I didn’t return home until two in the morning.
My footsteps echoed against the marble floors on my way to my office. I’d grown to hate the walk from the front door. I passed by too many quiet rooms and too many ghosts of our memories.
Stella had lived with me for only a few months. I’d lived alone for years without her and been fine.
But now that she was gone, the penthouse felt empty, like all the heart and soul had been sucked out of it, leaving nothing but a hollow shell behind.
My office door opened soundlessly, and I sank into my seat without turning on the lights.
I’d shredded all the files I’d had on Stella the day after she found them, but their phantom presence tainted what used to be a sanctuary.
Still, I preferred the office to my bedroom, where her soft scent lingered in the sheets and pillows weeks later. Sometimes, I heard her laugh. Other times, I rolled over and could’ve sworn she was next to me, teasing me like she always did.
I tipped my head back.
Scotch and adrenaline from the poker tournament lingered in my blood.
Brock had been the big winner. He was off duty since Stella was home for the night, but I hadn’t congratulated him. It was hard for me to look at him when he reminded me of her.
It was even harder not to ask about her.
I’d instructed him to alert me immediately if she was in danger, but otherwise, her present-day life remained a mystery.
I’d been tempted to call Jules for information as well. She owed me for getting her out of a tight spot last year, and she was one of Stella’s best friends. If anyone knew what Stella was thinking and feeling, it was her.
Stella’s last request to me was the only thing holding me back. It was a leash I could easily break, yet it shackled me more effectively than iron restraints.
I felt so fucking stupid for missing her so much and even stupider for the coping mechanism I’d developed since she left.
I lifted my head and opened the secret drawer that used to hold her files. Now, it was filled with letters I’d never sent.
One for every day we’d been apart.
It was the type of sappy, pathetic behavior I’d derided in the past. If Past Christian could see me now, he’d shoot me and put me out of my misery.
I didn’t care. The letters were the only way I could talk to her these days, and writing them was almost therapeutic.
They covered a span of topics, from snippets of my life growing up to my favorite books to how much I despised clowns (I was convinced they were the devil in human form, except less fun). The letters were like chapters from separate books, tossed together in the chaos that made up my life.
The only thing they had in common was that they were all for her.
Stella said she knew nothing about me, so I poured all of myself out to her.
I picked up a pen and started writing that night’s letter. When I finished, exhaustion blurred my vision, but I tucked the note carefully into the drawer along with its brethren.
Instead of retiring to my bedroom, I stayed in my office and stared out the window at the dark night sky.
My collection of plants lined the sill, silhouetted against the moonlight.
They just need a little love and attention to thrive.
I’d been watering and taking care of them religiously since Stella left. She loved those plants.
But no matter how much care I gave them, they still looked sad and droopy, like they knew their usual caregiver was gone and was never coming back.
“I know,” I said. I couldn’t believe I’d sunk to conversing with plants, but here we were. “I miss her too.”
July 30
Stella,
I have a confession: I never wanted a pet, not even when I was a kid.
My parents asked me once if I wanted a puppy, and I told them in no uncertain terms that I did not.
It’s not because I hate animals. I just always thought they were too much work for too little reward. I didn’t understand why someone would bring a dog or cat into their home, treat it like their child, and love it for years when they knew that animal’s lifespan was so much shorter than their own.
It was like they were asking for their heart to be broken.
Now, I understand.
It’s because the time they spent together was worth the heartbreak.
Before you get angry, I’m not comparing you to an animal. But if I had the chance to go back in time and leave the cafe a minute before you passed or stay in my office instead of dropping by the apartment the day you signed the lease, I wouldn’t.
Even knowing what the outcome would be.
Even knowing that I would eventually get my heart broken.
Because all the most beautiful days of my life have been with you, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.
I would rather be miserable now after having been loved by you than be happy without having ever known you.
August 6
Stella,
Remember when you ran into me in the lobby the night we signed our agreement? You mentioned a date should include dinner, drinks, and hand holding. Or, as an alternative, cuddling on a bench overlooking the river, followed by whispered sweet nothings and a goodnight kiss.
At the time, it was the most atrocious thing I’d ever heard, but if you ever come back to me…I have it all planned out.
We’ll have dinner at my favorite Italian restaurant in Columbia Heights. It’s a tiny place, barely large enough to seat a dozen people at one time, but they make the second-best gnocchi in the world (after my grandmother’s).
She’s not here anymore, but when I was a kid, I went to her house after school and she spent hours teaching me how to cook. Besides my time with you, those days were my happiest. Laughing with her in the kitchen, rolling the dough and getting flour all over ourselves while the old sixties music she loved played in the background.
Her gnocchi was my favorite dish. Unfortunately, her recipe was lost after she died, but when I tried it at this restaurant…it was the closest I’d found to how she used to make it.
I know I went off on a tangent, but I wanted to share that story with you. I’ve never told anyone about how I learned to cook before.
Anyway, I think you would love the restaurant. After that, we’ll have drinks at a bar nearby, then go to the Georgetown waterfront and sit on a bench by the river. We can kiss and hold hands and whisper however many sweet nothings you want.
Because if this date does happen, it means you’ve forgiven me. And if I have you back, I’ll never give you a reason to leave again.
August 12
Stella,
It’s two-thirty in the morning as I write this.
I haven’t slept in almost twenty-four hours.
But I couldn’t go to sleep without telling you this…
I’m trying, Butterfly. I’m trying so fucking hard.
To stay away from you. To not think about you. To not love you.
My life would be so much easier if I could move on, but I know I can’t.
Even if you never forgive me.
Even if you never talk to me again.
Even if you move on.
I’ll still love you.
You will always be my first, last, and only love.
