotion.
Sometimes I wonder if things would be easier if I would’ve never been born. My parents would’ve lived happy, separate lives. Maybe my mom would’ve gone on to find the man of her dreams, a man who would have treated her the way she deserved. Maybe she wouldn’t have a life of trauma at the hands of an emotionally abusive ex-husband.
I don’t know what my dad would’ve done with his life, but somehow, I don’t think it would be that far off from what he’s already done. He would’ve married some other woman and had a child with her, then left her for the woman he definitely wasn’t having an affair with.
I wish I wasn’t so bitter. I wish I had the grace to let things go, to not hold on to grudges, but it’s hard. It feels impossible. And the more I try to ignore my feelings, the more they demand to be felt. The more they rear their ugly little heads and scream at me.
They remind me how unfair life is.
Maybe I’m just a bad person. Maybe it’s not a grudge I’m holding onto with a death grip. Maybe I’m a narcissist, an abuser, a terrible person who doesn’t allow people around me to live their lives. Maybe the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
Maybe I’m just like him.
Because if I were a good person, I would’ve let this shit go already. I would’ve moved on with my life. I wouldn’t hold someone’s past against them. I wouldn’t blame them for the way I’ve turned out.
It’s not my dad’s fault that I slept my way through a million men when I was young, and it isn’t his fault that I felt nothing for any of them. It isn’t his fault that Daniel was awful to me, or that he cheated on me constantly and I stayed because it was better than being alone.
It’s not his fault that I’m now scared to open myself up to someone else, to fall in love with someone new. Because if every other man in my life has been a monster, has left me high and dry with nothing but years of therapy…then maybe it’s my fault.
I’m the common denominator in my life—I’m the reason why everyone left. I’m the reason no man wanted to stick around. I’m the reason why they viewed me as disposable. The reason why they used me and threw me away.
It’s my fault, not his.
Tears lined my eyes as I read the passage. I couldn’t believe this was the weight she was carrying, the pain that she held every day. I wanted to prove to her that not all men were monsters, that not everyone would leave her…but wasn’t that exactly what I was going to do in a few weeks? When her family left, we’d go back to being nothing to each other.
I knew that was what we’d agreed to, but I still opened my mouth and demanded we had to make it real . It was selfish of me. It was wrong. I shouldn’t have made her believe this was anything other than what it was: fake. It’ll only hurt her in the end, and I didn’t want to prove her right. I didn’t want to be just another man who let her down, who broke her heart.
But maybe things could be real between us. I could show her that my feelings were genuine. That she was worth the effort it took to be in a relationship, and that she was worth sticking around for.
She was beautiful, and funny, and sweet. And over the last few days, I’d found myself thinking about her every second of every day. She was the only person I wanted to see, the only person I wanted to talk to.
That had to mean something, right? That had to mean that I was beginning to like her—that I was falling for her. It would be stupid to not explore this with her for real . But I had to be smart about it. I had to be careful because I didn’t want to spook her.
I took a deep breath as I shut the notebook. If this was what I wanted, I had to be totally sure about it. Breaking her heart was not something I could live with, intentionally or not. I couldn’t have any doubts about her, about us.
And the scary thing was that I didn’t.