I wish I could say that I was back in Nick’s house and in his life after twenty-four hours. I wish I could say we were back in each other’s arms within a week and that he proposed to me a month after.
I wish I didn’t leave, and my life would have been a complete bliss. Nick would have taken care of me and we would have lived a simple but happy life. That would have been how I wanted my story with Nick to end.
But life wasn’t always that simple, and it certainly was never easy. And just when you thought you got it all figured out, life throws you out of balance again.
Two months. Twenty-eight days. Fourteen hours. Twenty-five minutes.
That was how long it had been since I left Nick’s house. That was how long since I last saw him, since I last had a conversation with him.
He calls. Every day. Sometimes more than once a day. He also sends me text messages at least three times a day: to say good morning, to remind me about lunch, and then to say good night.
He writes, too. The longhand love letters. I get them at least once a week, along with trinkets, or flowers.
I still vividly remembered the first letter he wrote me:
It’s been seven days. Seven days of mind-numbing pain.
I told myself that I would get through this. After all, I did this to us. It was my fault.
I thought of different ways this could have turned out. And every other possible outcome was a lot better than where we are now.
Now that I had plenty of time to process it, I decided that I wasn’t really sorry I accepted your father’s proposal in the first place. Because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have met you. As I didn’t frequent bars on my own, I didn’t think I would have seen you any time sooner at Rhythemes. If I did, I would no doubt fall for you the minute I saw you perform on stage. But I was not sure I would have the guts to go after you. You were a rockstar. And you hated men except for Brett. I would be very hesitant to even try a move on you. The deal with your father was probably the best chance I had to meet you, because then I have a reason to get close to you.
These last months were a dream. It was amazing—beyond what I thought I deserve. You were beyond what I deserved. But I had you anyway. Those were the best days of my life. And I would do anything to get it back where it used to be.
I know you love me. I believe that you do. I will hold on to that. At the moment, that’s my greatest ace. I just hope I play my cards right this time.
Nobody seems to write longhand love letters anymore, so maybe we can start this tradition again. I’m going to write to you, every week for the rest of my life. Doesn’t matter whether you come home or not. Better if you do. But whatever you decide, I will be patiently waiting for you.
I love you, kitten. Hurry home.
True to his word, he wrote to me again the following week. It was the day after my graduation. I remembered him being every bit proud to tell people that I was graduating with honors. I always thought he’d be there with me on my graduation day; he wasn’t. I thought I would be very happy this day; I wasn’t.
His letter came with a bangle, the type you attach charms on to remember the special events in your life. The bangle was in gold and white gold combination, complete with chains to ensure I wouldn’t lose it. There were already three charms on it. One was a graduation cap. Another was studded letter ‘N,’ no doubt to represent him. The other one was a gold round charm with the words “Kiss the Cook” engraved on it. I knew why he added that. He was reminding me to pursue culinary school now that I’ve graduated.
The bangle was beautiful and I planned to fill it with charms representing my adventures. But it was his letter that touched my heart.
Kitten,
You were wonderful today and I felt so proud of you. You deserve that medal for all the hard work you have done.
In the ideal world, I was there beside you. When you came up the stage, I cheered the loudest. I shouted, “Yeah, that’s my girlfriend!” and everybody stared at me. You shushed me. But I didn’t care. I was proud. My hot girlfriend was super smart, and I was the luckiest guy on earth.
But we weren’t in the ideal world. In reality, I stood under a tree, far away. Not too close that you would see me, but not too far that I couldn’t see you. When you received your medal, I smiled. I couldn’t cheer loudly. I could only pray that you come home to me.
I love you. Hurry home.
After reading that letter, I bawled.
Once in a while, I would play at Rhythemes with Brett. I did the gigs for free. Playing drums made me forget about my broken heart.
“Shit! The wall’s been vandalized again!” Brett said one night while we were driving back home from Rhythemes.
“What?”
It took me a moment to realize that we have passed by the beach road. I noticed the white wall. A portion wasn’t pristine anymore. I looked closely at the street graffiti. It was nicely done, I must admit. Took me a moment to read the words written in the art: Come home. Then a heart after the two words.
I bit my lip to keep from crying, but there was only so much I could do to stop the tears from sliding down my cheeks. And Brett was quick to notice.
“I didn’t know you were so connected to that boring old wall,” he teased. “If you ask me, it’s a lot better looking now. They should fill the whole row with street art. Like what Nick did a few —oh!” He suddenly realized who had done it the second time around.
I wanted to run to Nick then. Thoughts of how he plotted against my father were slowly being replaced by memories of what a sweet guy he was, and I found myself looking forward more and more to his love letters.
I will write to you every week for the rest of my life.
If there was one person who could keep a promise like that, I have no doubt it would be him.
And just when it was getting easier each day to forgive him and forget his association with my father, fate intervened in a different way.
I was at home, reading Nick’s latest letter. It came from London, which meant he was home with his family. But he never forgot to write me, like he promised. One letter a week until I come back home. He sent me a charm with the letter. It was the UK flag.
To remember the time my family became your fan, he said on the note.
My phone rang.
“Hey, Uncle, what’s up?”
There was silence on the other end of the line. Then I heard a deep intake of breath and my uncle said, “Mackenzie, Brett is going to pick you up. Something terrible has happened.”