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Chapter Twenty-one
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“Knock, knock.” I lookup at my open door. I just carried up a stack of boxes and wasn’t able to close it completely when I entered the apartment. “You Hope Russell?” the guy asks, looking down at the clipboard in his hand.
“That’s me.” I nod, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
“We’ve got quite a few boxes for you. Want us to go ahead and bring them up?”
“Yes, please.” I nod, stepping forward when he extends the clipboard to me.
“Just need your signature at the bottom.” I scribble my name and hand it back to him. He glances down, confirms I signed, and gives me a stiff nod. “We’ll have it right up.”
“Thank you.” I offer him an exhausted smile.
I didn’t realize how hard it would be to move. You would think with as little as I own, it would be pretty easy. But having to carry it all up three flights of stairs made it seem like a hell of a lot more stuff than it actually is. And this is only the stuff I had in storage here in New York. All my other stuff my mom sent to me, which is what I’m assuming the delivery driver has downstairs.
Even though I didn’t get to see my apartment before I leased it, I knew the moment I stepped inside that I made a good choice. It’s an apartment in New York City, so I knew I wasn’t going to get much on my budget. And while it’s small—the entire apartment only equaling about five hundred square feet—the building is well kept and the apartment itself is clean. The owners even had new carpeting put in after the last tenants moved out, which gives the studio style apartment a newer feel.
Sophie and her boyfriend offered to help me move everything in, but after inconveniencing them for three days, I insisted I wanted to do this on my own. Although they still ended up helping me empty out my storage unit into the small truck I rented, no matter how many times I told them I could do it myself.
I half expected one or both of them to follow me into the city, because let’s be real, Sophie is someone who does whatever the hell she wants no matter what anyone tells her.
And as much as their help would have been appreciated, I’m glad that they didn’t come. They’ve done enough for me, and honestly, I wanted to do this on my own.
Italy gave me a sense of independence I never had before and I’m determined to hold onto some of that going into my new life here in the city. I’m an adult now. Twenty-two years old. Living in New York City all by myself. Getting ready to start an incredible new job at a restaurant most chefs would die to work at.
I know how blessed I am to be where I am. But I’ve also worked my butt off to get here. And sacrificed a lot. Even though my personal life is a crap shoot at best, I’m really proud of what I’ve been able to accomplish in my professional life and I’m excited to see where the future takes me.
I ignore the tiny ache in my chest that pops up every time I think about the future and how the one person I want to share it with isn’t here.
One phone call. That’s all it would take. And yet, for reasons I’m still not sure I fully understand, I can’t bring myself to call him.
“Where do you want these?” I look up from the box I’m unpacking to find the delivery driver standing in my open doorway again.
“Just inside the door is fine,” I tell him, watching him deposit the two boxes before turning and heading back down to get more.
I briefly wonder if I should help him, but then decide against it. He’s getting paid, and truthfully, I’m beyond exhausted after making countless trips myself.
I work on sifting through some of the boxes as he brings them up. There aren’t many, seven in total, most of which are old clothes my mom didn’t know if I’d want or not. I tried telling her to wait and I’d make the trip out to go through it all eventually. But she’s working on converting my old bedroom into a home gym, and I think she wanted it all out of her way.
Once the delivery driver is gone, I lock the door and pour myself a glass of wine, something I never drank before I traveled to Italy. Now, it’s one of my favorite things.
I sit on the floor, sipping my sweet red blend as I continue to empty boxes. When I come across a box that my mom shipped containing pictures and old notebooks, I take my time going through each one, smiling and laughing at some of the ridiculous photos of me and Lulu.
It makes me sad to think about how close we used to be and how far apart life has pulled us.
I set the photos aside and turn my focus to some of my old notebooks. I find recipes I created when I couldn’t have been older than twelve or thirteen, a few of which I set aside because they’re actually pretty good.
When I reach into the box and pull out another notebook, my stomach twists at the sight of the tattered blue cover. I’d recognize this notebook anywhere. The last time I saw it was the night Alec had it.The night he read the letter.
Flipping through the pages, I find it easily. There’s a picture of me and Alec marking the spot. I look at that picture for a long time. The dress Lulu bought me, Alec’s handsome smile. It all seemed so complicated at the time. If only I had known what would become of us. How much more complicated it would become.
Lifting my wine glass to my lips, I take a long drink as I re-read the words that I wrote all those years ago. Words that, as much as I hate to admit, still hold true to this very day. Words that had poured from my soul the night of the Spring Formal when I came home and cried over a boy for the very first time. Sadly, the tears I have shed over Alec Murray did not stop there.
I run the tip of my finger over the ink. If I close my eyes, I can almost picture I’m there again. The same lovesick, sixteen-year-old girl still resides inside of me—grasping to something she knows she can never have but is too afraid to let go of.
I lose myself to the memories. I let them take me under one by one as I think back to everything we’ve been through since the day I wrote this letter. I soak it in until I’m consumed by the past, and then I do the only thing left to do. I stand up, walk into the kitchen, and drop the notebook into the trash.
