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“Another round on me?” I asked my friends, and with jovial assent, the bracelet and its origins were quickly forgotten.
* * *
Jane and her “classmate”dropped me off in a taxi at our building after I reassured her at least five times that I was fine. She kept looking pointedly at my wrist and asking again, but I finally convinced her that maybe it would be better for me to read the stupid letter by myself this time. Half-soaked with cheap beer and tequila shots, I had a feeling the letter would make me cry—really ugly cry—and I preferred to do that sort of thing alone.
I plodded out of the elevator on our floor more than a little tipsy for the three more beers and two shots I’d enjoyed at the bar, and found myself disappointed yet again that Brandon wasn’t leaning against my door. It was strange to admit that for the last five weeks, I’d been hoping to find him stalking me. I’d checked every lamp post, every stupid doorway twice before leaving classroom buildings, T-stops, even the library. But he was never anywhere to be found. Only his letters.
“Phantom,” I muttered as I forced my keys into the lock.
Once inside, I immediately dug around the cupboards for the bottle of McCallan 18 I kept for special occasions and poured myself two fingers’ worth. This was the first piece of jewelry I’d ever accepted from a man, so it deserved a celebratory drink, right?
I brought the drink and the letter into my bedroom and made myself comfortable against my pillows. After taking a healthy sip of the scotch, I ripped open the envelope.
Dear Skylar,
Today is your last day of classes, and on Monday you’ll finish school. You’ll be studying for the bar (sorry about that), but essentially, you’re on the precipice. I remember that feeling. It’s exhilarating, a combination of the knowledge of your own accomplishments paired with the thrill of moving on to the next chapter, the next dream of your life.
When I graduated law school, my dreams were all business. I dreamed of building a legacy to which I could attach my name. I dreamed of my own building, my own staff, my own investments. I had a new kind of freedom I’d never had before—the power to be my own voice. But by that point I was already married to a woman I didn’t love—couldn’t love––and then we found out we would not be able to have the family we thought we wanted. Eventually, my dreams were only in the head, not the heart.
Then I met you, and my heart started to beat again. I could imagine a different kind of future. I saw us together, married, maybe raising a family or traveling the world. Pursuing our careers and coming home to each other. Growing old together.
It’s been over a month. I thought at first that time would make my heart disappear again. Instead, being without you has only made me understand just how much you changed me. Now I understand how much I am truly capable of loving. I still dream that you might let me love you again. For now, I’m content to wait.
This will be the last letter. You deserve to pursue your dreams on your own without being chased. But should you ever want to share those dreams with me again, Red, I’ll be here. Because my heart doesn’t exist without you.
Do you love me yet, Red?
I’ll wait. Because I’llalwayslove you.
B
I stared at the letter through tear-glossed eyes, afraid to move for fear it would unleash a tidal explosion of weeping.
“Damn,” I whispered. “Oh,damn.”
With a final gulp of the rest of my scotch, I pushed myself up and stumbled back to the kitchen. Almost violently, I dug through my bag for my phone. Once I found it, I quickly scrolled to Brandon’s contact and pressed dial before I could talk myself out of it.
His deep voice answered on the second ring.
“Skylar?”
I tried not to thrill at the obvious excitement in his voice, but it was useless. The kitchen light caught on my new bracelet, and my heart quaked at the words I knew were inscribed next to my wrist.
“Hey,” I said softly into the phone. “I…ah…” Suddenly I had no idea what to say. “I got your present.”
“Oh.” His voice, though deep, was also soft and tentative. “Did you open it?”
I nodded before I could remember through my whiskey-fog that he couldn’t see me.
“Yes,” I said. “It’s…well, I’m wearing it. It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“It was made by a friend of Susan’s,” Brandon said. “She’s a local silversmith. I gave her a loan a while back to help her start a business.”
Why did I break this off again? I walked over to the freezer and removed a bag of peas, holding it against my forehead in hopes of shocking myself awake with the cold. It didn’t work.
“Well, it’s beautiful,” I said again. “I love it.”
“Well, I love you, so that’s fitting.”
