Chapter 19
Magnolia
FIVE MONTHS INTO DEPLOYMENT
Dear Lukas,
You’ve been heavy on my mind lately. I think of you all the time, as you’ve probably, hopefully, realized by now, but last night I woke up around midnight and sat up straight in bed, thinking of you.
I don’t think I was dreaming, at least if I was I don’t remember it. Maybe it was that connection our moms always talked about, how one of us could seem to sense when something wasn’t right with the other.
I wish I could have grabbed my phone and texted or called you right then to make sure you’re okay, but a letter will have to do.
Nana’s birthday is coming up. Can you believe she’s going to be eighty?
My dad joked that he’d buy her anything she could possibly want for a milestone like that, take her on a vacation across the world.
He offered to fly her to France to see me perform in person, and you know what she asked for? A family dinner with all of us around.
Funny how what we want changes as we get older.
Remember being kids and being so excited for each birthday, holiday, Christmas, whatever it was, because it meant we got presents or money?
How fun it was to go to the mall and buy new clothes?
If you ask the average teenager, or even someone our age what they want the most out of anything, I think the majority of us would say a big house, a new car, unlimited spending money.
But ask someone who has lived a full life and all they want is more time with the people they love the most.
Nana’s always been the brains of the family, and right now, if someone could grant me one wish, give me anything in the world—I’d ask for more time with you.
Atear rolls down my face, dropping on the sheet of paper in front of me with a soft splatter.
I slump back in the chair, crossing my arms over my chest as I take in my surroundings.
A brisk wind picks up, and I wrap the loose panels of my sweater around my core. Fall in France is gorgeous. Temperatures hover in the seventies, and besides the occasional chilly breeze, the sun still shines, warming the apples of my cheeks as I sit in the outdoor cafe.
It almost seems unfair that I get a day like this. That a day off means I can sit and sip café au lait and eat a croissant before I meet my friends for lunch, while Lukas is doing only God knows what.
I swipe at the next tear that falls, catching it against my chin. A young mom strolls by, protectively holding her baby against her chest in a cloth wrap. Her significant other reaches for her free hand, lacing their fingers together. They look so in love, so happy, so content. And I want that.
I turn my head away so she doesn’t see the tears. Almost laughing to myself at how foolish I must look.
What is wrong with me?
I’m living the very dream I wrote about in my diary when I was kid. The same dream I spent nights praying I’d reach. I love what I do, but there’s this pinch in my chest, a painful, Lukas-sized splinter, one that catches every time I take a deep breath.
I was foolish enough to think that his deployment wouldn’t be much different for me than our already long-distance relationship.
The time change made it so hard to find time to talk, but at least we could have brief phone calls and video chats.
A quick weekend here or there with each other.
But months of near silence, besides one call to tell me he made it safely and that I won’t hear from him for a while, wasn’t something I was prepared for.
I push out a breath, picking up the notebook in front of me to reread the letter. Gosh, that’s depressing. Too depressing. Lukas is already struggling with what he’s going through, he doesn’t want to get a letter from me whining about how sad I am.
I flip to the next page and pick up my pen, bringing it to the paper to start again.
Hey, baby,
I miss you so much! Life has been a whirlwind lately. We’re heading into the winter season, which means it will only get busier.
I scribble the words as fast as my hand can go, telling him about the ballet we’re in the middle of performing, Giselle, and the meaning behind the performance.
How it’s a beautiful story of love and betrayal and dying of heartbreak …
filled with so much emotion I can feel it in the center of my chest when I dance.
Lukas has seen me dance to a lot of the classics—The Nutcracker, Swan Lake—but not this. And I think he’d love it as much as I do.
I tell him about the museums in Paris. How the Mona Lisa is a lot smaller in real life than I had expected.
And how I could imagine him and his brothers walking through the Louvre, giggling at all of the naked male statues.
The thought of him and Theo poking each other in the ribs while Grayson pretends he’s taking it seriously has a snicker bubbling out of me.
“What has you smiling like that?”
I jump at the sound of Raymond’s voice by my ear, and he takes that opportunity to steal the notepad from in front of me.
He flips through the pages, his smiling face falling the further he reads through my letter.
He hands the notebook back to me, and I snatch it from his hand, tucking it safely to my chest. “Just trying to write Lukas.”
“Trying?” Ronaldo asks, pulling out the chair next to me. He swipes the last of my chocolate croissant from my plate, stuffing it into his mouth with a cocky smile.
“Trying,” I confirm, setting my notebook back on the table. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to him anymore.”
“I liked the first one,” Raymond says, pulling out the chair opposite Ronaldo to sit down. “It was sweet. If I was away from Ronaldo, that’s the kind of letter I’d want.”
“Yeah … I don’t know. Is it … wouldn’t it make you sad? To hear that he was sad?”
The bridge of my nose starts to sting, and I inhale a slow breath, pushing it out through my lips. “This is so hard, you guys. Lukas and I … well, you know how we are.”
When Lukas came to visit me in Paris after boot camp, Raymond and Ronaldo fell in love with him immediately. They loved his small-town innocence and his tenderness when it comes to me. They loved the faint blush he got on the tips of his ears when they teased him.
They especially loved the fact that he’s six-and-a-half feet tall with muscles for days.
“I don’t know how to talk to him anymore,” I finally admit.
“I want to tell him that I’m having the time of my life.
” I gesture around us, to the walls of the small cafe that literally faces Notre Dame.
“I’m living out my biggest childhood dream.
I’m a ballerina in Paris. I have the best friends.
I have my health, my family…” I trail off, bringing my hands to my lap.
“And Lukas is suffering.” His letters are vague, short, but I know him well enough to read between the lines.
He’s depressed, quiet. He’s not sleeping well, and that alone worries me.
“He’s the best part of my life, my absolute best friend, my person, and I don’t know what to say to him, or what I should say to him.
Do I constantly remind him that I’m sick without him?
Do I tell him how you guys catch me while I’m zoned out, staring at the wall when I should be eating?
Do I tell him how much I cry myself to sleep?
” I struggle writing to him. I want to share what’s going on in my life, but I don’t want to make him sad.
All the while, I know he’s experiencing unthinkable things.
Things that would terrify me, and he can’t tell me about them.
So, most of the time we have nothing to talk about.
“It’s driving me mad, not knowing what to do, or how to act toward the person I’ve known since I was a little kid. ”
They’re both silent, their gazes focused on me and my confession, with the occasional flicker toward the other.
It’s Ronaldo who reaches out first, resting his hand over mine.
“Maybe you should talk to someone, sweetie. A therapist. Someone who would know what to do in a situation like this. Because I don’t. ”
“I agree,” Raymond adds. “I hate it when this fool is right, but he’s right about this.”
His honey-colored irises turn toward the sun, briefly closing to soak in its warmth before he turns back to the table. “I think that you can be both, though. You can miss him so much, painfully so, and still be happy with your life, with your career. Can’t you?”
“Is it possible to have two polar opposite things be true at the same time?”
“I think so,” Ronaldo says softly. “Every part of life can’t be perfect all the time. Your relationship might be rocky right now, but you’re thriving in your career. Your relationship might be the strongest it’s ever been in the future, and your health could plummet.”
“Ouch,” I tease, playfully shoving his shoulder. “Don’t wish that upon any of us, please.”
“All I’m saying is that yes, I believe two polar opposite things can be true at the same time. That’s life. If every single area was the best it could ever be, if we never experienced down times or pain, I’d start to wonder if we were even living real life.”
“Oh, Lord,” Raymond groans, smiling as the waiter hands us our menus. “Don’t get him started on that … pretty soon he’ll launch into how we’re all actually living in some computer simulation or virtual reality nonsense.”
Ronaldo gasps as he snags a menu from Raymond’s outstretched hand. “Okay, rude. I was being sweet to our friend.” He crosses his legs, and rips open the menu, perusing the options on the first page before he murmurs, “And for the record, it’s called simulation theory, not virtual reality.”
Raymond purses his lips together to hide his smile before his eyes dart over to me. “See?” he says, a teasing glint to his eye. “My career is the best it’s ever been, and my significant other thinks we’re living in a simulation.”