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“I don’t know,” I answer.As quickly as it came, the anger disappears, leaving loss in its wake.I want to know what he wrote to me, but I’m also not ready.I’m not ready to read the last words I’ll ever get from the man who was my best friend most of my life.The man who stood by my side during some of the darkest days of my life.
I move toward the couch, needing to sit down before my legs give out from the weight of everything.Robbie’s not the first person I’ve lost, but his death has lingered and weighed on me longer than anyone else.
“Do you believe in soulmates?”I ask Jo, my gaze still locked on the envelope I’m holding in my hands.
She sits down next to me, a small gap between our bodies, but close enough I feel the heat of her body, and the familiar ache of wanting her returns.
“I don’t know,” she responds.
“I didn’t.I thought the idea was stupid when I was little.But then I met Robbie on the first day of kindergarten and we clicked instantly.It was like the universe designed him to be the perfect best friend for me.It—hemade me think maybe soulmates were a thing, but not necessarily romantic.More like someone who gets you, who’s a perfect puzzle piece fitting with yours.”
“That’s very poetic,” she says softly, bumping her shoulder with mine.
I shrug.“Sometimes I feel guilty for missing him more than my mom,” I confess.
“Sometimes I feel guilty for not being able to follow through on what he said he always wanted if one of us died.”
I turn my head to her, silently asking her to elaborate.
“We’d be curled up on this very couch, watching some TV show where a spouse died or something and he’d make a comment about how he’d want me to find love again.I’d always laugh it off because it seemed like such an impossibility.”She looks down at her wedding ring, fidgeting with it.“I don’t know why I thought it was so crazy.I mean no one lives forever.”She looks up, her gaze sweeping around the room.
“I hate that he’s planted a seed of doubt,” she whispers like she’s afraid to voice her thoughts.
“Doubt about what?”
Her gaze connects with mine.“About him.Did he have other secrets?What else did he keep from me?”She gestures to her letter still gripped in my hand with my own envelope.“He knew about his condition for months before he died, Tris.Heknewand he never said a word.I didn’t even know he’d gone to the doctor.Why wouldn’t he tell me?We told each other everything!Or at least I thought we did, but now…now I don’t know,” she says, dropping her gaze back to her lap.
“I don’t know why he didn’t tell you, but I know he loved you.He was right when he said you should never doubt that.”
She turns watery eyes back to me.“Thank you for being here tonight.”She huffs out a laugh.“I think this might be the most you’ve ever said to me at one time.”
“I’m not a big talker.”
“Says the lyricist of the band,” she says, bumping my shoulder again, but this time her shoulder rests against mine instead of pulling away.The gentle weight of her arm pressed against mine soothes my grief.
Sitting with her like this is both the best moment of my life—because it feels so good to be close to her, to know she’s comfortable next to me—and the worst because it gives me a small glimpse of what my life could be like if I’d only gotten to her first.Cuddling on the couch, sharing our thoughts and feelings.All the things I’ve never had with anyone else.
All the things I’ve always saved for her, even knowing she’d never be mine.
