Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“You walked in on me stuffing my face with Cheetos and watching reality TV and I just told you I’m going to have an IVF baby with a man who literally hates me,” I say. “It’s a fair to say I’m not exactly living my best life.”
Oliver pops up from the sofa, sliding his phone in his khaki shorts pocket and resting his hands on his hips like a man on a mission.
“I’m fixing this,” he announces.
“Please don’t. Truly. It’s not your problem to fix.”
“Then at least let me say something to him. Wouldn’t kill him for his old uncle to remind him what a fucking moron he’s being.”
The last thing I want to do is cause any hard feelings between them.
Before I can protest, he’s gone.
28
Slade
I tap the envelope against the top of my dresser.
It’s Wednesday night, we’ve been home for three days now, and I’m finally unpacking my suitcase from last week. The morning of the wedding, Oliver handed me an envelope. The handwriting on the front was instantly recognizable.
“You don’t have to read it today,” he told me. “But Delia asked me to give this to you in the event that she wasn’t able to make it to your wedding.”
My chest was on fire as I held that letter from the woman whose loss I was still deeply grieving, but I swallowed the burn until I could no longer feel an ounce of it, and then I stuffed the note in the back of my suitcase.
While it’s been out of sight, it hasn’t been forgotten.
Taking a seat on the edge of my bed, I rest my elbows on my knees and run my fingertips along my mother’s distinct cursive handwriting. Gathering a long, hard breath that balloons in my chest, I tear the paper and unfold the note inside.
To my beloved son on his wedding day—
What I wouldn’t give to be with you today.
It feels like only yesterday that I held you in my arms for the first time, heard your cries, and felt your heart beat against mine. I’d say I loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you, but the truth is, I loved you from the moment you were a glimmer of hope in my heart.
I remember the day you took your first steps at Nana and Papa’s, how you held onto my fingers until you were confident enough to let go, and once you did, you were off and running so fast we could hardly catch you. Now you’re about to take a monumental step into a new chapter of your life and while I wish I could be there to hold your hand (hypothetically speaking of course, I know you’re a grown man), know that I’m with you in spirit.
I know that your heart carries a weight today.
Change is never easy.
Loss is never painless.
I worry that you’re withholding your true feelings from Campbell because you’re afraid to love her and lose her. (Yes, Slade, I knew the whole time how you really felt about her … a mother always knows).
My one request for you, my dear son, is that you give her a chance.
That’s all I’m asking.
It may not happen at the snap of your fingers, and that’s okay.
Much like daffodils don’t bloom overnight, neither does love.
But I promise you, Slade, if you give that beautiful, kindhearted woman a chance, there will come a day when you’ll wake up and realize the person beside you has become your entire world, and that realization will be the most splendid feeling you could ever dream of.
It’s indescribable, truly.
It’s something that can only be felt.
This cannot happen, however, with a guarded heart, and the idea of you never experiencing this breaks my soul in two.
Loving and losing is one of life’s most challenging absolutes, but there is never reward without risk. A Delacorte, of all people, should understand that.
Your entire life, you’ve done everything I’ve ever asked of you, so now, I’m asking for one final favor: give Campbell a chance.
Remember, I will always be with you.
True love never dies.
And love is a journey that isn’t always easy, but is always worth it.
All of my love—
Mom
I fold the letter, slide it back into the envelope, and tuck it into my nightstand drawer, taking a moment to process her words. I was so hell bent on making her believe that I was happy that we missed the opportunity to have this conversation in person.
I was only trying to do the right thing.
The other side of the bed is cold and undisturbed. All Campbell has ever wanted was to try to make this work, and I’ve pushed her away so much that she won’t so much as breathe the same air as me.
Sinking back, I drag my hand through my hair, exhale, and do the unthinkable.