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Unable to stop myself now, I keep reading.
He’s been given his own letters to open at certain times, so he knows this exists. He just doesn’t know what’s in it. He doesn’t know that I think the two of you would be perfect for one another. He doesn’t know what I’ve witnessed in these last few weeks of my terminal illness and the special bond the two of you have.
Please don’t think I’m speaking from jealousy. I’m not. Neither one of you has ever acted the slightest bit inappropriately in front of me or otherwise. It’s something you can’t understand until your days are numbered, and you’re confined to a bed. I’ve accepted that I’m about to die, but the part I can’t make peace with is that Nathan is going to be left on this earth alone.
He’ll convince himself that I was it for him and that anything else is a betrayal.
I’m here to tell you it’s not.
He shouldn’t sacrifice his one life on this earth just because mine was cut short.
This sounds like I’ve made some elaborate setup for the two of you to fall in love. Unfortunately, this isn’t a romance movie, and I’m just not that creative. I’ve found that writing during the hours of the night when I couldn’t sleep to be therapeutic. His instructions for this letter were as basic as they come: You’ll know when she should read it.
I’m hoping he’s made the right call, and you’re reading this while the two of you are madly in love, or just got engaged, or are about to walk down the aisle. And if he made a mistake and gave it to you at random, I’m sorry. I’m sorry because this is the part where I’m going to beg you to try to love him anyway.
Love him when he makes that little breathy snore at night that might keep you awake.
Love him when he’s intense during an argument because his passion is one of the best things about him.
Love him when he loses a patient and wants nothing more than to be left alone—that’s when he needs you the most.
Love the little surprises he does for you. His thoughtfulness is unmatched.
Love him when you’re fighting.
Love him when you’re in a lull.
Just love him.
And Kiersten? If that means as a friend, I’ll still be as grateful as ever that he has you, because you’re a good friend. This isn’t a letter to guilt you into being with him.
But if there’s something more between you two, I want you to know unequivocally that you both have my blessing.
Be the wild to his calm.
-Janessa
The letter flutters to the ground. Fast blinks chase away the sting of tears. I shouldn’t have read it. That wasn’t my place to open that letter, even if it was addressed to me.
Why did I? Why does it hurt me and warm me at the same time?
Glancing at the box in my lap, another letter sits just on top. This one is partially folded in a scribble I do recognize.
The first few lines jump out at me:
Janessa,
It’s October of 2019 and I’m finally writing you back at the request of my new therapist. Yeah, I started therapy, but it isn’t because of you. It’s because of Kiersten. I don’t know how to put this into words, but I’m glad I don’t have to tell you to your face. She’s pregnant with my baby
“There you are. What are you doing?”
Nathan’s voice startles me so bad that I knock the box of letters out of my lap, and they cascade to the floor.
“Crap. I’m so sorry.” I start to move to the floor, but because I’m the size of a whale and stuck like I’m beached, I move at a snail’s pace. So slow Nathan has time to cross the room and grab my bicep before I’ve moved more than two inches.
“Leave them.” He shakes my arm to draw my attention. The problem is, I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want him to see the guilt on my face or the new knowledge from Janessa. Or his own letter. Therapy. I had no idea he’d begun seeing a therapist. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with it, but I wish I’d known.
I tilt my face to his with reluctance. “Nathan…”
