Chapter 28 #2
His breaths were shaky, and he rubbed his eyes before continuing. “But I want you to understand something. No matter what I did or the lies I told, the way I felt about you was never a lie. It was more real than anything else I had in my life.”
The air whooshed back into my chest, and even though it hurt, I felt like I could breathe normally again.
“I’m not even going to bother asking about what you’ve done or what you lied about, because it does nothing for me now.
But that night after the wedding, it haunted me for weeks.
Still does sometimes, but not as much as it used to.
I want to understand how or why it even happened.
We were happy. At least, I thought we were. ”
“You can be happy and still do the wrong thing,” he said. “I’d bought some oxy before we left, and . . . I don’t know. I’m not gonna try and justify it. I did it because I was in active addiction again. That’s all. I wish there was more to it, but there’s not.”
“I get it. It’s not personal.”
“Of course not,” he blurted. “It’s me and my shit.”
I nodded.
“So, at the hospital they found out what I’d taken had been laced with fentanyl. I hadn’t even taken enough of it to OD, not that that’s an excuse or anything. But fentanyl poisons you. It’s scary shit.”
I scoffed. “You think?”
I wasn’t sure anything in my life would ever scare me as much as that night, and maybe I should have told him that, but it was no longer my place to direct his feelings. That was on him now.
“I can’t tell you enough times how sorry I am, Nat. No matter what was going on with me, all I really wanted was for you to be happy. I still want that. Even if you hate me, even if you want nothing to do with me, I’ll still do everything I can to make sure you’re happy.”
“What makes this time different?” I asked. “How do I know that won’t happen again? How do any of us know?”
Brooklyn sighed again, pursing his lips together like every time he went to speak, the words weren’t right.
“The reason rehab doesn’t work for people the first or second time they go is because they go when they’re not ready.
I sure as hell wasn’t. They’re not prepared to give up that part of their life, mostly because they have nothing to move on to.
But I did a lot of work in rehab this time to come to terms with all that, and I realized I have a lot more than most people do.
I have my sister, my mom, and my dad. And I have you. ”
“Me?” I could barely choke the word out.
“Yeah, you.” He looked at me, and the gleam in his eyes matched the ocean.
“I love you, Nat. I’m not asking you to love me back, even if you maybe did once, and I’m not asking you to save me, because I know now I have to do that myself.
But if I let you go without at least trying, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. ”
I could feel him reach out for me, but something in me seized up. Maybe I wasn’t ready for this. Or maybe for once in my life I had no idea what I was supposed to do. Who really does at twenty-two?
I pulled away from his gaze and looked back at the ocean.
Lately I had come to realize how much life was like the waves.
The water comes in fast and heavy, and the moment you think you’re about to drown, it pulls back.
The hardest lessons in life teach us the most. They come at you like a wave, crashing down on you and threatening to pull you under with the tide, and sometimes you think you’re not going to make it, but then you do.
You come up for air, you see the sky, and you move on. You’re okay.
“You know, when you left I finally started writing again,” I said softly, as if I was speaking to the ocean, not him. “I wrote a book about you.”
“I bet it’s great.” He paused. “And not because it’s about me.”
I drew a heart in the sand with my finger. “Yeah, well, I got an offer for representation earlier. I’m going to accept it.”
He put his hand on my shoulder, and even though it was a simple and subtle gesture, it felt right. “I’m proud of you. Really, I am.”
“Thanks, Brooklyn.”
“I have one question, though. Your book, how does it end?”
I shrugged and finally looked over at him, and in that moment I knew. I knew despite the heartbreak and turmoil, he was exactly as I’d written him to be. Someone you wanted to root for. Someone you wanted to love.
“Guess we’ll have to find out, won’t we?”
September 13
Hi Dad,
It’s been a while. I guess that’s sort of the point, isn’t it?
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t know what to say to you. Not because I didn’t WANT to write, but because I needed to find out what it felt like to write for myself again. To let the words belong to me, not to my grief.
I’ve been good. Not perfect, not fixed, but good.
Nikki’s thriving, Mom’s painting a gorgeous new collection of portraits, and I’m finally learning how to be part of the world instead of just orbiting around it.
I got an offer from an agent for my new novel—the one that was inspired by all these letters I write to you.
I decided to start writing letters to someone else, too, and the book kind of wrote itself from there.
It’s strange, isn’t it? I spent so long trying to avoid real stories about real life and real experiences, choosing to fall backward into fantasy worlds because that was easier than real life, but it turns out that was the story I needed to write all along.
I owe you an apology, though. I blamed you for a lot of things that were never yours to carry.
It was easier to be angry at the ghost of someone I loved than to admit that I didn’t know how to stop clinging to people who reminded me of you, or what you’ve left.
But I finally understand now, you didn’t leave ME. So, I’ve been learning how to stay.
I still miss you every day. I still want to talk with you, so this isn’t goodbye. It’ll just be different. I’ve got something that finally feels like mine.
You once told me that life doesn’t stop for anyone (even though I’m pretty sure that was about soccer), but for a long time, I thought that meant I’d always be running to catch up.
But now I understand it means it’s okay to keep moving.
Even when it hurts. Even when you’re scared.
It’s how we become what we’re supposed to be.
Love, Nat