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Leaving Los Angeles three weeks ago is the best thing I could have ever done for myself. It isn’t easy—quite the opposite. It’s the second hardest thing I have done in my life after leaving Mama behind.
Emerson was upset, offering me some time off to go do what I need to do, but I don’t want to be bound by time. She cried, I cried, and I didn’t expect to bond with her as deeply as we did in such a short time. This huge part of me carries guilt. I let her down professionally by allowing my personal life to get the better of me, but at some point, I had to make a decision that’s best for everyone.
I need to find myself, and there’s no time limit on that.
Flynn chose to stay in Los Angeles, moving in with some bandmates to cover costs. A week after I left, he was offered a record deal and a big one at that. Things are going fantastic for him, and deep down inside, I know I have to let go and let him live his life without my constant interference. He’s a big boy and doesn’t need me holding his hands anymore.
The day I stepped foot back on Alaskan soil, my emotions ran high. Mixed feelings about being home but also missing Los Angeles and the life I had built for myself.
Ironic, since I never expected any other place to feel like home.
Mama is happy to see me but equally worries about my welfare. There is no hiding anything from that woman. The second she saw me, she knew the truth.
I still remember the conversation we had the day I returned.
“Milly, I can see you’re lost. Just like when you were a little girl, you would run to me every time, demanding I make you better. Cry until I did. You’re a big girl now, and I won’t always be around to fix your booboos.”
I know what Mama said is true. We are all aging, and life just flies by. She will always be my mama, but I need to make my own decisions now. I need to think about what is best for me, what I want because in the end, I will never get this time back.
And so, it leads to the night that changed everything.
Two bottles of cheap wine, three best friends in a run-down pub the next town over, and one drunken slur of a dream.
“I’ve always wanted to attend Oktoberfest,” Liam slurred, drunken smile following. “Get it on with some German maid in those hot little outfits with the hair-type things dangling.”
“Let’s do it.” Phoebe jumps off her stool, swaying and unable to stand straight. “The three of us. Thirty days backpacking through Europe.”
“Phoebs…” I hiccupped, consuming one glass of red and stopping there as my head was already feeling light. “Slow down the drinking. Thirty days, you backpacking? You do realize that you won’t be able to shower every day and when you do, you’re sharing a bathroom with strangers.”
“Yeah, so what? C’mon guys, look at us. Liam, you’re still living in your parents’ basement probably jerking off to some German porn with hairy muffs. Milly, you’re just depressing with your post break-up blues. And look at me? I’m twenty-six and work at the local library sorting out books with ladies old enough to be my great-grandmother. This can’t be it, guys. This can’t be how we spend the rest of our lives.”
We made a pact then and there, drunk on cheap wine. Our bucket list was written on a napkin we found on the countertop near the bowl of dirty peanuts.
We had no care in the world that night. The next morning, after we nursed the hangover from hell, we realized that our drunken slurs were not just foolish dreams, they were bold and true. They were the thoughts that consumed us, and it was either we let them continue to do so or follow our dreams.
The three of us would do it all, push ourselves beyond our comfort levels and start the journey to find ourselves.
From the moment I returned home, Liam welcomed me back with open arms. It wasn’t romantic, and yes, we talked about our relationship and how we want to move forward. His brief stint with Sienna after our disastrous break-up turned him off to relationships. It’s the first time in many years that he enjoys being single, and I can’t be any prouder as his friend. We laugh like old times, maybe more so relaxed in each other’s presence, and Phoebe, our former third wheel, makes our tight circle even tighter.
And so here we are, both Phoebe’s and my bucket-list item checked off. We are the von Trapp family, if only for this moment, and Liam having never watched The Sound Of Music laughs as he watches us belt out the tunes without a care in the world.
I never imagined this feeling of wanderlust, traveling with my two best friends and much-needed soul searching. I have learned so much about myself during the quick days spent here. Each one of us pushes each other. We know our limits but enough that we get the best of what we need.
And even though I find myself on this soul-searching journey, it’s not without the memories of what pushed me here in the first place.
I just can’t say his name.
And I refuse to close my eyes and remember his face.
The pain of everything that happened between us in such a short time is still too raw. An exposed wound which, on the surface appears healed, but beneath the skin, the ache burns.
The desperation to rid him from my thoughts pushes me here.
It makes it harder that he is, in many ways, impossible to ignore. Even across the pond, the news-stands feature magazines with his face splashed all over it. That’s his life—not mine. Thank God the paparazzi stopped following me the moment I left Los Angeles. There is some controversy going on back in the states, but I don’t want to know. Despite the bitter ending between us, I love him and that feeling doesn’t just disappear no matter how much of a distance I create between us.
Wesley won the game he was playing, and made me fall hopelessly in love with him only to hurt me in the end. Not only me, but my family.
I can’t forgive him, not now, maybe never.
