Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Iris
Okay, I’m starting to worry.
When I told Matteo I’d be here when he was ready, I meant it.
I just thought it would be something like—he’ll go to the restaurant, spend a little time alone, then find me for dinner.
But he doesn’t.
I don’t hear from him for the rest of the night—and my texts the next day go unanswered.
I know what Matteo needs most right now is distance, but “giving others space” isn’t my specialty. Still, I’m determined not to mess this up.
Which is why, after weeks of the same routine, I don’t go to the restaurant for family dinner on Monday. Or Tuesday. Both Nicola and Val text to find out where I am, and I lie and say I’m “under the weather.”
Still no word from Matteo.
Wednesday night, I pace my apartment around the time he usually gets home. When I hear the stairway door open, I hold my breath as I look out my peephole, praying he stops at my door. I hear his footfalls moving closer, and though they slow as he passes by, he barely pauses before moving on.
Tears spring to my eyes as I imagine the worst—that this man, this wonderful, beautiful man, has decided not to let me love him. That this is it for us. That I let myself fall for him, and it’s all blowing up in my face.
Just like always .
Because people leave. People always leave.
Logic says that it can’t be that. Any bystander looking at this situation would say it’s not as big as I’m making it out to be. He just needs a little time. He’s got a lot of very real feelings to sort through.
But my brain isn’t always logical.
I know this isn’t anyone’s fault, but I also know it’s not easily fixed. He was honest about his fears—about the fact that he never wanted to feel the kind of loss he felt when Aria died. And I imagine seeing her mom only stirred up all those emotions again.
Seeing her when he was with me probably stirred up other things too. Things that cannot be solved with a simple conversation.
I slump to the floor, back against my door, head in my hands.
And history repeats itself.
I don’t like to wallow, but the moment seems to call for it. I want to grab the pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream I always keep in my freezer for emergencies or PMS and go wallow on the couch for days.
I also want to shirk my big feelings because right now, they’re painful.
I’m mid-sob when something hits my feet. I pull back, startled, and see a rolled-up newspaper on the floor in front of me .
I dry my cheeks with the sleeves of my sweatshirt. “Not now.”
It rolls away slightly, then back toward me, straight into my feet, landing with the label facing me, his name on full display, like a taunt.
“I said, not n?—”
It rolls away and hits my feet again, only this time with a mini explosion of golden shimmer.
Then, in a flash, I’m transported, as my mind is whisked away, memories of all the things we’ve done playing out before me.
I can see all the people we’ve met, all the connections we’ve made, all the happiness I’ve been a part of, all the lives we’ve changed—it’s almost as if I’m watching a montage in reverse. A movie of my life rewinding in slow motion.
It spins me slowly back through the young couple at the dog park, the long lost friends, the flower shop, the bags of dirt, Joy, Alice, Jerry, Winnie, the newspapers filling up my apartment, all fly through my mind, until I remember the very first time I saw Matteo open his door to me, dripping coffee down my arm, holding the very first newspaper up to him to take it.
I blink. And I’m looking at my floor again.
I look at the newspaper.
And one last thought occurs to me.
I stand, wipe my eyes, and walk down to Matteo’s apartment.
Matteo
Iris is standing outside my door.
I’ve only been home for a few minutes, but I can see her through the peephole .
My heart swells at the sight of her.
Man, I miss her.
But it’s not fair. It’s not fair to her for me to have so many conflicting feelings while we’re together. She deserves better than this. To be with someone who isn’t carrying a load of baggage. I just . . . haven’t found the courage to tell her yet.
When I open the door, she looks up at me, and I can tell she’s been crying.
I look away. I’m such a jerk. “I’m sorry I haven’t called, I?—”
But she holds up a hand, and I go quiet.
“I’m not here to make you feel bad or anything.” She stands. “Just to let you know that I’m not going away. I understand you need space, and I will give that to you.” She presses her lips together, and I can see her determination behind her eyes.
“I know that for a lot of people, I’m too much. I get it. And maybe me telling you that I’ve hated not being with you the last couple days is going to feel smothering or annoying. But I don’t care. Because I have hated it. I also hate that you’re hurting. And I hate that you won’t let me help.”
“Iris—”
“Just let me finish.”
I nod.
“I think you’re amazing,” she says. “And I think this terrible, awful thing happened to you. And you didn’t deserve it. No one deserves something like that.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “And I know you’re scared.”
The words are like a drill, straight to my heart.
“I’m scared too,” she says. “And I think because I was scared, I held myself back. I did what I thought you would want instead of what I want, which is to be here for you. I don’t want to give you space. I want to be a sounding board and a safe place for you to sort through the messy, awful feelings you don’t share with anyone else. And wanting that has gotten me in trouble in the past.” She presses her lips together and inhales a slow breath. “But you’re the one who told me that for the right person, I won’t be too much.”
I look down and see that she’s holding a newspaper in her hand. I didn’t notice that before.
“And these past few months have been . . .” She laughs. “The most magical of my entire life. Not just because we helped all those people, not just because friends found each other or a dog got a new home, but because this”—she holds up the newspaper—“this . . . brought me you .”
I don’t say anything because I’m afraid if I do, my voice will crack. I think I am finally beginning to understand what magic really feels like.
“So, I guess, what I’m saying is . . .” She steels her jaw. “You need to figure out if I’m the right person. You need to decide if I’m too much. Because even though I know I have a lot of flaws, loving people too deeply isn’t one of them.” She goes quiet, and I want to reach for her. To pull her straight to my chest and hold her until the sun comes up tomorrow.
And every single day that follows.
But she doesn’t give me the chance.
She looks at me for a long moment, nods a period on this conversation, and then she walks away.
I just stand and watch her walk back to her apartment and close the door.
I stand there, dumbly, wanting to go after her, but still so conflicted over the strange feelings seeing Aria’s mom brought to the surface.
Sadness. Guilt. Grief.
That simple interaction reminded me of everything I’d lost while simultaneously making me feel like I’d done something wrong in moving on.
I don’t know how to square that .
After a sleepless night, I get out of bed early Thursday morning, feeling more clarity than I have in days. If I’m going to make things right with Iris, there’s something I need to do first.
Something I maybe should’ve done a long time ago.
Something I don’t want to do at all.
I pull out my phone and send a text to Val:
Matteo
Can you handle lunch service today?
Val
Yes, Chef.
Matteo
Thanks
Val
Where will you be?
Matteo
There’s something I need to do.
Val
Hopefully it’s getting your head out of your peach emoji
Matteo
eye roll emoji
Val
xoxo
Then, I type out a simple text to Iris.
Matteo
I heard you loud and clear last night. I’m sorry for being distant.
I’d like to see you, but I have to take care of something first .
Then, I add:
Don’t give up on me yet.
And my thumb hovers over the button before I take a breath and send it.
Am I asking too much?
An hour later, I’m sitting in my car outside a distantly familiar bungalow on a quiet street in Serendipity Springs.
Aria had an idyllic childhood here, and when we talked about our future together, I knew this was what she imagined. It was easy to go all in on a dream with her—her excitement was infectious. And when she died, those plans and hopes died, too.
But I didn’t.
And I’d forgotten that.
I get out of the car and walk up to the door, but I hesitate before I ring the bell, thinking I should’ve called to make sure it’s okay for me to be here.
I turn a circle and blow out a breath, giving myself a silent pep talk. I seriously contemplate leaving when the door behind me opens and Lynn appears.
There’s a mix of confusion and surprise on her face, but after a beat, both are replaced with warmth and kindness. “Matteo? Hi?” I hear the question in her voice.
“Sorry to just drop by.” I push a hand through my hair.
“Don’t be silly.” Lynn opens the screen door wide. “You’re still family—you don’t need an invitation.” She moves aside and motions for me to move as she says, “Come in, come in!”
I take a deep breath and step inside, where I’m greeted by the smell of cinnamon and vanilla, a combination that will forever remind me of Aria.
“Don’s out playing pickleball, but do you want some coffee?” She turns toward the kitchen, and I follow her .
“Uh, sure,” I say. A framed wedding photo of Aria and me catches my eye. I packed all my photos away a long time ago, and seeing her face, frozen in time and full of so much joy, stings.
But not as deep as usual. Not like it used to.
I feel guilty for that. Shouldn’t I mourn her for the rest of my life? Isn’t that what she deserves?
“Come in and sit.” Lynn motions toward the small table in the eating area off the side of the kitchen, and a vivid memory invades my mind. The night I came over without Aria to tell her parents I wanted to marry their daughter and to ask for their blessing.
That night, with my whole life stretched out in front of me, I thought I knew how everything would play out. I was excited about the life we were starting and about the person I got to start it with. I had goals and dreams and . . . hope.
Lynn sets a hot mug of black coffee on the table in front of me, then sits down, her own mug quite a bit lighter in color than mine.
This makes me think of Iris.
“I didn’t expect to see you today,” Lynn says. “How’ve you been?”
“Honestly?” I say but can’t say anything after. I just shake my head.
She leans back. “Yeah. Some days are like that.”
I nod.
“I like the beard.”
I absently scrub a hand over my chin. “Thanks. Aria would’ve hated it.” My smile is sad.
Lynn’s isn’t. She laughs. “She absolutely would’ve hated it. She was not a fan of your facial hair.” She takes a drink, and I get the impression she remembers how much I hate small talk, so she doesn’t make any more. I’m not here to discuss the weather or my favorite football team or anything equally as mundane, and I think Lynn knows that.
“I want to apologize for not coming by sooner,” I say, eyes locked onto my mug of coffee.
“No need to apologize for that,” she says. “I know it’s been hard.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “It’s been brutal.”
She reaches over and covers my hand with hers. “How are you really doing?”
Slowly, I lift my gaze to meet hers. “Not great. Part of me doesn’t know how to function without her.”
“You’ve been functioning,” she says. “Winning awards and running a successful restaurant. We’ve eaten there a few times, you know?”
I go still. “I didn’t know.”
“We wanted to be respectful,” she says. “So we kept a low profile.”
I shake my head. “You shouldn’t have. You’re always welcome. That place wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Aria.”
She smiles. “Then we’ll be sure to come back in soon.”
“Good.”
There’s an awkward pause, and I know I need to say what I came here to say, and yet, the words aren’t there.
Lynn must sense this. She’s still watching me. “Your girlfriend is very pretty.”
“Oh, she’s—” But I stop myself. I don’t want to lie. “Yeah, she is.”
“Does she make you happy?” There’s no trace of judgment in her eyes. And I make sure of that before I respond.
“She does,” I say. “Is that okay?”
She’s taken aback. “Okay?”
“It feels unfair,” I say. “Like, why should I get to be happy when Aria’s?— ”
“Matteo,” she says. “You get to be happy because you’re still here, and if she was still here, I’d say the same to her.”
“But why?” I ask. “Why am I here and she’s not?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve made my peace with the question ‘why,’” she says. “There’s not usually an answer to that one. I’ve mostly accepted it. Mostly.”
I’d love to find out how she did that.
She goes on. “I remember the first time I laughed after the accident. I felt so guilty. Like, I didn’t deserve to laugh. I’m a mother who lost her child, that’s who I am now—what is there to laugh about?”
“That’s how I feel,” I confess.
“But then, I realized, Aria loved to laugh. She loved to make other people laugh. And to see the people she loved happy. She would not be okay with all of us moping around, carrying some cross in her memory. That’s not the way we should honor her.”
“But how do I move on?” I ask, my voice breaking. “I promised her forever.”
“You promised ‘till death did you part,’” she says quietly. “You kept your vow. And so did she. But we’re still here, Matteo. And there is room in our hearts for more love. Our love for new people doesn’t dull the love we had for Aria. You have a lot of life left to live, kiddo. Live it. And live it well. That’s how you honor her memory.”
I blink to keep myself from crying, but my eyes are clouded over, and the lump in my throat is back.
“Thank you, Lynn.”
She stands, then motions for me to do the same. When I do, she pulls me into a warm, tight, motherly hug. “It’s time to let go, Matteo. It’s okay.” A pause. “Let Aria go.”
As I stand there, wrapped in the quiet comfort of a familiar embrace, I think of my wife. I think of how much I loved her, how much I will always love her .
And then I think maybe Lynn is right. Maybe it’s time for me to finally, finally, remember that I’m alive.
Lynn pulls back. “Can you stay for a little while? Catch me up on your life?”
I nod. “I think I can do that.”
“Good,” she says. “I’ve missed being in the loop.”
I steady my gaze as I let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry about that, Lynn. I’ll do better.”
She squeezes my arm. “Nothing to apologize for. I’m just glad you’re here now.” She sits, motioning for me to do the same.
When I do, she smiles at me from behind her mug. “So . . . tell me about Iris. And don’t leave anything out.”
I take a deep breath. “Where do I begin . . .?”