Her eyes open wide, and she bites her lip. “You don’t have to do that—”
“I don’t have to. But I want to.”
“Are you sure? I don’t have to watch—you could do it in private?”
“I want you to. If that’s okay with you.”
She nods, her face very serious.
I begin writing as she watches over my shoulder.
Dear Lucy,
I love you. I will probably always love you.
But it’s time for me to stop writing to you. Because of Elle. Because I’m crazy about her, Luce. Crazy. I’m head over heels in love with her. And I think there’s a chance if I run with it, we could be really, really good together. With the boys, too. A family.
So—there you have it. I hope you meant what you said about wanting me to be happy, because I don’t seem to be able to help it when I’m around her.
And I can’t write to you anymore because I need to give Elle this part of me now. All the things I’ve been telling you, I need to—I want to—tell her. So I’m saying goodbye. Again. I guess this is a bigger kind of goodbye than the one we said before. Or maybe just different? What do I know?
I love you. I’ll probably always love you. Goodbye, Luce.
Love, Sawyer
“Oh, Jesus, Elle, don’t cry,” I say, which is a ridiculous thing to say for so many reasons, not the least of which is that my own vision is blurred.
“I can’t help it,” she moans, her beautiful face streaked with tears. “I just have all these feelings. And they’re all mixed up. I mean, how can I want her to be alive and with you and Jonah and still be so glad she’s not here so you can be with me? How can I feel so bad for both of you and so happy for both of us, especially when those two overlap?”
“I don’t know,” I say, because, shit, I really don’t. “If I knew the answer to that—hell, I don’t know how I can be so sad and happy at the same time, either, but apparently it’s possible. And most of the time, to be perfectly honest, with the exception of these last few weeks, which have sucked, because I’ve missed you so fucking much, I’m just happy. Happy that you’re in the world, happy that you live next door, happy that you own those ridiculous rubber-duck pajamas and that goofy apron—”
She hug-tackles me.
“Me, too. Happy. And I’m in love with you, too. I love you.”
“I love you.”
I reach a hand out and cup her chin. Then we’re kissing again.
A long time passes before we come up for air.