Tears streak down my cheeks, warm and salty, as his confession burrows into my soul.
He’s in Rhode Island, not at his house ignoring me.
The flicker of hope that ignited when I heard his voice through the phone is a raging wildfire now, razing down the remaining worries and fears until there’s nothing left but ash.
Our guide in Sydney spent a lot of time talking about bushfires. It was hard to wrap my head around the reverence he held for the destruction. Flames ravage the land, destroying everything in its wake.
It was only after he showed us the aftermath that I understood what he meant. Old growth dies to make room for new life.
You have to burn down what’s preventing you from growing.
Systematic and deliberate removal of the dead brush is crucial to prevent the fire from growing out of control. To prevent a wildfire, sometimes you have to light the match yourself. But it wasn’t me who ignited the torch. It was Jett. Little by little, he burned down every awful memory or thought I had, replacing the old, rotting parts of the forest with new blossoms.
“I got it,” I tell them, my voice scratchy from sobbing on mute.
I heard it all. Every last word.
“So you know what you need to do, right?” Charlie asks. Before I can respond, she says, “Tell him you love him. I don’t want that to seem vague. There’s a right answer.”
“Tell him I love him,” I confirm.
“Do you want help?” Amy asks.
I shake my head. This is something I need to do on my own.
“Keep him busy,” I tell them. “He loves sugar. Bribe him with that if you need to. But make sure he shows up to the premiere.”
Two weeks without him.
I can survive it—only because I know it’s two weeks before the start of the rest of my life.
For the remainder of the night, I brainstorm ideas on how to tell him. Grand declarations. Love letters. A shenanigan. I’m washing my face when the idea strikes me.
He never cashed in on my deepest, darkest secret.
At the time, it was my fear of spiders. Now it’s something much greater.
It’s a secret I can’t wait to spill.
Chapter 32
sofía
“Put it over there,” I say, hiking up the skirt of my dress and tiptoeing in my heels, careful to avoid where the rugs snag over the carpet.
I’m grateful for the chaos, the last-minute snags before guests and fans and family members arrive. In the end, we sold out six of the theaters to show the first episode of Jett’s docuseries. The caterers plate hors d’oeuvres. The bartenders lug in backupbottles of liquor. The venue staff cover the high-top tables with tablecloths and tea lights.
It’s been so busy, I haven’t had a moment to think or breathe or stew in my anxiety.
No overthinking the words I’ve prepared and practiced a million times the last two weeks.
We’ve been texting. Mostly about work. I sent him a cat video to test the waters.
I got a thumbs-up, and it broke my heart.
My phone chimes from my purse, and I read the message, a flurry of anticipation taking flight in my stomach.
Charlie: We’re on our way. Be there in twenty.
