Page 127 of Daydream

I finished a book.

I finished a freaking book, and I did something for myself.

I learned a lot in the process, and in the end, it wasn’t about the knowledge I learned from the experiences I was given by Henry. The most important thing that this whole project has taught me is that putting myself first doesn’t mean that I have to do it alone. Having people to help and cheer me on while I did this thing for myself is what made it actually enjoyable in the end.

Even if I don’t win and I don’t get to go to New York this summer, writing the book has given me more than I ever imagined it could anyway.

Lunch runs over, leaving me rushing to get back home to grab my bags in time for my scheduled Uber. The drive past Maple Avenue makes my heart ache; Henry’s texts became less frequent as February passed, and I haven’t heard from him since he texted me saying that he was working on fixing everything and he missed me.

I told him there was no pressure to keep me updated, so it was hard to battle mentally expecting no updates but also wanting them so, so much.

I’m happy he’s fixing things, and I want him to feel better. I can’t pretend it didn’t sting to see him posted in pictures out for dinner with Nate and his other friends. The stunningly beautiful girl beside him in the picture made my stomach drop because I didn’t recognize her, but Aurora immediately reassured me that she’s Nate’s younger sister.

Jealousy is a weird new emotion for me, especially because of the guilt it brought. I laughed in the end, because it resulted in my friends telling me all the times they’ve been jealous and unhinged. Cami was the clear winner, and after one story where everyone just stared in disbelief, she decided that she might be toxic.

In reality, I see how Henry spending time with his friends would be good for his well-being. In the alternative reality, the place where I get everything I want, Henry is with me.

I promised the girls I wasn’t going to think about him or us while I was away, and I’d deal with my feelings when I’m home. But it’s theknowledge that I need to not think about it that’s making me hallucinate that Henry’s sitting on my porch as I pull into my driveway.

Shutting off my engine, I stare. The hallucination holds up a hand, mouthing hi. It moves toward my car until it’s beside my door. The door opens, and the hallucination talks.

“Are you having a moment? Why are you staring at me like that?” I poke it in the stomach, and I’m met with the same hard surface I’ve touched so many times. “Ow, Halle. Are you going to get out of your car?”

I’ve spent the past month wondering how I’ll react when Henry finally shows back up in my life. I flipped between elation and anger, depending on where I was in my menstrual cycle. I wasn’t expecting to feel so… guarded?

He crouches down beside me, hand shielding his eyes to block out the LA sunshine. “You’re not a hallucination. You changed your hair. And you have a beard. You look different.”

Henry’s auburn curls are braided into cornrows. He nods, running his hand over the crown of his head. “Lower maintenance. It isn’t a beard; I just haven’t shaved this week. Can we go inside, or do you want to sit in your car forever?”

“I don’t have a lot of time to talk because my ride to the airport is coming soon.”

“I want any time you have,” he says softly.

Joy clearly doesn’t have the same weird, unsettled apprehension I have, because she makes a beeline for him like he’s catnip. He looks so much happier than the last time I saw him. Aurora and I enforced a rule where she didn’t offer information about Henry and I didn’t ask, with the promise that in an emergency she would update me.

It feels so silly now seeing him standing in front of me, perfectly fine. Henry has always called me dramatic for various reasons, so I guess it’s on-brand.

Cami says that because I made prioritizing myself a goal but italways felt so unobtainable, it makes sense that I would be so accepting of someone else trying to do the same. Especially when, in her words, she would have been pounding her fist against his door after the first week. It made me wonder if I was selfish to leave him to deal with things on his own. I guess now that he’s in front of me I could ask him, but I don’t know if I’m ready to hear the answer.

“I missed you,” he says, crossing the room to stand in front of me.

“I missed you, too,” I respond, deciding not to move out of reach when his hands reach to cup my face. His warm grip soothes the anxiety that’s been rumbling through me for weeks, and I fight the urge to cry.

His forehead rests against mine; his voice lowers. “Thank you for giving me space to work on myself.”

I couldn’t speak louder than a whisper even if I wanted to. “You’re welcome.”

He kisses my forehead tenderly, breathing in deeply before taking a step back. “We both know I’m not always the best person with words, and I know you have a vacation to go on, but I wanted to give you this.” He hands me a small sealed bubble mailer. “It’ll get through TSA. An email will come through soon, so don’t open the envelope until you receive it.”

“This is very mysterious and secretive,” I say, shaking the mailer.

“It’s a gift. To show you how much you mean to me, and that I’m sorry for needing so much time. I’m scared you think it’s because you’re not important to me, when in reality it took so long because youdomean so much to me.”

“So it’s my fault? That you couldn’t feel better?”

“No,” he says harshly. “Just that I wasn’t in a good place and I wanted to get out of it so I didn’t make you the anchor. I don’t want to be a person who relies on you to fix everything. I can explain everything when you get home from vacation if you have questions. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“Okay. I’d like that.” The arrival notification on my phone rings, and looking out my living room window confirms my ride is here. “I have to go, I’m sorry. I don’t want to miss my flight.”

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