Page 81 of When We Meet Again

After he doesn’t answer, I tease, “You’re finally deciding to off me, aren’t you? And instead of telling me, you’re taking the easy way out.” The truck hits a few bumps, but his face of stone never falters. “I’ll have you know that my mom…She has a special set of skills.’” I try to recite Liam Neeson inTakenbut fail drastically.

His hand falls into my lap and intertwines my fingers with his as we pull close to the beach. “Nah, if I murdered you, I’d have to go through the trouble to find someone just as talented as you are in the bedroom, and I just don’t have time to put in that effort,” he jokes with a wink and a sexy-ass smile.

I push his shoulder and give him a playful roll of my eyes. A light smile forms when I see a bunch of candles set up. Is he going to propose? He can’t…we’ve only officially been together a week. Well, we’ve never really talked about it, but I don’t counthim being balls deep inside of me telling me “This is it for us” a declaration of undying love and devotion.

He kills the engine, and he turns to me. “I’m sorry we can’t get to the Philippines for Tom’s burial.” My brows pinch in confusion as he releases my hand and hurries around to open my door for me. I grab his extended hand, and he pulls me out of the truck and closer to the ocean where unlit sky lanterns sit on a blanket.

“I read that floating lanterns are like a guiding of souls. Spirits can carry on in the afterlife and can be remembered. I wanted floating lanterns, but that wouldn’t work with ocean waves.” The amount of tears that instantly fall down my face at a rapid pace is unmatched. This man thinks of everything. I throw my arms around him and cry. Cry for Tom. Cry for my stepdad. Cry for my grandparents. Just…cry. And he never lets me go.

“It’s perfect. Rome, thank you.”

A while later, after my tears have dried, Roman hands me a pen and a few slips of paper. “Write a little note to your loved ones and send them off.”

I offer him the biggest grin I can muster, which isn’t easy because I’m deep in my feelings right now.

Staring off into the stars, the only waves you can hear are from the water meeting the shoreline. The ocean is like glass. This night is perfect. So I start one for my grandfather…

Pappy,

We never had a proper goodbye, and I ache every day because of that. I hope my moments with you can be carried on with my own children. Rolling pumpkin balls down the alley. Long walks after lunch. Scratching off lottery tickets at the gasstation. I miss sitting on the front porch watching thunderstorms with you. I miss you calling me “Bertha.” I miss swinging on the back porch just simply watching the birds. I hope I can be to my grandkids what you were to me. I love you.

-Bertha

Tears fall again as I roll the paper and tie it with a small piece of gold ribbon. Roman watches me, but not in a way that makes me feel like I’m doing it wrong. As if he is admiring how I’m grieving, growing, moving on. His hand finds my back, and he rubs in slow circles. The scent of his coconut and cinnamon shampoo hits me, and in that moment, it feels like home. I feel safe.

I grab another paper and start writing to my grandmother.

Nanny,

Our conversation before you left on Christmas Day was brief, but never once did I ever question if you loved me. I could hear in your voice you were tired. You were done. And to this day, I don’t think I’ve truly gotten over it. Visiting your house every day was the highlight of my childhood. I miss talking to you. I miss your letters and your random newspaper clippings. You always encouraged me to do things I loved, and I love you for that.

-Me

I write one to Tom, the man who lived in the mountain. I thank him for his patience, his kindness, and his constant words of encouragement and wisdom. I also apologize for taking up so much of his time with my angsty and dramatic life via letters while he was dealing with his own life stressors. I apologized for my selfishness, and thanked him for his selflessness. More than anything, I thanked him for saving my life.

Roman is now lying back on the blanket smack dab next to me, hands behind his head, staring at the stars. The warmth of his body is a constant reminder that I’m not alone.

I had one more letter I had to write, and I really didn’t want to write it…to my stepdad.

I know you won’t get this, but I hope you feel what I’m feeling while I’m writing this. It’s been overwhelming to know that the one person who would always answer my phone calls, who would never hesitate to talk me through a tough situation, or would just let me mentally spill my crap, is gone. You’re gone. It’s been a tough few years. The person who was always my ‘home base.’ A comfort of soft-spoken words on a shitty day, never to return. I had a dream about you…it felt so real. You told me you were proud of me and how you loved me like your own. You gave me hope in a time of my life when I felt like there was nowhere to go. The hug, it felt so real. There are so many things I can thank you for, and not enough time (or paper) to list them all. But thank you for showingme parts of the world that I otherwise may not have seen. Thank you for encouraging my creative and crazy adventures. Thank you for always just being there for me. I miss your hugs. I miss your laugh. I miss you sending me pictures of clowns because I hate them, and vintage trucks or penguins because I love them.

See you on the other side.

xo

My shoulders tremble as I bawl. Feeling breathless, my fingers shake as I try to tie the last of the ribbons around the rolled paper. Roman gently takes it out of my hand and ties it for me—his fingers moving like liquid—like he’s done this a thousand times. He props himself on his knees and pulls a paper out of his back pocket. It’s filled with creases, but it’s also tied in a ribbon.

I don’t want to be nosey, but I can’t help but wonder who he wrote a note to. As if he senses my question, one side of his mouth tilts up. He holds it out in his hand, tempting me to take it.

“Want to read it?”

CHAPTER 42

ROMAN

I knew this would be hard for Waverly, but I know it’s an amazing form of closure…says my therapist. So why not?

Her face is pinched like she’s wondering who I’m writing to, so I extend my hand and offer it to her.

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