Page 8 of Everlasting Promises

I see myself in the mirror every day at work, but I never take the time to look properly, and as I study myself now, sadness creeps over me. I look older than I should. Weighed down. Burdened. Sad. I wonder if strangers can see it, or maybe it’s not obvious to people who have never met me before.

Bringing my fingers up to my mouth, I lightly trace my quivering lips. Lips that haven’t been kissed in such a long time. The tears become too much to hold back, and they spill out over my bottom lashes. They track down my face slowly, then gather intensity while I fight to remember how Wyatt’s lips felt against mine as he kissed me; but the memory is just out of reach.

Oh, god.

My stomach clenches as I search and search for how his mouth felt on mine, but the feeling is nowhere to be found. A sob bursts out of me, and I bend at the waist in acute pain. C’mon! A memory can’t just disappear completely. Iknowwe kissed, andI can see us together, but the feeling of his mouth on mine …it’s gone.

How can it just disappear? It must be there somewhere; I’m just trying too hard right now. Maybe if I relax and think about something else, it will come to me.

Dropping to the edge of my bed, I grip the mattress with white-knuckled force to stop myself from falling. My heart twists as horror fills me.

Is this what happens? Will my memories of Wyatt slowly disappear? Vanish into the ether? Fade, one by one until there’s nothing left to remember?

This night’s already a disaster. I should stay home. There’s no point ruining the girls’ night out with my melancholy mood. It’s not fair to them. A sob shakes my body, and I roughly wipe beneath my eyes.

Decision made, I lean over to grab my phone to text Lucy. It lights up before I touch it, and I snatch my hand back. Lucy’s name glares at me with accusation, like she knows I’m about to cancel. With a shaky hand, I wipe my tears again—I’m so sick of crying—and grab it to answer her call.

“We’re outside.” Music blares in the background, and excitement radiates through her voice. I was going to drive myself. I guess they figured if they picked me up, I wouldn’t be able to bail on them.

I twist my fingers in my curls. “Uhm … I-I?—”

The music disappears, and there’s a knock at my front door, making my shoulders curl forward. Damn.

“I’m at your front door. C’mon, Hope. Let’s go,” she urges.

Staying where I am, I press the phone against my ear. “Uh, I don’t think I can do this,” I murmur with a sob. My heart pounds like a bass drum, the vibrations reverberating through my body and thrashing in my ears, and I sniffle.

“Can you let us in, please?”

I turn toward the door but remain where I am. I can’t face the girls. I’m so embarrassed. It’s been almost six years, and the idea of going out is terrifying. “I-I can’t. I’m so sorry. I just can’t do it.”

“Oh, sweetie. Let us in.” Her voice softens, the excitement from a moment ago vanishing. “We don’t have to go anywhere, but we can’t leave you alone like this,” she says gently.

I swipe my cheeks and drop my head. “I don’t want to ruin your night,” I murmur. “You guys have fun.”

“Do you really think we can have fun knowing how much pain you’re in? Please let us in. We can watch a movie and hang out with you.” The rustle of fabric and lowered voices fill the phone. “Savannah’s gonna go get some wine and goodies so we can have a girls’ night in.”

They’re clearly not going to give up. I swipe my cheeks and use my fingers to wipe beneath my eyes and nose as I head for the front door, drowning in guilt for ruining their plans. The second I open it, Lucy wraps her arms around me. “Oh, sweetie. You don’t have to push us away when you’re having a tough time. We’re not just good-time friends, you know.”

I nod against her shoulder. It’s not that I mean to push them away. It’s that I feel so damn broken and uncomfortable sharing my misery with them, and after almost six years, I really feel I should be able to go out with friends.

Everybody keeps telling me that Wyatt died, not me, but a huge part of me died with him. I don’t know how to be here without him. I know it’s something Wyatt’s best friend Shane also struggles with, and I’ve said those very words to him. I don’t understand why I can’t take my own advice.

Lucy drags me inside, closing the door behind us and leading me through my living room. “Oh, I love those new bookshelves,” she gushes as she runs her fingers over the smooth wood.

“Shane stopped by last weekend and built them for me. I was running out of room.” I keep buying new books even though I have no desire to read—haven’t picked up a book since Wyatt died. It’s the worst book slump I’ve ever had.

Her cheeks turn pink at the mention of Shane, then she turns her attention back to my books, running her fingers across the spines. “So … how is Shane?”

I wrap my arms around my middle. “Still the same.” I think she has a crush on the stoic man. However, I get the feeling he may be off the market soon, if he can move past his guilt.

She nods slowly. “Oh, what’s this book like? I’ve seen it all over social media.”

I move closer to see which book she’s talking about. “I have no idea. Haven’t read it yet. You can borrow it, if you want.” It’s not like I’m going to read it anytime soon; I’ve completely lost my reading mojo, but I like to keep up with my favorite authors’ new releases.

“Thanks, I’ll grab it before I leave.” She heads into the kitchen and collects three wine glasses, three bowls, and three spoons.

While she’s doing that, I go to the bathroom to wash my face. Mascara is smudged beneath my eyes, making me look like I’ve had a hard night out. My eyes are red and puffy, and my nose is pink and shiny—a familiar look. I wash my face and dry it, then head out to the living room to tidy up a little. There’s another knock on the door, and I let Savannah in, taking the shopping bag from her hand as she leans in to embrace me.

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