62. Noah
62
Noah
W hen someone as young and vibrant as Zoey dies so abruptly, the entire town feels entitled to pay their final respects. Not that the assholes pouring through the church doors had any respect for her while she was living.
Tarni, Abby, Cora, and Shannan are among the crowd of kids from school, leading the way into the church foyer with big, ugly sobs shaking their shoulders. Those tears aren’t for Zoey, though. They led the mindless mob of students that made her school life a living hell. If anything, their tears are for themselves and the guilt they carry.
How the hell am I supposed to go in there? How am I supposed to say goodbye?
It’s been a week of hell.
The second Zoey faded away, the agony grasped hold of my heart and refused to let go, but something told me that it would only get harder from there. The first night was excruciating, going to sleep alone and rolling over to hold her, to pull her against me and whisper sweet nothings in her ear, only to find her no longer there.
Who’s supposed to hold me up? Whose eyes am I supposed to search for to pull me out of the darkness? She was my whole universe. We were entwined as one, formed together as part of the same soul, and having to slice that down the center, it feels like part of me died with her.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive. Is it even possible?
Zoey’s funeral is due to start any second, and despite knowing I need to be in there, my feet feel glued to the pavement. Once I go in there, once the funeral starts, I’ll be forced to say goodbye, and it all becomes too real.
I’ll have to face the fact that I’m never going to see her again, never going to feel her touch, never going to see the way those beautiful eyes light up when she smiles at me.
Her smell. Her warmth. The way we made love.
I try to tell myself how blessed I was to have her in my life. I had the chance to love her so fiercely, so purely, even if it was only for a little while, but it does nothing to take the sting away from the fact she’s gone.
“You going in?” I hear a small voice beside me, and I glance to my right, finding Hope, looking just as broken as I feel.
I shrug my shoulders, my gaze sailing back to the church. “I know I should, but I can’t bring myself to move.”
She nods. “I know the feeling,” she says. “This is my fourth attempt to get through the door.”
I glance toward Hope, a small smile on my lips. “You were a good friend to her,” I say. “I don’t know how much she ever told you about high school, but you showed up right when she needed you the most, when I couldn’t be there for her. Especially during those last few months. You made her smile, even through the hardest times. I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for that.”
“There’s no need to thank me,” Hope says. “Because when it comes down to it, she was exactly what I needed too. Without her . . . I was heading down a bad path, and she opened my eyes to the important things in life. It’s me who needs to thank her. She was like the sister I never had.”
I nod, both of us gazing back toward the church. “We’re going to regret it later if we don’t go in,” she finally says before letting out a shaky breath. “Come on. We’ll go together and then after, we can get wicked drunk.”
Fuck, that sounds good.
I blow out a heavy breath, feeling unsteady, and as Hope takes a step toward the church, I walk with her, somehow feeling as though there’s an invisible hand in mine, pulling me along.
Hope sits beside me in the pew with Mom and Zoey’s family on my other side, and when the funeral starts, Hazel shuffles across the pew and squeezes in between me and Mom, clutching on to my hand like her only lifeline, and it’s that touch that keeps me together.
The ceremony is beautiful, classy just like she was. A few songs that Zoey had chosen are played, and fuck. They hit me right in the chest, especially as In The Stars by Benson Boone plays through the church.
I somehow find the strength to stand up and read the words I’ve written, each one of them describing the life we had together, the love we shared, and the rare friendship that became so much more. Then after another song that destroys me, Hazel stands up, and holding her father’s hand with tears streaming down her face, she says a few broken words, telling Zoey how much she’s going to miss her.
Once the funeral comes to a close, I take off, forgetting all about Hope’s offer to get drunk. I know I’ll end up that way by the end of the night, but as the funeral finished, and I was forced to face reality with the undeniable excruciating grief closing in on me again, I needed to be alone.
I find myself back at Zoey’s house, pushing through the door of what’s now one of the loneliest places I’ve ever been in. Mom stayed with Zoey’s parents, preparing for her wake this afternoon, but I just don’t know if I have the strength to stand around a bunch of people who didn’t really know her, telling me how sorry they are for my loss.
Instead, I make my way up to her room, needing to feel that closeness, to smell her, to feel her around me, and the second I walk into her room, I do just that. It’s as though she’s right here, her arms wrapping around me, only this time, there’s a gaping hole right where my heart used to be, leaving nothing but a hollow emptiness.
My gaze shifts around her room.
I’ve spent so many hours in here growing up. Chilling out on her bed while teaching her how to play video games, pretending the way my leg brushed against hers was nothing more than an innocent accident, pushing her up against the wall in her closet and really kissing her like I’d been desperate to do for years.
Dropping down on her bed, I take her pillow and hold it to my chest, breathing her in, when I notice an envelope peeking out from within the pillowcase. My brows furrow, and I curl my fingers around the edge of the paper, pulling it out to find Zoey’s neat cursive writing across the front.
My name stares back at me, and my heart starts to race.
This is my letter, the one she spent the last few days of her life agonizing over. I sat with her as she wrote her letters for her family and Hope, but when she turned to a new page and scrawled my name at the top, she sent me away.
Over the past week, I’ve wondered if I would ever see this or if she even finished it. But now that I have, I don’t know what to do with it. It’s like one final piece of her, one final gift, and after I open it and read the words she’s left for me, that will be it.
But these words . . . God. They’re going to crush me, no matter how sweet they might be.
Flipping the envelope over, I slip my finger beneath the flap and break through the seal before taking the letter out. My hands shake as I open the papers, seven full pages of blue pen, smudged with the stains of her fallen tears.
I let out a breath, not prepared in the slightest for what I’m about to read, but my gaze drops to the paper, unable to wait a second longer.
Dear Noah,
It’s almost comical how pathetic that sounds when you think of the insane journey we’ve been through together. “Dear Noah,” barely sounds like enough.
Let me try it again!
Dear my bestest friend, my soul mate, my twin flame.
My first and only love, my universe, my partner in crime. My first and last kiss, my one great heartbreak. The man who taught me how to love. The man who taught me it was okay to fly. My lover. My fiercest protector. My overwhelming happiness. My forever valentine.
My heart. My world. My everything.
My husband.
There. That sounds better don’t you think? It sounds right, and yet somehow still not enough. I don’t think I’ll ever find the right words to adequately describe just how much you mean to me.
I’ve agonized over what I was going to write to you. I’ve thought about it for days, having to start over and over again because nothing feels like it could possibly be enough. How could any words make this okay? How could I possibly take any of your pain away?
I’ve tried to put myself in your position and think about how I would feel if it had been you taken from this world, and I couldn’t bear the thought of it. The pain alone would have eaten me alive, and I know without a doubt that I wouldn’t have been strong enough to pull through. But you’re different, Noah. You’ve always been strong enough for both of us. You’ve carried me through these past six months, and I’m so grateful. I need you to know that, and I need you to understand, without you standing by my side, holding my hand every step of the way, I wouldn’t have made it this far. You’ve lent me your strength and given me the courage to hold on.
I feel as though I have so much I need to say to you, and I could honestly go on for pages telling you how much I love you and how every single time you smiled at me, I felt like I could fly. But you know all of this because you’ve felt it right along with me. You took my hand, and we ran through life together, full steam ahead, and you never let me fall. You were my protector. My warrior. And you fought for me, even when you didn’t realize you were.
Ah, crap! Look at me crying all over the paper. I’m smudging everything! Though, somehow, I don’t think you mind. You’ve always just gone with the flow, been so chill about everything . . . most things at least. I can count more than a few times that temper of yours proved you to be very unchill! But never with me. No matter how often I pushed your buttons, you were always patient with me, always kind. It’s one of the reasons I love you so much.
I worry about you, Noah.
Right now, I hear you down the hall, sitting with Hazel. She’s still so young, and yet I feel like my sickness has forced her to grow up before her time. I think you need each other. I can hear you talking with her, hear the subtle changes in your tone, trying to make it sound like everything is okay. And I know she will buy it, everyone always does, but I know you too well. I hear the pain in your voice. I hear the way you’re hurting, and it kills me because I know it’s only going to get worse before it gets better.
These next few years are going to be hard for you, but I need you to know that I’m going to be there every step of the way, just as you have been for me. I don’t know where I’m going to end up or what waits for me on the other side, but I feel it in my gut that everything is going to be okay. I’m going to be okay.
Wherever I am, just know that I’ll be free. I won’t be hurting anymore or trapped in a disease-riddled body, and I want you to think about that when you’re missing me, and it becomes too hard. I want you to know that even though I would give anything to be in your arms right now, I am where I need to be. Whether that’s in heaven or some other form of afterlife, who knows. Maybe the whole reincarnation thing is real, and right now, I’m in the middle of learning how to fly. And if that’s the case, I hope you always leave your window open for me because you know I’m coming back as a bird. And no, definitely not a dirty pigeon. Something beautiful. Something that can soar higher than the stars.
These past eighteen years with you have been a whirlwind, and if I had the choice to do them again, I would. I would always do it again because the feeling of being loved so fiercely by such an incredible, loyal, and pure-hearted man was the greatest experience any woman could ever imagine, and you gave it to me every single day.
I hope you know just how happy you made me.
I know you don’t want to hear it, and that you’re definitely not ready to have this conversation, but one day when the time is right, I hope you can find it in you to be happy. I want you to open your heart again and allow yourself to find love. Have a bazillion kids with those dark eyes and your quick temper, and for your mom’s sake, I hope they give you hell, just like you and Linc gave her.
I know it’s hard for you to see now, but your happiest times are still ahead of you. You have so much to look forward to. I want you to find hope, love, and joy. God, Noah. I have so many dreams for you. I want you to push through with college and do something incredible. Though, between you and me, we both know you’ll be a superstar playing in the NFL. And when you are, when you look up at the stands, I want you to picture my face, picture the way I would cheer for you, and when you do, I want you to smile.
I want you to push yourself in your classes, push yourself in your personal relationships, push boundaries, and push good times. Go on all the camping trips, explore the world, and try new things. Build a dream home, and fill it with laughter, but don’t forget to check in with your mom every day, especially during these years you’re away at college.
Maybe set her up with a hot pool boy. She’ll love that, but do yourself a favor and avoid my place on Friday night wine night. If our moms are going to be drinking and talking about hot pool boys, trust me when I say that’s a conversation you’re going to want to avoid!
I’m not really sure what else I should say.
I knew writing this letter was going to be hard, but I wasn’t prepared for just how excruciating it would be. It’s okay, though, because I know you’ll be walking back through my door any minute now, and when you do, you’re going to hold me so tight. You’ll press a soft kiss to my lips and then you’ll brush your fingers up and down my arm until I fall asleep.
You’ve always known exactly what to do. Which is how I know you’ll be okay now. You need to trust yourself, trust that you’re making the right decisions, trust your gut, and when in doubt, just take a moment to breathe.
I’m not ready to say goodbye to you, so I won’t. Instead, all I’m going to say is the one thing that matters. I love you. I’ve loved you today, yesterday, and will continue to love you every moment until the end of time.
I will always be waiting for you, Noah.
Your Zoey
xxx
Now . . . down to the nitty-gritty. I’ve left you some things.
Under my desk, you should find a box (assuming Mom remembered to put it there. Otherwise, you’re going to have to go on a scavenger hunt through my house. But for the love of all that’s holy, don’t look under my parents’ bed. I made that mistake once, and I’ve never been the same.)
In the box, you’ll find a whole bunch of things, some of them self-explanatory, others I might need to talk you through.
On top, you’ll find your old phone. You lent it to me when I first started chemotherapy, and it was filled with all the pictures of our life together. Only now, I’ve added a few things. Apart from every single photo we’ve taken over the past six months, from selfies of me and Allie to you kissing me on our park prom night, and of course, our engagement and wedding photos, I’ve loaded every single email we’ve ever sent each other, right down to the ones we sent when we were only kids. I’ve gone through it all, by the way, and trust me, we really were partners in crime!!!!
Now, here’s the important part about your old phone, and it’s going to take a little self-control on your part, actually . . . a LOT of self-control. I’ve added a voice note message for every birthday between now and your fiftieth birthday. Now, no judgment. The first ten were creative, but after that, I’m pretty sure they all started to sound the same, just rinsed and recycled. Among those voice notes, there are also a few messages, just random thoughts that have popped into my mind over the past little while, little nothings that somehow meant enough to me to put into words for you.
Next up, are two pressed tulips. The orange one is the very first one you gave me when I started my second round of treatment, and the second—the pink one—is from our wedding day. I’ll never be able to express just how much these tulips meant to me. Seeing your insane ways of having these tulips delivered to me every single day meant the world to me. You put a smile on my face every single time, and because they meant so much to me, I wanted to gift you these two, the most important ones. They were so special to me, and now they get to be special to you.
There’s a whole bunch of other things in there like the little velvet box my engagement ring came in and the infinity charm you gave me for my eighteenth birthday—the very charm that’s identical to our tattoos. God, I loved the way you spoiled me. And don’t even think about giving me the whole “Oh, I can’t take this stuff, it belonged to you” bullshit because I don’t want it left here in this box getting dusty. I want you to have them because apart from me, you’re the only one who’s going to cherish them the way they deserve to be cherished.
Now, here’s the kicker.
My laptop.
I know you’ve been curious about this, and I’ve been keeping it close to my chest because I couldn’t bring myself to show you or explain what I’ve been writing all this time, though deep down, I think you might know. You always know when it comes to me and you.
When you open the laptop, you’ll find a document called Remember Us This Way, and this is our story, from the beginning right up until now. But the problem is, it’s not complete. These past few days, I haven’t been able to type. I haven’t had the strength to finish it, and while I know writing isn’t really your thing, it would mean the world to me if you could finish our story for me.
I know this is the furthest thing from your mind, but I want you to share our story with the world because it deserves to shine. I can’t stand the idea of this journey stopping here with us.
I want to tell the world just how amazing you are, Noah Ryan, and these written words are me screaming from the rooftops. Let the world fall in love with you the way I have, and maybe one day, our story might give someone else the courage to find their own version of happiness.
Zoey’s letter comes to an end, and I stare at her words, a lump forming in my throat, and immediately restart from the beginning. Then after my third full read-through, I lay the letter down on her bed, and my gaze shifts to the space below her desk.
Sure enough, a brown cardboard box stares back at me, and I get up on shaky legs, crossing her room before pulling her desk chair out of the way and picking up the box. I take it back to her bed, place it down, and lift the lid to see all the items she laid out for me in her letter.
I take the phone, swiping my thumb across the screen to see the familiar wallpaper image—me and Zoey grinning at the camera like complete morons. It’s one of my favorite pictures of the two of us, but something tells me that the new ones she added, especially the images taken from our wedding, are going to hold the highest place in my heart.
I quickly scan through them, trying not to linger on any of them for long so I don’t get all choked up again. When I open the voice notes and find one labeled ‘HEARTBEAT’ my brows furrow, and I click on it before the subtle boom boom of Zoey’s heart fills the room.
I fucking crumble, dropping to my knees.
It’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard, the sound I’ve craved to hear every day for the past week, and here it is. I’ve heard this soft beat a million times before. It’s the sound I’ve lived and loved by. The sound that has kept my own heart beating, and now I have it right here in the palm of my hand, only it’s never sounded so far away.
My back braces against the edge of Zoey’s bed, and I close my eyes, just listening to her heartbeat play on repeat. Then as the late afternoon sun ducks behind the trees, I reach back up to the box and drag it down on the ground beside me.
I go through the few things she’s left, each one breaking me just as I knew it would. Last but not least, I pull out Zoey’s laptop. I stare at it a moment too long before finally finding the courage to open it and find the document that I know will tear open a gaping hole right in the center of my chest. But the second I do, it’s impossible to stop reading her brilliant words. Right here on her bedroom floor, I read over every last word of our story until the bright morning sun beams through Zoey’s bedroom window.
Then the moment I can, I scroll right back up to the beginning and start filling in the pieces of our story, telling it just the way she would have wanted me to.