BROOKE
“You miss him.”
Sitting on the couch, Whit’s voice was in my ear as she stood over my shoulder, reading the screen of the laptop on my lap. I had the RSVP webpage pulled up for our ten-year class reunion.
“It’s been a long time,” I replied softly.
“And you’ve tried to move on. But it hasn’t worked. What happened with that one guy—Derek?”
I shrugged, my posture listless and my face passive. It hadn’t worked out with Derek any more than with James, Patrick, or Mateo. It always fizzled out by the time we hit the four-week mark.
Aside from my love life, or lack thereof, I was doing significantly better now—my meds were better, with fewer side effects. I was eating better, and I’d found an exercise regimen that kept my body fit and my energy levels more consistent. I was going to counseling regularly. All in all, things were looking up.
But despite all the positive changes, was I completely happy in life? My brain answered itself with a resoundingNo.
“Maybe,” Whit continued, “it never works out with these guys because you know they aren’t what you want. Who you want.”
She didn’t have to say a name.
“He deserves better,” I replied.
We’d had this conversation many times, but Whit was tenacious.
“He deserves the truth,” she countered.
As usual, my best friend was right. I was lucky to have a friend who loved me enough to know when I needed her to push me.
My cursor hovered over the RSVP button.
Whit continued: “You miss him. You’ve pushed him away—too many times now. I don’t blame him for giving up.” I nodded my agreement. “Youneed to make the next move,” she continued. “Go to him. The reunion is the perfect excuse. It’s okay to be scared. It’s not okay to let the fear rule your life.”
Leaning my head back against the sofa, I met her gaze. “When did you get so wise?”
She shrugged. “I am almost a year older than you.” She gave me a quick wink. “That’s my advice. Take it or leave it.”
Four-year-old Ivy was playing loudly in the corner of the living room in our same duplex, which now overflowed with her various colorful toys. Whit sat down on the floor beside her daughter, clearly done convincing me of her sage wisdom. You can lead a horse to water, and all that.
I scrolled back up to the list of “attending” guests. His name screamed at me from the screen.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I pressed RSVP.
Whit came to my bedroom door while I was packing. She stood in the doorframe, a silent presence.
“I’m going to do it, Whit,” I told her, feigning the confidence I didn’t yet feel. “I’m going to tell him everything. Everything thathad happened—the real story. Why I was such a mess. Why I ran after Ivy’s birthday. Cheryl had me type it all up. She thought it would help me—you know... say what I need to say, fully. Even if nothing ever happens with us again, I want him to know the full truth.”
Whit nodded encouragingly.
A small head full of dark curls approached Whit’s side, wrapping chubby fingers around her waist.
“Mommy,” she tugged at Whit’s shirt. “I dis many.” Ivy held up four fingers.
“Yeah, baby,” Whit confirmed. “You’re four.”
Ivy turned her attention to my packing, her round eyes surveying my suitcase.
“Aunt Bubby go bye-bye?”
Whit threaded her fingers through her daughter’s hair as she replied.
