“Well, then I met you, and it was easy to lean on the way I felt. Not just about you, but about how I was okay and normal and didn’t need to put in any work tostayokay. I took advantage of the kind of person you are. I’m sorry for that too.”
“It’s not like I knew any better,” I grumbled. “I’m so used to being the person who fixes everything, I never stopped to think about how that was probably hurting you and not helping you.”
“Right, because even now you’re trying to take on blame that’s not yours.”
I hugged my knees to my chest. “I’m working on it.”
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’smeandmyshit.”
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 withme, all I really wanted was foryouto 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 reallydoesat 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,
