Page 5 of When We Meet Again

Or have you saying ‘I shouldn’t’ when you totally ‘want to’.

When I get home,there’s a letter waiting for me. Not in my mailbox, but on my welcome mat. I search left and right looking for a kidnapper.I’ve been watching way too much Lifetime.

Dearest Waverly,

I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to again offer my condolences. It's never easy losing a loved one. They still haven't stopped looking for Patrick or the family he tried to save. Hopefully, we will hear something soon.

I wanted to give you some words of advice that my favorite motivational speaker, Dr. Wayne Dyer, has preached—if it's not too bold.

Most humans value stability. Predictability. Yet ups and downs are an important part of the nature that surrounds us in our lives. When you find yourself so deep in the valley of despair...of bad fortune…it can almost feel like it's now a permanent way of life. Just remember, good fortune will always lean on the bad. After the darkness comes the light. I urge you to write down a small list of "fortunate" and "unfortunate" occurrences every day.

At the end of the day, look under both titles and allow yourself to feel. It may be physical or emotional, but allow yourself to see both like a kaleidoscope. Permit those feelings to mesh and flow through you. There is always sunshine after rain. There is a rainbow after the storm.

Be well,

Tom

CHAPTER 2

ROMAN

Waverly Kensington has always aroused my interest, stealing every ounce of my attention. I can’t control it. My heart rate skyrockets, my stomach flips. She becomes a beacon of light in an unforgiving sea. That first night I saw her across the bar, she stole my breath away. And after Patrick introduced me to her, she blew my mind. She was bubbly and outgoing, so at ease with me: a stranger. So opposite of him. They do say opposites attract, but I never saw her and my brother lasting. Well, not because he’d fucking kick the bucket… They were just worlds apart. She'd want to go out to eat, but he'd want to order in. She’d want to sleep in the same bed, he'd refuse. "I'll keep you awake," he'd say.Bullshit.We both knew Waverly slept like the dead.

In the six years I've known her, I've seen more disappointment in her eyes than happiness. More loneliness than joy. And yet, Patrick didn't see it. Or he chose not to. I tried to tell him she was a complete moonshot, but he didn't listen. He was too damn stubborn. “Why fix something that isn't broken?” he used to say.

I always wanted to ask him why he approached her in the first place if he felt that way.

And that's when I decided it was time for me to take a step back. If Patrick invited me anywhere that the “happy” couple was, I wasnot. If it was just him, I’d ponder it over. I couldn’t completely write my brother off even though he wasn’t exactly the reason I was sticking around.

I couldn’t watch her retreat further into a dissolved shell of herself under his dismissive nature; become whohewanted her to be rather than who she was. Don’t get me wrong, my brother was a stand-up guy. He would be there for anybody, whether he knew you or not. He always put his needs after everyone else’s…except for Waverly’s.

It’s been two years since I’ve seen her. She may have a stunning tan, but she looks worn out. Empty. I mean, death wears everyone out—unless you’re a serial killer—but this is different. She looks defeated. Done.

"Roman, be a doll and start putting the leftover food in the Tupperware containers," my mom says with a resigned smile on her face, handing me a stack of plastic containers with more lids than actual bowls, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Mom’s smile is forced; she's not happy. She's on an abnormally high dose of antidepressants she got from her quack of a doctor. I told her to get rid of that shit and go through the motions of mourning, but she insists it was a safe dose and it’s just temporary.

"I saw you talking to Waverly. How's she holding up?" she asks, her icy blue eyes dull. Tired. Devoid of all emotion. Nothing about her face shows she actually cares about how Waverly is doing. It's maddening.

I shrug. "She didn't really say much, but how well can you be when you lose the person you’re supposed to marry?"

My mother clicks her tongue and shakes her head. "Such a shame. Maybe you should talk about moving in with her. You know, to take care of her until she comes out of the post-deathhaze." She spins around with a stack full of plates and lifts them into the cupboard.

Hell, the fuck no.Patrick would roll over in his grave…or wherever his body is. "She's fine, Mom. The last thing she would want is her estranged, almost brother-in-law in her space."

My mother throws a hand on her hip and whips her long, dark blonde hair behind her shoulder. "How do you know that? Did you ask her?” One eyebrow raises slightly, the first flicker of some emotion crossing her face. “You’re far fromestranged. And you were NEVER going to be her brother-in-law. We both know as wonderful as Patrick is…was…she would have eventually realized she wanted more out of a man. He was wonderful, but those two…” She glances toward the window that faces the ocean. “They weren’t right for each other.” Her face should be wearing all types of feelings, but it’s once again blank. Numb.Definitely a higher-than-normal dose she took.

“She always had so much sadness in her eyes. Each time I saw her it kept getting worse and worse.” I’m not sure my mom meant to say that out loud, but she did and confirmed everything I’ve been thinking.

"And how would you plan on me even approaching that topic of conversation, Mom?Hey, Kensi, I know your fiancé, my brother, just died, but I wanted to know if you wanted to shack up with me?"I mock.

Her shoulders slouch and she turns back to the sink. "Ugh. Never mind. You're hopeless."

I set the Tupperware down. "Yep. We wouldn't want you thinkingtoohighly of me now, would we? I'll never measure up to the son you lost."

A pot gets thrown into the metal sink, but I don't bother waiting for her response. I grab the half-empty bottle of Jameson from the counter and truck out of the kitchen, pushing my way through a shit ton of people I've never seen before.This has turned into an all-out drinking party instead of a quiet celebration of Patrick's life. A part of me knows he would love the attention. It was obvious he loved attention from everyone except the one person he was engaged to. But he would’ve hated this.

"Romey, baby." I hear a high-pitched voice come from the foyer and bring the bottle to my mouth knowing that that voice comes with a set of lips that look fantastic around me. The brown liquid burns going down, but I know it will give me just enough to push through the next few hours until I can get the fuck out of here.

---