Did I make a mistake?
I pick up my phone, dialing a number I know by heart.
“Mom?”
“Neelu? What’s going on—everything okay?”
“No,” I say, and my voice breaks. I thought I was all out of tears, but here they are again, fresh and stinging. “I think…I think there’s something wrong with me.” And I tell her everything. How I met Jacob before the wedding, how I developed feelings for him, how I pulled away. How I’ve kind of forgiven Dad, but it still hurts. How there’s still this feeling that I wasn’t wanted, wasn’t good enough, wasn’t someone my own father wanted to be around.
“Oh, Neelu.” I can hear the emotion in her voice. “I wish I was there. I wish I could give you a hug.”
“Me too.” I sniff, finding a tissue and blowing my nose.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” my mom says, “and I think you know that. But I’ll tell you as many times as you want: There’s nothing wrong with you. Everything you’ve said makes sense. It makes sense that you’d feel this way, that this would scare you, that you’d want to pull away.” She pauses. “I think you’ve done this before too,” she says gently. “Maybe you didn’t realize it, but with some of your friends…You just seemed to cut off those friendships really quickly. You stopped mentioning them entirely, and I didn’t want to push. I figured there was a good reason, but—”
“No, I mean, I thought there was. And for some of them, I still think there was, but”—my throat tightens—“but not for everyone. But it just seemed simpler that way. It felt like they had…they’d pulled back first, and it felt natural to just allow that to happen. To…to have some say in what was happening.”
“But it doesn’t sound like Jacob pulled away. It sounds like he was trying, like he wanted to come see you, and—”
“But hewill pull away. He says he’ll come, but he’s not going to…to leave this place. He hasn’t traveled in years, and he’s going to change that? Suddenly board an international flight, all for…for what?”
“For you, Neelu,” my mom says softly. “He wants to do it for you.”
I blink, my eyes stinging again. “I don’t believe that. Why can’t I believe that?” I pull my knees up to my chest, hugging them.
She’s quiet for a beat. “I was angry at your father for a really long time. Not for the way our relationship ended, but for the way he was with you. And it sounds like he’s recognized that. That he didn’t do enough. But it doesn’t have to be that way, Neelu. Jacob’s not your father. I don’t know if he’ll manage the distance better or worse, but he’s not him. He can do this differently. You both can.”
“But what if—what if it’s too hard, and he decides it isn’t worth it anymore, and he—”
“Maybe,” my mom says. “Maybe that will happen. Maybe he comes to see you, and you travel to see him, and you find a way to make it work. Or maybe it’s too hard—for him, or for you—and you both decide it’s just not working. But at least you won’t have any regrets.”
I wipe a hand over my eyes as she continues. “I’m not telling you what you should do, but I think…I can tell what youwantto do. And you should allow yourself, give yourself permission to want it. To ask for it.” Her voice softens. “Neelu, my brave girl. I’ve never seen you back down from something. I’ve seen you afraid, but I’ve never seen you not try something at least once. Think of all the places you’ve gone to, all the new things you’ve explored. You don’t have to be fearless. You can have all the fear in the world, as long as you try.”
Later, after we’ve hung up, I stare at the pages on the desk, reading every poem for a second time. And then a third.
It’s all Jacob, his feelings laid bare. He hasn’t hidden his fear; it’s written into every line. He’s loved and lost the people he loves over and over, and still he’s willing to push past that fear for me.
Why can’t I do the same for him?
I take a long shower and climb into bed. But even after I switch off the lights, I can’t sleep. My eyes are open, staring unblinkingly into the darkness.
I reach for my phone, open the notes app, and begin to type.
31
Nothing feels so terrible when the sun’s shining on your skin. I took it for granted—the sun—but after spending these weeks in Scotland, I’ve learned that each day with sunshine is a gift.
I bask in it as I walk to the park, my sensible shoes tapping against the cobblestone path.
I can’t help but think about how different I feel today compared to the last date for the wedding. The bitterness toward my father has faded—not completely healed, but dulled. And on top of those feelings, there’s genuine affection now, a desire to know him better, to continue to try.
And Maggie’s no longer a stranger to me. We’ve shared so much since that first conversation. In time, I could see her becoming a friend. And Jacob—
The back of my neck warms as he comes into view.
He’s standing beside Maggie, and he’s left his kilt at home. He’s dressed in a suit now, his face solemn, his wire-frame glasses on thebridge of his nose. He hasn’t seen me. He’s looking off somewhere else, distracted.
Maggie and my father haven’t noticed me either. They’re speaking with someone who stands between them: the officiant, perhaps.
