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Love is the brightest star. But loss is the greatest fall.
I roll over, feeling the swell in my eyes and the ache in my cheeks. I prop myself up in this bed and look at my uncle. “Were you different before Cindy died?”
He thinks for a minute. “Sure. But I’m still me. Just a few new scars. Proof that I was here for all of it.”
“But was it worth it? It had to hurt so much.”
His face softens, and he takes my hand in both of his. “You’re asking if I’d give up our laughter, our stories, our late-night trips to the store whenever Cindy decided she wanted to bake something new,our love,for relief from the pain I feel now? The pain of her being gone?”
I nod, feeling the ache in my throat from so much hurt, so much crying.
“If my scars were tattoos, everyone would read her name. And I’d wear them proudly. You’ve loved and lost. But your story isn’t over. Neither is mine.”
I listen. I absorb. And I think about bike riding, butterflies, and kisses.
“Levi has his own scars, Meredith. He may not be completely lost. He may just need time. Or he may never come back. The hardest part about love is that there are two authors to the story. And sometimes they won’t want to follow the same path. But the most beautiful thing about love is that, again, two authors are writing the story and sometimes they’ll show the other what they never even knew could exist or be.”
“So, what do I do now?”
“You keep going. What’s next?”
I lick my lips and clear my throat, thinking. Not about Levi, not about my crushed heart or what his scars might be—all the things I can’t control.
I think about me. About my list.
What’s next?
“There’s this townhome, on Abbey Road. It’s for rent.”
“Very nice,” he says, but I wonder if he’ll miss me when I’m gone. If he’ll be lonely without me.
“Do you think it’s too early to be thinking about that?”
“Meredith, you are twenty-three years old. I’m not going to tell you where to live.”
I cross my arms and give a small smile. “Right.”
“Besides, Abbey’s only a two-minute drive from here.”
“I’ll miss you too, Bob.” I sit up and scoop my arms around his back, pulling him in for a hug.
But we don’t go see the townhome—not that day and not the next.
My head pounds, my nose is swollen, and every inch of my body aches. And while my heart still hurts, I’m pretty sure it’s more than heartbreak that’s causing me to stay in bed. I think I’ve caught little Alice’s cold.
I watch movies for two days straight, and I am so horribly reminded of my years of movies, years of being home, years of being confined to one place. Years alone. So much, that while my heart breaks, I plan to take that house on Abbey Road—without ever having stepped inside of it, and to ride my bike all summer long. I am going to live.And maybe I’ll be living with a broken heart, but I hope that like my head, it will one day heal. Even if I’m left with scars. More proof that I’ve lived.
On day three, I don’t feel like death. It’s a huge improvement. I sit on my bed, back to the wall, and plug in my phone. I wait for it to come to life, then pick up the cell that I’ve left neglected and dead for three days.
I have six messages from Levi and a DM from Coco.
Maybe I’m hitting the self-destruct button, but I can’t leave them unread. He waited until the morning after our fight to text.
Levi:Can we talk?
And then in the afternoon…
Levi:Please.
