Page 125 of Made for You

I miss Josh.

Damn it, I miss him.

I’m mad at him and I miss him, and I have the feeling I’ll live the rest of my life holding those two things, along with the strong pull of what-if. Could we have worked it out? Was it just going to be those two times, or would there have been more? Was he strong enough to overcome that challenge? Was I? And would I really have killed him if there had been a third time?

No. The coding might have tugged at me, but I know myself. My love would have been stronger.

Annaleigh pulls off to give me a big, gummy smile.

“I’m glad we’re back together, too,” I say.

We switch sides. She gets drowsy. I guess it’s her bedtime, though I don’t want it to be, not yet.

When I lay her in her crib, she goes into her favorite position on her side, one leg draped over the other, hand fisted in her blankie. I stand there for a long time, holding a palm over my heart, because it feels like my love is going to jump out of my chest.

I wonder what the future holds, now that it’s just us.

I also wonder if Annaleigh will have any inkling of what’s going on, whenever we do the memorial for Josh. Maybe the Proposal crew can film it. It’s weird to want the cameras right now, but somehow, I do. A definite conclusion to our love story. Something Annaleigh can look back on as an adult, to see her father held up as someone well regarded and well loved. Maybe Cam can give the eulogy. I’ll text her tonight.

And after we close the chapter that was Josh, and our too-brief love story? A dozen different futures run through my head as I look at my daughter’s sleeping form.

I could finally leave Indiana.

Escape from the haters and graffiti artists, not to mention Mitchell.

I could sell this house and move literally anywhere else in the country. Christi has been texting me real estate links all day. We could be neighbors!!

I could get a job, try to have a career. Move to Texas, go out on weekends with Cam and her wild crew.

The sad thing is, none of these options actually seem appealing.

What I actually want is what Josh wanted. Those acres. Trees and chickens and the simple, spacious life on the property he chose, the place he dreamed of for us.

I lean down and kiss my baby’s warm cheek, letting my worries float away in the delight of this sensation, this heaven that is my lips on her skin. She sighs and turns onto her back. Her face is rosy. Her eyelashes sweep her cheeks.

“I love you,” I whisper.

And my love for her, more than anything, is who I am.

TWO MONTHS LATER

A FedEx package shows up, and I sign for it, Captain panting happily by my side.

It’s July, full-blown summer, the new house will soon be under construction with money from Making Julia, the flowers are in bloom, and I’m taking Annaleigh outside more and more. She doesn’t like to touch grass. When I dangle her over it, her tiny legs withdraw like a frightened froggy and it’s so adorable, I nearly die every time. But she does love eating outside on the back patio, where I spread a picnic blanket and feed her bananas, her new favorite thing.

Sometimes Bob comes over when we’re out back and brings his specialty—tuna salad sandwiches. They’re surprisingly good. Captain whines at him, like he remembers that really good dog food Bob brought us that one time. I keep telling Captain, “He’s all out of the good stuff, bud! You’ll just have to make do with your normal food!” and Bob always laughs like my dog’s taste in food is the funniest thing ever.

Bob has also promised to install a sandpit for Annaleigh on the new property.

“Kids love dirt,” he keeps saying. “Gotta give ’em dirt.”

“Maybe in another year or two,” I say, because sandpit means sand in her hair and sand in her diaper and...that seems like a good next-year problem.

I scan the return address on the FedEx package as I go back inside. WekTech, Los Angeles. My heart starts racing.

I slit open the top in the foyer. A scrawled note in blue ink is paper-clipped to a stack of papers.

Dear Julia,

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