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Whitney frowned. “Heart?” she asked.
“Broken,” I replied.
“Hug?”
“Yes.”
She held her arms open wide. I dragged my feet over to her and collapsed into her arms. Whitney didn’t ask me anything else. She didn’t question what went down when I went to see Milo. She didn’t inquire about our final words. Mainly because she knew none of that mattered. Nothing that went down between him and me would’ve changed a thing because two facts remained the truth: Milo left me, and I let him go.
Now, both of us had to pick up our own pieces.
Both of us had to learn how to live without each other.
It was an odd feeling—how one day, Milo was a stranger, and another, he was my everything.
I loved him, and he loved me. I didn’t question that at all.
Still, we had to let go.
I guessed the rumors were true. Love wasn’t enough to make something last forever. Sometimes life got in the way. Tomorrow, I’d pick myself up. Tomorrow, I’d try to exist in a world where he no longer belonged.
Yet tonight, I’d cry.
I showed up at the tattoo parlor without giving my father a heads-up. The moment I walked inside, the crew cheered excitedly to see me. Dad was in the middle of a session and couldn’t come out for another hour to meet me in the front lobby.
The second he saw me, though, he said, “What’s wrong?”
I stood from my chair and parted my lips to speak, but no words came out. I burst into uncontrollable tears. It only took a few moments for him to step forward and wrap me in his embrace.
“It’s okay, kiddo,” he whispered as he held me tight. “It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t okay. Nothing was all right. My whole life had turned upside down, and I had no idea how to get back on track. I’d fallen behind in school, lost my student teaching position, and lost Milo.
I had nothing.
I didn’t even know who I was anymore.
Mom would’ve been so ashamed of the woman I was becoming. So embarrassed by the choices I’d made that winter, which made my life come to a sudden crashing point.
Once I managed to calm myself down, Dad took me into his office and shut the door behind us. I sat down and told him everything. Every single piece of the story, not leaving one drop of information out of the equation.
I wasn’t even brave enough to look my father in the eyes as I told him everything. My stare was focused on the carpeting as a million words I’d never imagined I’d speak out loud to my dad came rolling off my tongue.
Once I finished, I sat back in the chair, feeling like a complete fool. I raised my head to find my father’s stare, and with one exhalation, he said, “Well, damn.”
“I messed up, Dad. I messed up everything. My whole life is ruined, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Let’s take a step back, kiddo.” He brushed his hand against his beard and narrowed his eyes. “You’re in love?”
What?
That was what he decided to focus on?
That was the piece of my messed-up story that he fixated on?
“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked.
“It has to do with everything, Star. You were dating that one boy for years, and you never mentioned love. It felt like you dated him just because you thought that was what you were supposed to do. You’ve always done what you thought you were supposed to do until now.”
“Yeah, I know. And look at what I’ve become.”
“Yeah. Something beautiful.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, annoyed and confused by his reaction. “Why aren’t you yelling at me? Why aren’t you cursing me out and telling me I need to do better and that I ruined my life, and that I made terrible choices? Tell me how much I suck, Dad.”
“But you don’t. If anything, I should scold you for not screwing up more.” He chuckled.
“Dad.”
“I’m serious. You’re hardly in your twenties, Star. Do you know what your twenties are for?”
“What?”
“They are made for fuckups and mistakes. That’s the best part of your twenties—the missteps. Then in your thirties, you somewhat discover who you are until your midthirties when you rediscover yourself because, well, the early thirties are a bit odd. By your forties, you only have like ten more fucks to give about anything, which is kind of cool. Then there are your fifties. And let me tell you, I love it here because, well, fuck it all. Do you understand?”
I knitted my eyebrows together. “I think so?”
He smiled and patted my shoulder. “Sweetheart, what I’m saying is, you’re not even a third of your way through your fuckups. Embrace it. Besides, you’re in love, so that’s a win.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s love, Starlet. And from the sounds of it, it’s real love with this one. Which means it’s not supposed to make sense. Real love is messy and hard, and it takes a lot of ups and downs to make it work.”
