By the time I’m done for the day and manage to track Mason down about borrowing his Tahoe, the printing shop is once again closed. They couldn’t say much over the phone, other than confirming I had an order that was getting dusty on the pickup shelf.
Chase has called a few times, but after his unexpected arrival this morning, when I was really hoping for a little time to explore campus alone, something I think he should have realized, I’ve let his attempts go unanswered.
Thankfully, Mason agrees to drop his keys and car off to me tomorrow morning before class, so I make the executive decision to skip the first day of my second set of classes.
I make sure to email the teachers before bed so that I don’t get dropped from the courses, and I’m on the road the next morning, minutes before the place opens.
It takes about fifteen minutes to get to the place, and I smile at the large neon sign above the door that reads, Paper Dreams and Things.
The woman behind the counter smiles as I enter and turns to the giant wall made of little cubes.
“You are going to love the way this thing turned out!” She shakes her head, placing a shoe box-sized package in front of me. “Let’s pull it out so you can make sure it’s all correct.” She begins tugging on the gold tie holding it closed, and I dart a hand out.
“No, wait,” I rush out.
She freezes.
“I uh, it looks so pretty with the ribbon. I don’t want to mess it up. I’m sure it’s perfect.” I nod anxiously.
“Oh, no problem at all.” The woman folds a few pieces of paper, placing them on top of the box and pushes it toward me. “Oh, I almost forgot! This…” She removes a sticky note from the side of the box I can’t see, pressing it down on top as well. “A woman came in and left this address. Asked that we tell you to come back after you picked this up. I guess she’s been tryin’ to reach ya, too.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. My emails are buried right now.”
“Well, hun, you have a happy holiday.”
And just like that, she moves on to another customer, and with tense muscles, I carry the box, no heavier than a pair of shoes to the car.
Rather than pull it open, I put the address on the sticky note into Mason’s GPS, and fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling into a parking lot I’d be happy to never see again.
Killing the engine, I climb out and hope I’m headed into the right area, a little unsure when I get closer and see the name of the place.
Tri-City Rehabilitation Center.
I remember this place. I saw it when I came back for my follow-up.
With a deep breath, I head inside and a wave of nausea hits me.
The woman behind the counter smiles, waving me forward, so with slow steps, I do, and as she hangs up the phone, she beams.
“Sign on in, honey. Who you here to see?”
“Oh, um—”
“Ari?”
My head snaps left to find a woman around my mom’s age walking up, a clipboard in her hand. “Hi.”
“I’m so glad you made it by! I’ve been trying to reach you for days. I was going to call Noah, but she made me promise not to.”
My heart beats wildly and I nod.
Who made her promise?
She frowns, slowly moving behind the counter. “Give me a minute, okay, hun?”
“Yeah, sure.” I swallow, consider turning and running away, but I don’t know why. There’s a heaviness creeping over me, threatening to knock me over.
A little less than ten minutes go by, and the woman comes back, a sealed envelope inside, something hard within it. “Sorry about that. Here.” She passes it over, speaking gently. “So sorry for your loss, she was very loved here.”
My smile is tight, and I nod.
“Take care of yourself, Ari.”
“Thanks, Cathy.” With that, I leave the building but freeze right outside.
Cathy.
How…
I shake it off, more confused now than I was before.
I drive back to campus, my knee bouncing the entire time, and rush up to my room. Thankfully, Cameron isn’t home, so I lock my door and set both the box and letter before me.
Minutes, maybe even hours pass, and I don’t move. I pace my room, comb my hair a dozen times, never once taking my eyes off the top of my comforter.
My phone rings, but I ignore it.
My stomach growls, but I ignore that too.
“Fuck it.”
I jump onto the bed, tear the envelope open, and pour the contents out.
My mouth gapes when another sealed envelope falls out, a folded piece of paper falling on top of it addressed to me.
A letter.
It’s a letter.
It takes a moment, but I find the courage to open it, setting it down before me.
Grabbing a pillow for support, I bury my mouth against it as I hug it to myself, and I hold my breath.
And then I look down and read.
Dear Arianna,
I’m not quite sure how to start this letter so I’m just going to dive right in and tell you that you, sweet girl, are a gift I never thought I would receive. You are the gift. The one that has allowed me to breathe for the first time in a very long time. Because of you, my daily struggle has lessened and I’m finally able to put my white flag to rest.
What does that mean? Well, it means that my mind and heart are finally on speaking terms with my body. And if I’m understanding the secrets my body has shared with me, I’ve left him.
I’ve left my son.
If you haven’t guessed, this letter is from me, Lori Riley, Noah’s mother.
I gasp, my hold on the pillow tightening.
I know you don’t remember me, but we’re good friends, you and I, but we can come back to that. Back to Noah.
As you once knew, I was all he had in this world. For all of his life, it was simply him and I and while I wouldn’t change a thing about the lives we lived, I came to regret a lot of it. With that regret came resentment, and it pointed straight back at me.
See, I failed to realize that by loving him, by pouring every ounce of energy I had into our lives and his future, I didn’t leave room for more, something I didn’t realize until after I had my first stroke Noah’s senior year in high school.
From that day on, in the back of my mind has been fear.
Fear that something would happen to me and my son would be left all alone in this world.
And then I had my second stroke, the one that landed me here.
The fear became crippling, but I tried to hide it, and I held on with every bit of power I had left. Some days I could barely speak at all, because my body was trying to tell me it was time. That I needed to make peace and let go, but I couldn’t. Not yet. Not when in doing so, Noah would be left with nothing but heartache. I never felt like such a failure.
I was a woman who not so long ago was proud of the job she did raising such an amazing man on her own, and all of a sudden, I hated myself. I was drowning in helplessness I saw no way out of. I was going to wither away slowly before my son’s eyes, trying to hold on.
Defeat consumed me.
And then I met you.
Tears pool in my eyes as I grip the paper, pulling it closer.
I felt I knew you before I met you and I loved you the moment I did.
As I said to you the day you asked me to help you make my son a gift, you put life back into my boy. It had been so long since his eyes shined. Since his smile was real and not placed there for me to see. That’s not to say he wasn’t happy. He was. He did what he set out to do and earned his place at Avix U, something I know deep down he did for me. So yes, he was happy, but his happy came in moments that didn’t last past nightfall. My son walked with the weight of a man on his shoulders, and because of that weight, he closed himself off from the things a person needs to keep going.
Until you came along.
He fell in love with you, Arianna, maybe even the day he met you.
You were hurting and he yearned to be the reason you healed. And he was.
Sweet, Arianna, my Noah became your Noah, and honey, he was your everything, just as you are his.
You fell for him right back and you never got up.
Love, Lori, the mother forever in debt to the woman who loves her son.
Tears fall from my eyes as I read the last line, and then I move to the text beneath it, written in a different language.
Non temere la caduta, ma la vita che nasce dal non aver mai saltato affatto.
My fingers are drawn to the script, and I slowly glide the pads of my fingertips across it.
A flash flicks before my eyes, and I freeze.
Holding my breath, I do it again.
Another flash.
Again.
And then the page morphs.
Suddenly, my fingers aren’t tracing the words on college-ruled paper, but on a tan, smooth chest of a man. A man who lies in the center of my bed.
My hand tingles as his comes down to cover mine, and a shaky breath escapes as he glides my touch along the warmth of his body, and I follow the path to his lips.
He kisses my knuckles then, his body lifting off the pillows until his breath brushes along my skin. He leans in and my eyes close, a flash of blue revealing itself on the other side.
But not just any blue.
It’s deep and depthless.
Bold and brilliant, like the center of the ocean, or a mountain’s night sky.
They’re tender and limitless and locked on mine.
“Juliet…”
I gasp, choking on nothing. The paper falls from my hands, and I stumble from my bed, hitting and sliding down the wall.
I can’t see before me, but I see.
I see him.
I see the night of the bonfire, and the night at the club.
I see the morning coffee and the daytime cooking.
I see the bumper boats and his mouth an inch from mine.
I feel his hands on me as I sit on top of the kitchen counter and the heat of his eyes.
The warmth of his body.
The beat of his heart… pressed against mine.
I feel him. All over.
Everywhere.
A rush of yearning hits me, forcing the air from my lungs and my body racks with sobs. “Oh my god… Noah.”
