Chapter Twenty-Six #3
He stood as well, brushing some invisible lint from the front of his blue shirt. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you any of this before. I didn’t know how to—”
She shook her head. “It’s fine. I could’ve asked.”
It wasn’t fine, far from it.
There wasn’t anything anyone could say to her right now to make it better.
She knew he loved her, and hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do.
If Weronika was someone she’d never met, maybe it’d have been easier; she’d always assumed her biological mother was a stranger. But she wasn’t a stranger.
Vague flashbacks to a black-haired woman making flower crowns with her in the field settled in her mind. She wasn’t sure if it was a memory or something she wished had happened.
“If you ever want to know more about her or anything, let me know,” Fred said.
Jackie nodded, heading toward the door. She needed to get out of there, before all her defenses would crumble and she’d break down. She didn’t want Fred to see any of that.
Her hand gripped the door handle, and she turned, glancing at the letter still lying on the desk. “Will you get rid of it? I don’t want to read it.”
Fred walked to the desk and grabbed the letter, turning it over in his hands. A shadow of indiscernible emotion passed over his face as he read Jackie’s name on the envelope. “How about I keep it safe, in case you change your mind later?”
Jackie shrugged, pushing the door open. Right now, she really didn’t care, she just wanted to be alone. “Whatever.”
She knew she wouldn’t change her mind.
Her legs, still aching a bit from yesterday’s ride, carried her straight to her bedroom. Jackie closed the door behind her and threw herself on her bed, letting out a silent scream into the thin green and pink comforter.
She didn’t know how long she was lying there, face down, dozens of emotions bubbling inside her, threatening to spill over the edge. None of this should matter. But how could it not hurt, knowing her own mother didn’t want her?
Sharon is your mother. She’s the only mother you’ll ever need, a small voice reminded her.
It should be that simple, but was it? Could it be?
Jackie rolled over on her back, closed her eyes and pulled air through her nostrils. To hell with it all, she wasn’t going to mourn a relationship she never had. She’d focus on all the people she had in her life, people who wanted to be in it.
Like Mitch.
A smile spread across her lips as she remembered his parting words before he rode off after Dustin: “I left something on your dresser. Love you. Try not to miss me too much.”
She jumped to her feet, bouncing toward the dresser. Right next to her neatly organized bottles of perfumes, there was a folded piece of paper. Widening her smile, she flicked it open.
It’s been so many months, and I still don’t have enough words to describe how much I love you.
You always laugh that I’m a poet; I wish I was, sometimes.
I wish I could speak the language of love and know what it means.
But alas, I’m not a poet. And I know you prefer music to poetry.
So, today’s song is Keith Urban’s “Somebody Like You”.
I hope you can listen to it and think of me until I’m back.
These lyrics really describe how I felt when I was leaving for college: hopeful and optimistic.
And I met you. Damn, that was the luckiest day of my life.
I love you, Jackie.
P.S. I hope I got all the details the way you’ve described.
Completely yours,
Mitch
She turned the sheet over, and her heart overfilled with so much love she thought it’d burst.
Mitch had drawn her a sketch of her dream ranch.
Ever since they’d started talking about their future, Jackie told him about her vision for the house she’d want them to one day live in. And he drew it exactly the way she’d described, down to the blue wooden shutters and pink roses snaking up the stairs to the porch.
Her eyes welled with happy tears, and she pressed the note to her heart, wanting to absorb the words straight into it.
It was a silly tradition they started back in their freshman year, during one of the boring classes.
Mitch passed her a short note on a page ripped from his notebook; he’d written the name of an artist and a song title.
Jackie hid it in her pocket and after class, when Mitch went for swimming practice, bounced all the way back to her room, having stuck the earphones in and listened to the lyrics.
She played the song on repeat and thought of one for Mitch.
It became their thing. With time, the notes evolved to be a bit longer. Sometimes it was still just a song title. Other times they forgot about it for weeks, or Mitch just left her drawings of roses.
Right now, in this moment, music and Mitch were the balm her heart needed.
She grabbed her headphones from the desk, plugged them into her phone and searched for the song. The music filled her ears, slowing her hammering pulse, as she imagined their future in the white house with blue shutters and pink roses.