Only Love
Page 43
She moved closer and put her arm around me. She smelled like she always did—like gardenias. “You know, Gramps was a lot like Mr. Woods.”
I sniffed. “No, he wasn’t. Gramps was outgoing and charming and talkative. Always in a good mood. Always joking.”
Grams laughed. “Well, that was later, dear. When I first knew him, when he was young, he was sort of gruff and quiet. I used to try to get him to talk all the time, and he’d get so frustrated. He broke up with me constantly.”
“He did? But I thought you two were always so happy.”
“Oh, we were! He never could stay away, and I knew it. So when he’d break it off, I’d say ‘okay’ and hop out of his car like it didn’t matter to me at all. He’d show up on my doorstep soon enough with his tail between his legs. I just had to be patient.”
“Ryan doesn’t feel that way about me, like he can’t stay away.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Grams said with a shrug. “If I was a betting man, I’d say he does, but he also seems stubborn as the day is long.”
I nodded. “He is.”
“And he’s hurting right now. Emme told me about his friend.”
“I didn’t know about that,” I said helplessly, “or I wouldn’t have accosted him like I did.”
“Well, he’s proud. Probably didn’t want you to see him upset. But military men take it hard when they lose one of their own. It’s like losing a brother.”
I nodded sadly.
“So you might have to wait a little longer for him to see things clearly. Maybe you could stay through the week? My … my left foot is really bothering me today. Why, I could hardly get up these stairs. I might need you to drive me to the podiatrist, so—”
“It’s no use, Grams. I’m not staying.”
She sighed, deflating visibly. “I understand, dear. If you change your mind and want to try again, I’m always here, and you’re always welcome.”
I wasn’t going to change my mind, but I thanked her anyway.
She gave me a kiss on the head and stood up. “You know, when your grandfather was overseas, I used to write him letters, and he always said it was my letters that really won his heart. Maybe you could leave a little note for Mr. Woods—just something to remember you by, that’s all.”
“There’s no point, Grams.”
“Even if it’s simply a letter of condolence about his friend. He’s probably feeling pretty down. Imagine if he comes home late tonight, all by himself in that big empty house, but he has a note waiting for him. Something to remind him he’s not alone.”
“He likes being alone.”
“Do you still believe that?”
I wasn’t sure what I believed anymore. Everything in my head was all jumbled up.
“You give it some thought.” She patted my shoulder. “Goodnight, dear.”
“Night.”
She made it as far as the doorway before turning around. “Now don’t take this the wrong way, but if you do decide to write him a letter, it wouldn’t hurt to maybe put on some lipstick and leave a kiss mark on it. Maybe spritz it with a little perfume?”
“Goodnight, Grams,” I said firmly.
“Okay, okay. I’m done. Goodnight.”
I was awake most of the night.
I kept thinking about conversations Ryan and I’d had, remembering things he’d said. The way he trusted me. The way we kissed. Had I missed something? Had I grown so obsessed with my own feelings I’d lost the ability to read him?
Or was Emme right? Had tonight been more about fear than anything else? Was he protecting himself from feeling too deeply? After all, he’d gone to war to escape the grief he felt over losing his mother, and war had taught him to survive by killing his feelings. Had the death of his friend put him back into survival mode?
I understood his need to protect himself. Hadn’t I done the same thing? Hadn’t I made safe choices, dating only men who didn’t excite me or challenge me? And wasn’t all of it to protect myself from being rejected? From feeling like I wasn’t enough?
Ryan was really the first unsafe choice I’d ever made. I wondered if I’d do things differently, if I could do them over again. My gut reaction was yes, because this entire thing was a painful mistake and I hate myself for getting involved with him. Good sex isn’t worth it.
But there was more to it. Ryan had taught me things about myself, both physically and emotionally. He’d opened something up in me. He’d shown me a different side of myself, a side I was no longer afraid of. For that, I was grateful. And I’d do it all again.
Because love was always a chance worth taking.
Without thinking twice, I got out of bed and tiptoed down the stairs. In the living room was a piece of furniture Grams called her “secretary,” where she kept stationery, envelopes, and pens. When my sisters and I were young, we used to love unlocking it, unfolding the desktop, and pretending to write letters.
A wave of nostalgia hit me as I went through the motions now and composed a letter for real.
Dear Ryan,
I want to start by saying how deeply sorry I was to hear about the loss of your friend. And I want to apologize for making tonight about me when it shouldn’t have been. I should not have come at you like that, asking difficult questions and making demands.
But I am new to this. I’ve never fallen for anyone the way I fell for you. The whirlwind of it caught me off guard.
I won’t deny that I’m heartbroken. Your words outside the restaurant, true or not, hurt me.
But I want to thank you for showing me what true passion feels like. For pushing my boundaries. For getting me to take a risk and follow my heart. Because even though it didn’t lead me to happy ever after, it was a chance worth taking.
Love always is.
You might disagree—in fact, a few weeks ago, I might have disagreed. But in the short time we spent together, I’ve learned something.
The bravest thing you can do is trust another person, and let them see the real you.
I showed you the real me. I saw the real you. And I am a stronger person for it.
You are a good man, Ryan. I will always believe that. And I’ll never stop wondering what might have been.
Love,
Stella
P.S. There is a bourbon pecan pie with your name on it in Grams’s fridge.
I put the letter in an envelope, sealed it, and carefully let myself out the front door. Leaving it slightly ajar so I could get back in, I shivered through the chilly, rain-damp darkness across the lawn in my bare feet.
Ryan’s mailbox was at the foot of the driveway, and I quickly stuck the letter in before I lost my nerve, and hurried back into the house.
Upstairs, I dried my feet off and got back into bed. I felt a little better. Stronger. Braver. Tomorrow when I left, I might be sad, but at least I wouldn’t feel like a coward.
Still, I shed a few more tears before going to sleep, longing for his arms around me.
Thirty
Ryan
I went back into the bar, feeling like a cold, wet dog. Miserable and angry, I plunked myself down next to Mack and ordered another beer.
“What happened?” he asked.
“What had to happen.” My jaw was clenched tight.
“You broke it off?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t say anything right away, just sipped his beer and ate his tacos. After a minute or two, the silence drove me crazy.
“What?” I demanded. “Just say it. I can tell you’re thinking something.”
“Okay. I think you’re making a mistake.”
“Well, you’re wrong.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But I do think you let your grief over Bones get in the way of whatever you felt for her. I think you’re pushing her away because you think somehow it will ease the pain.”
“It will,” I insisted.
“Even if it does, is it worth it? Are you going to live the rest of your life numb like that? Never feeling any pain, but never any joy either? Never letting yourself love someone? We should be dead, Woods. I get it. But we’re not. Stop acting like it.”
“Fuck off,” I said angrily, ignoring the fact that I’d asked him to speak his mind.
I sniffed. “No, he wasn’t. Gramps was outgoing and charming and talkative. Always in a good mood. Always joking.”
Grams laughed. “Well, that was later, dear. When I first knew him, when he was young, he was sort of gruff and quiet. I used to try to get him to talk all the time, and he’d get so frustrated. He broke up with me constantly.”
“He did? But I thought you two were always so happy.”
“Oh, we were! He never could stay away, and I knew it. So when he’d break it off, I’d say ‘okay’ and hop out of his car like it didn’t matter to me at all. He’d show up on my doorstep soon enough with his tail between his legs. I just had to be patient.”
“Ryan doesn’t feel that way about me, like he can’t stay away.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Grams said with a shrug. “If I was a betting man, I’d say he does, but he also seems stubborn as the day is long.”
I nodded. “He is.”
“And he’s hurting right now. Emme told me about his friend.”
“I didn’t know about that,” I said helplessly, “or I wouldn’t have accosted him like I did.”
“Well, he’s proud. Probably didn’t want you to see him upset. But military men take it hard when they lose one of their own. It’s like losing a brother.”
I nodded sadly.
“So you might have to wait a little longer for him to see things clearly. Maybe you could stay through the week? My … my left foot is really bothering me today. Why, I could hardly get up these stairs. I might need you to drive me to the podiatrist, so—”
“It’s no use, Grams. I’m not staying.”
She sighed, deflating visibly. “I understand, dear. If you change your mind and want to try again, I’m always here, and you’re always welcome.”
I wasn’t going to change my mind, but I thanked her anyway.
She gave me a kiss on the head and stood up. “You know, when your grandfather was overseas, I used to write him letters, and he always said it was my letters that really won his heart. Maybe you could leave a little note for Mr. Woods—just something to remember you by, that’s all.”
“There’s no point, Grams.”
“Even if it’s simply a letter of condolence about his friend. He’s probably feeling pretty down. Imagine if he comes home late tonight, all by himself in that big empty house, but he has a note waiting for him. Something to remind him he’s not alone.”
“He likes being alone.”
“Do you still believe that?”
I wasn’t sure what I believed anymore. Everything in my head was all jumbled up.
“You give it some thought.” She patted my shoulder. “Goodnight, dear.”
“Night.”
She made it as far as the doorway before turning around. “Now don’t take this the wrong way, but if you do decide to write him a letter, it wouldn’t hurt to maybe put on some lipstick and leave a kiss mark on it. Maybe spritz it with a little perfume?”
“Goodnight, Grams,” I said firmly.
“Okay, okay. I’m done. Goodnight.”
I was awake most of the night.
I kept thinking about conversations Ryan and I’d had, remembering things he’d said. The way he trusted me. The way we kissed. Had I missed something? Had I grown so obsessed with my own feelings I’d lost the ability to read him?
Or was Emme right? Had tonight been more about fear than anything else? Was he protecting himself from feeling too deeply? After all, he’d gone to war to escape the grief he felt over losing his mother, and war had taught him to survive by killing his feelings. Had the death of his friend put him back into survival mode?
I understood his need to protect himself. Hadn’t I done the same thing? Hadn’t I made safe choices, dating only men who didn’t excite me or challenge me? And wasn’t all of it to protect myself from being rejected? From feeling like I wasn’t enough?
Ryan was really the first unsafe choice I’d ever made. I wondered if I’d do things differently, if I could do them over again. My gut reaction was yes, because this entire thing was a painful mistake and I hate myself for getting involved with him. Good sex isn’t worth it.
But there was more to it. Ryan had taught me things about myself, both physically and emotionally. He’d opened something up in me. He’d shown me a different side of myself, a side I was no longer afraid of. For that, I was grateful. And I’d do it all again.
Because love was always a chance worth taking.
Without thinking twice, I got out of bed and tiptoed down the stairs. In the living room was a piece of furniture Grams called her “secretary,” where she kept stationery, envelopes, and pens. When my sisters and I were young, we used to love unlocking it, unfolding the desktop, and pretending to write letters.
A wave of nostalgia hit me as I went through the motions now and composed a letter for real.
Dear Ryan,
I want to start by saying how deeply sorry I was to hear about the loss of your friend. And I want to apologize for making tonight about me when it shouldn’t have been. I should not have come at you like that, asking difficult questions and making demands.
But I am new to this. I’ve never fallen for anyone the way I fell for you. The whirlwind of it caught me off guard.
I won’t deny that I’m heartbroken. Your words outside the restaurant, true or not, hurt me.
But I want to thank you for showing me what true passion feels like. For pushing my boundaries. For getting me to take a risk and follow my heart. Because even though it didn’t lead me to happy ever after, it was a chance worth taking.
Love always is.
You might disagree—in fact, a few weeks ago, I might have disagreed. But in the short time we spent together, I’ve learned something.
The bravest thing you can do is trust another person, and let them see the real you.
I showed you the real me. I saw the real you. And I am a stronger person for it.
You are a good man, Ryan. I will always believe that. And I’ll never stop wondering what might have been.
Love,
Stella
P.S. There is a bourbon pecan pie with your name on it in Grams’s fridge.
I put the letter in an envelope, sealed it, and carefully let myself out the front door. Leaving it slightly ajar so I could get back in, I shivered through the chilly, rain-damp darkness across the lawn in my bare feet.
Ryan’s mailbox was at the foot of the driveway, and I quickly stuck the letter in before I lost my nerve, and hurried back into the house.
Upstairs, I dried my feet off and got back into bed. I felt a little better. Stronger. Braver. Tomorrow when I left, I might be sad, but at least I wouldn’t feel like a coward.
Still, I shed a few more tears before going to sleep, longing for his arms around me.
Thirty
Ryan
I went back into the bar, feeling like a cold, wet dog. Miserable and angry, I plunked myself down next to Mack and ordered another beer.
“What happened?” he asked.
“What had to happen.” My jaw was clenched tight.
“You broke it off?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t say anything right away, just sipped his beer and ate his tacos. After a minute or two, the silence drove me crazy.
“What?” I demanded. “Just say it. I can tell you’re thinking something.”
“Okay. I think you’re making a mistake.”
“Well, you’re wrong.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But I do think you let your grief over Bones get in the way of whatever you felt for her. I think you’re pushing her away because you think somehow it will ease the pain.”
“It will,” I insisted.
“Even if it does, is it worth it? Are you going to live the rest of your life numb like that? Never feeling any pain, but never any joy either? Never letting yourself love someone? We should be dead, Woods. I get it. But we’re not. Stop acting like it.”
“Fuck off,” I said angrily, ignoring the fact that I’d asked him to speak his mind.
