Page 137 of Run to Me

Birdie,

Do you remember the first time we swam in the river? You were six, and you wore a green hat and matching flip-flops with little strawberries on them. Logan said sharks would eat your feet. You were scared and held on to me, and I promised to keep you safe. To never let anything hurt you. I’m sorry I broke that promise. I’m sorry I was the one to hurt you.

I miss you. -J

Birdie,

I’m a business owner. Bruno’s is all mine. I plan to gut the whole place and start over, but I’m keeping the original bar. I think it’ll look perfect once I clean it up. Some things are worth holding on to. Remember that.

-J

Birdie,

It’s been a while since I last wrote to you. I’ve had a girlfriend for a few months now. She’s okay, I guess. Is that a terrible way to describe a relationship? If I marry her, have a few kids…I’ll have an “okay” life. All my friends are married, and Trevor has a baby on the way. Lives around me are changing, but I’m standing still. I can’t decide if I should settle for okay or wait for something special. Something colorful and bright and one of a kind. Tell me, birdie. Should I keep waiting?

-J

Birdie,

I finally finished college. The courses were online, but my finance degree is the real deal. You’re the only person I’ve told. Not sure why it’s a secret. Some things I just want to keep to myself. The English and history classes were the hardest—lots of essays. But I found a tutor who helped me, and I passed the classes on the first try. Hope you’re proud of me. I am.

-J

Dear Maisy,

I’m thirty years old today. It’s been ten years, ten months, and thirteen days since that day on the porch. When you spoke your last words to me. When you last looked at me. When you kissed me, and I couldn’t kiss you back. When I wanted to tell you how much I’ve always loved you. I started to, but it wasn’t the right time. Do you understand, Maisy? It was right…but it wasn’t the right time. I guess it’s too late now. You may not speak to me, but I finally hear you loud and clear.

So, for my birthday, I’m gonna give you a present. I’m setting you free from the cage in my heart. I never should’ve kept you there. It wasn’t fair to either of us for me to hold on this long.

Can I also make a birthday wish? I wish for you to find happiness, birdie. I truly do. And someday, I hope to see your beautiful smile again, even if you’re smiling for someone else. Even if that someone is only you.

Yours forever and always,

-Jensen

52

JENSEN

“What changes have you made this week?” Dr. Sims asks from her oversized chair.

Her tiny office in Austin is crammed with large furniture and an abundance of potted plants. Somehow, the crowded space feels cozy.

After weeks of confessions, assessments, and evaluations, she gave me her initial diagnoses. Yes, plural. The long list of disorders and phobias is a lot for me to take in, so we’re tackling them one by one, where possible.

I suffer from impulsive and compulsive behaviors, as well as depression and anxiety. No surprise there. I met with a colleague of hers, a psychiatrist, who prescribed medications to help balance my mind. He said we may have to make adjustments until we find the right combination and dosage that works best for me, so I shouldn’t expect miracles overnight. But most of my healing will happen through talk therapy.

Dr. Sims also referred me to a speech pathologist to work on my difficulty putting thoughts to words when I’m anxious. With more testing, I’ll know if my speech struggles are associated with my ADHD, another new diagnosis. Like I said, the list is long.

In response to her question about my weekly change, I say, “My brother helped me take down the wood paneling in my parents’ house and paint the walls.”

Jake has all the tools and skills from doing renovations on his home, so we’ve been knocking out the updates on my to-do list.

“Your house,” Dr. Sims says, correcting me.

She says it’s important for me to identify things as they are in the present. The house no longer belongs to my parents. I live there. The deed is in my name.

“My house,” I murmur.