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“Wow. How did I miss this?”
“I mean, it’s not that hard. Winter clothes. Thick curly hair. Secretive friend.”
“You’re still in love with him, though—Jake.”
“I don’t know, maybe.” Probably. But it hurts to think about.
“You are, Ruby. What I just read is dripping in it, and Olivia said he still asks about you. Maybe I was wrong; maybe you should call him.”
“I can’t do that, Evie. I won’t do it, either, not after what I did to him. Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s seeing someone else already. He’s moved on.” If his Facebook was any indicator, that is. It had been a decent indicator in the past.
Her eyes go wide and she gasps, but not at the idea of Jake dating someone else already, because I know this look. It’s the one she gets when she has an idea, and it probably isn’t going to be a good one—not for me anyway. “You should send this to him!”
“No way.”
“Yes, you should absolutely send this to him. At the very least, so that he knows the entire story. It could bring you a sense of closure. I know you’re still looking for it.”
She isn’t wrong. I do long for closure. Sometimes, when I'm lying in bed at night, I go over it in my head. I imagine the conversation that we would have and the explanations that I would give for my actions. In the end, we don’t get back together, but at least the last time we’re together—when we part ways for good—it’s civil. It isn’t like it was that day in the rain. It doesn’t feel like I’m dying.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay? Do you mean wecansend this to Jake?”
“I’m sure I’ll live to agonize over it, but yeah. Let’s send it to Jake.” I grab the pile of papers and slide it back over in front of me. At the top of the front page, I write,‘I don’t expect anything, I just wanted you to know,’and sign my name. I slide the papers back into the envelope and write his name and address on the front.
“I have stamps in my purse,” Evie says.
“Are you serious? I don’t even know what a stamp looks like anymore. How many do I use?”
“I have no fucking idea,” she replies. “Let’s just stick them all on there and hope for the best.”
“Great,” I tell her. Maybe he won’t even get it.
We laugh as we put what is most likely an exuberant number of stamps onto the envelope. I wonder what he will think when he sees it. I’m sure Jake has a better concept of how many stamps should be used in situations like these than I do.
“Ruby, look! It’s kismet,” she says, pointing out the window. At first, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking at, and then I see one of those blue postal drop boxes across the street. We pay our bill, gather our things, and make our way across the street.
Once in front of the box, I hesitate. What if all I’m doing is disturbing his peace? “I don’t think I can do this, Evie. Maybe if he’s meant to see it, he will read it in theSounds.”
“Oh, please. Jake doesn’t read theSounds, Ruby,” she says, and takes the envelope from my hands and drops it in before I can react. My jaw drops. There’s no going back now, I guess. What’s done is done.
“Whoops. You’ll thank me for that,” she tells me.
I hope she’s right.
twenty
Three Months Later
Iwakeupwiththe morning sun, clear-headed and well-rested. It’s a new thing I’ve been trying for a while now. I’ve tried a lot of new things on my journey to healing and feigning wholeness. Some have stuck, like not waking up with a hangover every day. Others, like running, have not. I did find a gym I like, and I’m surprised at how much I enjoy it. It’s one of those small places where you have your own FOB and it’s always open. It’s good for those of us who work odd hours—the bartenders and writers of the world. I happen to be both.
I tried some other things, too. I tried Prozac. That’s one that stuck. I went out with Jordan a few times, but in the end, there wasn’t really anything there. He reminded me of Jake, but in all the ways that didn’t really count. There wasn’t any sustenance, and that’s something that I know I need now.
I didn’t end up having to testify against Alex in court, which was a huge relief. He decided to take a plea deal, got two years of house arrest, and is staying with his family in Sammamish. Is that fair? I’m not really sure. Maybe I still have a soft spot for him. Cori didn’t seem to think so, and neither did my readers.
My article ended up getting a lot of attention, and so, too, would have Alex’s case if it had gone to court. It’s why he took the deal. I’m relieved not to have been part of the circus, even though it may have been the right thing. Pouring out my ugliness and putting it on display for all to see did have some other unforeseen effects beyond the plea deal and the catharsis. It turned out I was downright likable, relatable even. I was hired on to write regularly about my experience with healing from childhood trauma and therapy.
And itwascathartic. I lied to myself a lot. I lied that I was okay and I lied about what people were like and what I needed to do to keep myself safe. The biggest lie of all was that I deserved my own punishment and my self-inflicted pain. I never did. I deserved to feel loved. I deserved to have people I can rely on. I deserved to wake up in the morning and feel more than just okay. But also, the people that I love deserve a better version of me.
