Chapter Twenty-Three Know When to Let Go
Chapter Twenty-Three
Know When to Let Go
Nairobi, Kenya
In my rental apartment, my home for the next few months, I make myself a pot of noodles.
I packed a bunch of things I like from back home.
It isn’t that I dislike Kenyan food; I actually do like it.
But bringing a piece of home along with me allows me to maintain my sense of self.
There is comfort and familiarity in it, and those things are important, I’ve learned.
It was the same reason I packed my Aveda body lotion, Colgate toothpaste, and my favorite drugstore shampoo.
There have been times over the past dozen or so years that I’d wake up and not even know which country I was in. It’s a disorienting experience.
Since I know that the next few days will be a whirlwind of activity, I got a head start on my latest blog post while on the plane. I even had Joslyn proof it for me, so all I need to do now is type up the final draft.
Pulling out my laptop, I get to work.
Sophie Scholl was named one of the most important women of the twentieth century and voted one of the greatest Germans who ever lived even though she only lived to be twenty-one years old.
She was twelve when the Nazis came to power. Like nearly all of her friends, she was recruited to the “Hitler Youth” where she got to wear a uniform and be part of a movement that was rapidly growing.
But Sophie was raised as a Christian and was taught that all people were created in God’s image. All were precious to God, and all were equal. But Hitler’s message was completely different—that her race was the superior one.
She saw her Jewish friends being denied basic human rights.
She watched the invasion of Poland and realized with horror that the Nazi party she was part of was in complete opposition to the truth she believed in—that all people were equal.
She knew in her heart she had to do something, and she organized an underground resistance and began mailing thousands of leaflets to people all over Germany in an attempt to get them to see the truth.
She knew speaking out against Hitler would mean certain death, but she did it anyway.
Sophie was soon arrested and executed. But a final leaflet had already been mailed to England where it was printed by the millions by the Allied forces.
Loaded into bomber jets, her final leaflet rained down over her entire nation and into the hands of millions of her fellow Germans.
One young girl was brave enough to pay with her life to do what was right.
I click “Post” and close my laptop, wondering what it would be like to have that much bravery, that much courage. And then I’m quiet for a long time.
“This is good,” Joslyn says, nodding. She’s leaning over my desk, reading the timing-and-action plan I’ve created over my shoulder. “I’d maybe combine these two sentences,” she says, pointing to the final paragraph.
My cell phone begins to ring. It’s Hart. I plan to tell him I’ll have to call him back later, but when I answer, all I can hear is hysterical laughing. Did he butt-dial me?
Joslyn hears it, too, because her mouth lifts in a wry smile.
“Hello?”
My cheeks heat with embarrassment.
After a few seconds, the laughter gives way to male voices.
“Hell-ooo?” I repeat.
“Alessia!” Hart almost sings. “Hi.”
“Where are you?”
It’s noisy wherever he is.
“Vegas,” he says. “Did you call me?”
Vegas?
“No. You called me.”
“Oh,” he says, laughing again.
It’s 11:00 a.m. my time, meaning it’s 1:00 a.m. in Las Vegas.
Is he drunk?
“Shut up, Whit. I can’t hear,” he says too loudly. “Sorry, baby. I took a gummy, and I’m a little dit brunk.”
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline.
Then there’s more laughter and shouting.
What on earth? I end the call.
Joslyn gives me a nervous look. “Is everything all right?”
I swallow past a lump in my throat as all my fears about his age and maturity level flood to the surface.
My phone rings again, and I answer quickly. “Sorry, I’m bus—oh, hi, Whit.”
“It’s my fault—I made him take it,” he says, interrupting me with a chuckle. “But I swear it’s all good ...”
“Okay, Whit, I can’t talk to you right now. I need to talk to a grown-up. Bye.”
I silence my phone and turn on do not disturb.
The following day, Hart calls again. I almost let it go to voicemail, then decide against it.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” he says simply.
“Hi.”
There’s a long pause, and I feel every bit of the distance between us, stretching on with uncertainty. A heaviness settles in my chest.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says finally.
I shrug, turning off the stove so I don’t burn my dinner.
“Alessia,” he begs, “say something.”
“What’s there to say?” I ask. I recall him sitting in Scarlet’s living room holding her new baby. It seems like a lifetime ago.
“Whatever’s on your mind,” he encourages. “I can take it.”
How is it fair that the greatest, most formidable love of my life is the one that’s wholly inappropriate for me? That’s my biggest question at the moment, but I don’t dare say it out loud.
“Are you still in Vegas?”
“Yes.”
It’s quiet in the background, though, so he must be somewhere private.
“Please tell me what’s on your mind,” he says.
I draw a breath, knowing whatever’s about to come out won’t be pretty. “I’m not sure what there is to say. You freaked out after that whole absurd baby conversation we had and went out for a drunken bender with your friends. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence about your maturity.”
It’s me saying See, I was right , without actually saying it.
“You want to know why I freaked out?”
“I already know. I just told you.”
He releases a long, slow exhale. “I freaked out because I saw that paperwork you had.”
“What paperwork?”
“I saw , Alessia. That night at my parents’ house when I took your bag. You left it in the foyer.”
My mind races to comprehend. “What are you talking about?”
“The adoption paperwork you’d tried to keep hidden from me.
” I can feel his pain and disappointment through the line.
In New York, the foyer of his parents’ home .
.. I did have a packet from the adoption agency.
But he’s not done. “You never gave us a chance. You never saw me as someone you could actually end up with.”
He’s right.
“That adoption application was you taking matters into your own hands. Planning your life. By yourself.”
I’m quiet, too quiet, because there’s really nothing for me to say. After ending things with Sean, I never wanted to be in the position of nagging someone ever again.
“Alessia?”
“Are you against adopting?”
“What? No.” His tone is laced with frustration, outrage.
I’ve been going through the most stressful period of my life, and when I remember that drunken/high phone call from him yesterday morning, I get angry all over again.
He has no idea the immense pressure I’m under.
He’s out partying with his friends, and now he’s trying to make me feel bad for planning my future alone.
But what did he expect? He’s obviously not ready for the life and responsibility that come with having a child.
A flash of anxiety crackles inside my chest. Things were already rocky between Hart and me. They have been ever since Aspen. But somehow I know this is the final straw. There is no coming back from this.
“I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”
His breath catches. “So that’s it then?”
“I guess so.”
“What are you so afraid of, Alessia?”
Everything. But I don’t know how to answer that question, so I don’t.
“Goodbye, Hart.”
I don’t wait for him to say anything else. I end the call and sink to the floor, sobbing. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.