Rule #41 Dreams can always change.
Amelia
The floorboards creak, and I turn from my task of shoving all my clothes into my suitcase to find my mother standing in the doorway.
I don’t know if I can take another disappointed parent today. With a sigh, I turn my back and get back to work emptying my drawers and closet.
If she notices me emptying my room, she doesn’t say anything.
“I’m not here to lecture you,” she says softly.
“That’s good because you have no room to do that.”
“I know,” she replies. She takes a seat on my bed and watches me pack.
Meanwhile, I feel like my tear ducts couldn’t produce another tear, so they sting like crazy.
“Amelia, I can’t tell you what to do. I can’t force you into a life or a choice, and even if I could, I wouldn’t want to. You are a brilliant woman, and you deserve a mother who will treat you like one.”
I bite my lip as her words draw out more emotion I’m trying not to show.
“But can I offer you a touch of advice based on what I’ve experienced? My mother was gone by the time I reached adulthood, and I would have killed for a piece of her wisdom at that time of my life.”
Tossing a skirt into a duffel bag, I turn toward her in surrender. Wordlessly I respond with a simple nod. Then I sit on the bed next to her.
She takes my hands in hers and strokes my knuckles in a slow, soft motion.
“I know you’re going to his place. And it sounds very exciting to you, I’m sure.
But do yourself a favor, Melly. Don’t lose yourself in the man you love.
Prove to yourself that you can do it alone.
It will be the most rewarding thing you can do for yourself.
I know you want him, but you don’t need him. You don’t need anyone.”
She runs her thumb along my cheek, and I can’t hold back the tears. “I’m not like you, Mom. I was never like you. You’re smart and independent and motivated. I know you did it on your own before you met Dad, but what if I mess up? What if I lose everything I’ve worked for?”
“You are not like me, Amelia, but that is what makes you valuable and precious. You are smart. You think like no one else I know. If you fail, my love, you will learn.”
I let out a sob as I fall into my mom’s arms. She holds me, and I’m filled with regret. Part of me actually wishes I could stay young to keep this relationship with her. My mom has been my biggest support my entire life, and now I’m truly an adult.
It’s time for me to go.
And what will become of us when I do?
“You’re not mad at me?” I cry.
“No, Melly. I’m not mad at you. Or him. And your father will get over it eventually. He’s just upset that his little girl isn’t a little girl anymore. But I think in time he’ll see what I see.”
I pull away, wiping my eyes as I stare at her. “Which is?”
She fixes my bangs and runs her fingers through my hair. “That Matis truly does love you.”
“He does,” I whisper. “We love each other.”
With a soft smile, she nods. “I believe you do.”
“Amelia.”
My eyes widen at the sound of Matis’s voice in the doorway. I didn’t even hear him approaching. He’s standing somberly, staring at me, and my heart sinks like it’s made of stone.
I know what’s about to happen. He spoke with my dad, and he’s somehow convinced him that we should end things.
He’s about to tell me he must leave. That I’m better off without him.
That we should break up, break off everything.
That somehow, I’m supposed to move on with my life after everything that’s happened.
My eyes shut tightly as I fight the oncoming tears.
Then his deep voice breaks through the din of thoughts in my head.
“Let’s go, my treasure. We have some things to talk about.”
My eyes pop open as I stare at him. But then he puts out a hand, reaching for me, and my once stone-heavy heart lightens. My mom covers her mouth as I stand from the bed and rush to his arms. He engulfs me, squeezing me against him.
Looking down at me with love, he runs his thumb under each of my eyes. Neither of us say anything. There are too many things weighing on us when all we really want is to be in this moment. London, design school, my parents, our future. It’s too much.
With a grin, he leans in and gives me a quick kiss, and it might be my favorite so far. Not because it’s passionate or exciting but because of what it represents.
That we have something no one can take away. Even if we end up in different cities on different paths. We’ll always have this.
When we separate, Matis gives my mom a solemn nod before picking up the duffel bag I’ve packed. Then he links his fingers with mine and walks with me toward the front door.
My dad emerges from his office to watch me go. My cheeks are still tear-soaked as I look at him, and in my eyes, I plead with him to understand. To release this anger he’s feeling and be happy for us.
I see nothing but hurt.
But I have to believe the resolution will come eventually. I know my parents to be genuine, understanding people. I have faith that we’ll survive this chasm of betrayal.
Because their love is just not something I can live without.
“I didn’t tell them you knew.”
Sitting on the couch in Matis’s apartment, my legs folded in front of me, I hold one of the rust-colored throw pillows on my lap as I stare into my brother’s sympathetic eyes.
“I don’t care about that, Mel. I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he says.
Freya sits next to me on the couch, resting her head on my shoulder because that’s just how she shows comfort. That and cooking, but she didn’t exactly have time to put together a menu when I called her crying.
The three of them rushed over as soon as they heard.
Matis is leaning against the frame of the door that leads from the living room to the small kitchen. I keep glancing at him to check his expression. I still worry about the guilt he’s carrying. He seems to think he’s somehow solely to blame for this when really it was me who put on the pressure.
“They’ll get over it eventually,” Archer says from the seat next to Jules. “They always do.”
“I know,” I mutter, looking down at my hands.
“It still hurts in the moment, I’m sure,” Freya adds.
“It does.”
“Plus, they’re not really mad at you, are they?” Julian asks.
I notice the way his eyes dance toward Matis, looking guarded and a little suspicious.
Matis only huffs at Julian’s insinuation.
“Julian,” I say, leaning forward to stare into his eyes. “How would you feel if Mom or Dad hated you being with Archer? Or Freya? It would tear you up, and you know it. It doesn’t matter if they’re mad at me or him. It hurts me all the same.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Easy, Mel. I was just pointing out that you’re their daughter. He is their friend.”
“Yeah, well…they’ve known him longer,” Archer says, nodding toward Matis, and I crack a smile. He’s trying to lighten the mood, and I love him for that.
“So what’s the plan? With London, I mean?” Julian asks, remaining serious, regardless of his fiancé’s attempt to make us laugh.
I glance up at Matis, who meets my gaze.
“I’m still undecided,” he says while staring at me.
He says that, but deep down, I know. If he wasn’t going, he’d have said so by now. There is some part of Matis that knows going is the best option for him. For no other reason than he wants it. He still loves me and wants to be with me while wanting that part of his life back too.
“And what about you?” Julian stares at me, and I spot the fear in his eyes.
In the back of my mind, I think about Phoenix, and I want to tell my brother that no matter what I do, we will never part. Not really. I could be in the farthest corner of the earth, and I’d still keep him close.
After a deep breath, I sit up straight. “I’m going to focus on my program…if I get in.”
“And then?”
“And then…we don’t know.”
Julian exhales slowly, his icy blue eyes staying locked on me. I watch his throat move as he swallows. Archer lays a hand on his leg, squeezing it in a comforting gesture.
Eventually, my brother gives me a soft, crooked smile.
“Don’t let their disapproval stop you from what you want,” he says in a gentle tone. “Be the stubborn brat I know and love, Amelia. Because if you let this go, you’ll regret it.”
With that, his hand grips Archer’s on his leg.
My gaze travels over to Matis, who smiles back at me. Suddenly, I remember that night when he was walking me home. The night he placed his hand on my belly.
The night we watched our dreams change right in front of our eyes. But dreams are never that easy. Dreams require sacrifice, and I’m not ready to let either of us sacrifice anything.
After hugging my brother and his family goodbye, Matis and I are alone. I feel weathered and exhausted, like these tears were a flu that knocked me off my feet.
Taking my hand in his, he kisses my knuckles and pulls me over to the couch. As we sit together, I know exactly what he’s going to say. It doesn’t feel like heartbreak or surrender. It feels like exhaling.
“If I go to London, it doesn’t mean the end of us. Nothing could ever mean the end of us,” he whispers, and somehow, I manage even more tears as I lean into him.
“I know.”
“You will have the space to work on your designs, and I would have the chance to make amends with your father.”
“It makes sense,” I murmur.
Touching my chin, he lifts my face until I’m staring into his eyes. “I need you to understand this does not mean I am choosing the club over you. I could never choose anything over you, mon trésor.”
I manage a sad smile as I nod. “I understand.”
“You are the best thing to ever happen to me, and I believe that what is meant to be will be. I love you so much.”
My arms wind around him, and I squeeze him so tight, I can hardly breathe. “I love you too.”
After a moment, he tugs me toward him so I’m lying with my head in his lap. Then he drapes a blanket over me, and I feel my eyes grow heavy. When I close my eyes, I feel a soft kiss against my temple.
As I slowly drift off to sleep, he begins to hum the same song he hummed that night in Trocadero when we danced beneath the Eiffel Tower.
For some reason, I think about the bridge again.
The one so weighed down by locks, it almost crumbled into the water.
And I think about how sad that is. So many love stories. So many declarations.
Love is like that, isn’t it? Sometimes it’s too heavy. Sometimes it changes the course of your life or the lives around you.
But that doesn’t make it any less worth expressing.