Page 119 of The Wrong Heart

My words clip before they leave my mouth when Mom and Dad saunter into the living room with two pieces of homemade cheesecake. I stretch my legs and straighten, placing the ceramic mug etched with elves and snowflakes onto the side table beside me. Mom loves her Christmas mugs, even in July.

“Mellie, my little Jelly Belly,” Dad sing-songs as he approaches with the dessert plate, grinning wide.

I simultaneously cringe and smile at the childish nickname, reaching for the plate. Mom hands the other piece to West. “Thanks, Daddy.”

“There’s nothin’ that Ma’s cheesecake can’t fix.”

Oh, how I wish that were true.

The tines of my fork dig into the delicacy while our parents seat themselves on the opposite loveseat, Dad’s broad arm draping around our petite mother with that same affection he’s always shown her.

Shamefully, that affection was the primary reason I stayed away for so many long, lonely months after Charlie passed—I couldn’t handle witnessing everything I’d lost.

“How is it?” Mom inquires, adjusting a jeweled barrette clipped into her bob.

West responds through a giant mouthful, “Divine.”

We fall into easy conversation, and I watch my parents kiss and cuddle with new eyes of appreciation instead of envy. I drink in my mother’s permanent smile and my father’s baritone laugh that always rumbles straight to my core. My heart flutters with joy, with gratitude, withlife, as I swallow down the love in the room and let it warm me up.

My parents have never once allowed me to believe that my heart was wrong. Even on the bad days. Even when it was broken, weeping and bruised, they loved it anyway. They saw the beauty in it, flaws and all.

And for that, I know I am truly blessed.

Before I leave that night, I’m overcome with the need to do something. After I say my goodbyes to West and help my mother tidy the kitchen, I pull out my cell phone and open up my Hangouts app. My last message to Zephyr stares back at me, sent a few days after my disastrous video debut.

Me:Zephyr, oh wise one,you’re so good at giving advice. I was wondering if you had any insight into rejection.

He never responded.

Sucking in a breath, I let my thumbs dance across the keypad with one final message to the anonymous man with Charlie’s heart.

Me:I just wanted you to know that I’m doing okay. I realize you don’t care, because if you did, you would have checked in by now. You wouldn’t have left me doubting everything we shared together—doubting myself and my worth. I’ll never know what happened, or why you abandoned me, but I respect what we had enough to let you know that I’m okay. You were right when you said I stopped wilting a long time ago… but I think I’m finally blooming.

I don’t expect him to reply, just as I don’t expect a new text message from Parker to light up my phone face after I return home that evening and climb into bed. Swiping open the screen, my eyes scan over his message.

Parker:Hi

Oh, jeez.

An amused grin stretches my cheeks.

Me:Hi :)

I’m about to hook my phone up to the charger and go to sleep, not anticipating another reply, but a follow-up text buzzes through, causing my heart to stutter.

Parker:Just wanted to say that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Goodnight.

A breath sticks in my lungs, my eyes welling with stunned tears. The seconds tick by in slow motion as I re-read his words over and over.

And over.

Trembling fingers manage to put letters together to form something coherent, but nothing I say could possibly transmit the intensity of emotion swimming through my veins, shooting little shocks of happiness to my heart.

Me:That means more to me than you’ll ever know. Thank you.

Flipping off the bedside lamp and blinking away my tears, I fall into a peaceful sleep, nightmare-free, with my cell phone clutched against my chest.

When I pull into the support meeting parking lot the following week, he is standing outside, leaning back against the brick siding with his hands in his pockets.

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