Page 49 of I Will Always Love You (Maybe)

By the time I reach the end of the property, I both have more clarity and less than when I started, if that’s even possible. I know that I need to make some changes because the Colby I always thought I was, I don’t know anymore. And there are pieces that I don’t like. But what those changes are, I have no idea.

Down at the end of the property where the creek is, I take a seat on the ground and Kona plops down next to me. The sun tucks itself into the clouds, and I stare at the water sloshing against the rocks until it feels like a trance. I throw in a rock, and watch as the water ripples out in tiny circles to the edge of the shore. I inhale the coppery scent from the water over and over until I’m dizzy. Kona and I stay here for so long, resting on the ground, listening to the birds, that my butt almost becomes numb from sitting. I think. I feel. I listen.

I love Amelia. I always will love Amelia. But I also really, really care about Josie. I want the chance to love her. And I refuse to go down without a fight. And then, as the sun breaks through the clouds, and my butt is officially numb, and all the chaotic thoughts in my brain have ironed out, the clarity that I’ve been searching for appears. I know exactly what I have to do.

“Come on, girl,” I say to Kona, waking her up from her sleep and gripping her leash in my palm. “Let’s go get Josie back.”

But it’s more than just trying to get Josie back. I need this final chapter of my life closed for me. Yes, I want to make amends with Josie, almost more than anything. I miss her, I’m miserable without her, and I think she and I have a real shot at something amazing. But ultimately, this is for me. Time to reclaim my identity.

Back at the house, I refill Kona’s water bowl and step inside my recording booth. My heart is pounding. Partly from the hours-long hike we took. Partly from nerves. And partly from excitement, because I know what I’m about to do is something that I should have done a long, long time ago.

I pull up my laptop and hit record.

THIRTY-TWO

JOSIE

The doomscrolling has reached a truly unhealthy level. It’s been exactly two weeks since everything happened at Colby’s place, and I’m struggling to not fall back into my old patterns and stuffing my time with every available activity as I can, even though the urge to not be alone with my thoughts is heavy. I miss Colby. I miss Kona. I don’t want us to be done, but what can I do? I’ve been taking long, quiet walks every day, forcing myself to not lose this part of me no matter the level of devastation I feel, but during each walk, no matter how much I wish my pain would subside, it doesn’t.

Everything hurts.

Colby hasn’t reached out for a week, and damn her for being so respectful. Not a single word for seven days and even though I know that is what I asked for, I’m not sure it’s what I want. This void in my heart is growing, and I hate it.

I scroll to yet another Reel. My phone pings with an incoming message and my breath catches in my throat when I see Colby’s name on the screen. I swipe it open so fast that I worry I might have accidently deleted it.

Colby

I know you asked for space, and I promise I’m trying to give it to you. I sent you an email, and not sure how often you check that and just wanted you to know it’s there for when you’re ready to read it. I hope you are well. I miss you.

My fingers shake above the mail app. Do I want to open this? I don’t think I do. I thought I already made the decision that I need to end things with Colby, but what if this email is Colby ending things with me? Panic seizes me and it shouldn’t, right? Isn’t this what I want? I am not the type of person who needs to break up with the other one first. I remember in high school, and then with Zoey, even when I knew our relationship was over, being terrified of initiating “the talk.” I always thought it’d be easier to be on the receiving end. These last two weeks, that was the only explanation I gave myself as to why I didn’t reach out and officially end things with Colby—because I wanted her to have the agency to end things with me, first. It sounded like a kind thing to do, but it wasn’t. It was self-preservation. Somehow, I thought by her ending things with me, it would magically hurt less.

But who am I kidding? This all hurts. Ending it with her fucking hurts. Knowing she lied hurts. Not seeing her every day hurts. Not giving Kona scratches behind her ears hurts. I don’t think I want to open the email. Whatever is in there is going to tear my heart wide open, and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to officially know what we had is over.

I don’t know what possesses me to click on the email. Maybe an obligation to how kind Colby was during our time together. Maybe an obligation to me. Maybe curiosity. Whatever it is, I slide back into my couch and tap open the email.

Hey, Josie.

I tried to think of a million things I could do to apologize, or explain things, or try and share my side of the story. Not to get you to change your mind, but so I could hopefully provide a little peace or closure if that’s what you may need. I know I do. I tried to get it out that day, but my thoughts were scattered, my guilt high, and my defense mechanisms even higher. It’s funny. I feel like when it’s just me and a mic, I can communicate easily. Without that crutch, it seems impossible.

I blink away from the screen. Do I want to keep reading? My mouth is parched, my throat feels like a sob is locked inside, my hands are sweating. I tug my blanket up to my waist and continue.

After Amelia died, I started a digital journal where I spoke to her almost every night. And I thought the best way to tell you what I was going through from the day I re-met you at the clinic is to actually show you what I was going through. I appreciate you, our friendship, our relationship, and I miss you. I miss you so fucking much it hurts. But I also completely respect your need for space.

My lips tremble and I close my eyes. Do I want space? Why does space feel so terrible? I swallow and continue reading.

At midnight, I’m dropping an unedited show. I would love if you could listen in, whenever you are ready. I miss you, but I understand your need for processing. So, after this, I won’t contact you anymore. Please know that this is out of the deepest respect for you, and not some punishment or withdrawal. For whatever it’s worth, thank you for sharing yourself with me for this last month. I feel so honored that you trusted me enough to give yourself to me and will regret forever that I didn’t do the same. I can truly say this last month has been some of the best time of my life.

Colby

A choked sob releases with the message, and I breathe out a shaky breath. The attachment is huge. Whatever is contained in these files is the make-or-break decision for me. The real-life Love ’Em or Leave ’Em. The next move is squarely in my hands, and I cannot be that person that drags Colby around anymore while I decide what to do with the rest of my life. I need to cut it off altogether, or go back to her, and this decision happens now.

The zip file contains what looks like maybe twenty or so recordings. I stare at the screen like I’m contemplating whether to open or not, but I know I can’t not open it. I don’t hate Colby. And I don’t hate myself. I think whatever we have is worth fighting for, but I don’t know if I can get past the lying, even if what we have is worth it. Either way, both she and I deserve me taking a listen.

I take a quick sip of water, and hit play.

“Good morning, Amelia.” Colby’s voice sounds over the phone, and my chest immediately tightens. “I know it’s been a few days, and I have a ton of things to catch you up on. So, my girl Kona is in pain. The procedure was so incredibly scary, and I wished you could’ve been there with me. When I took her into the clinic, I saw you. I mean, not you, obviously, but in a snap, I was right back to that hospital room. I was sitting on your bed pre-surgery, teasing you for being so generous to tear your rotator cuff so I could finally pitch a season in the softball league. I swear, it’s like I could see you giggling back at me, convincing me I didn’t suck as bad as I did, I could hear the doctor give us instructions for post-op, I could smell that almond scent of yours in your hair when I kissed your forehead. I swear, I was right fucking there, not in this Minnesota small-town vet clinic.”

My heart immediately hurts listening to this. I remember this like it was yesterday. It wasn’t even two months ago, and even though it feels like a lifetime has passed since that day, the image is still crystal clear.