Page 101 of Our Hearts Knew Better

It’s here, holding my breath underwater, that I hear what else was inside thatwhatever you want. A fear of my wants and a yearning for me to have them.

I want more ofthis. . .

Laughter that’s joyous. Moments that fill me up. Days that are short and sweet.

And I’m going to have them.

I Hoped You Would

Summer

Life has felt like a montage of moments. Days where I’m working or cooking with Isolde or talking with Clarissa or sailing with Levi, chasing the joy, the fullness, the short and the sweet.

Adam’s chasing his dad, running away without even realizing it. If he really doesn’t realize…I can’t be sure. But he’s still moving, at least. I feel him leave in the mornings, then I feel him slip back in at night, small talk passing between us. He still reminds me he has lips that he can still sometimes press to mine before he leaves and when he comes back.

My pillow sees less tears until there are none.

I’m more present than I have been in a while. I’ve got a routine down again, one that doesn’t feel so robotic.

I’m breathing. I breathe, and breathe, then breathe again, remembering I can slow down.

I still take walks at night, but not every night, and I’m not looking for anybody but myself. Soaking in the town I fell for, as deeply as I did back then, before I fell for anybody in it, trying to find my smiles, alone, again. They’re coming in easier now, but still a bit shaded.

Levi himself makes them come in easier, and more often, while still being his own role in the shade.

He never leaves me; so many things have me thinking of him when I shouldn’t be.

When it storms, I watch the rain out the window, tracking the little rivers over the glass like I’ve tracked them over his skin. In the same way he’s done with me. . .

When I’m eating, I think of how he sneaks food from around me when he finds me cooking with his mom, chewing in victory with his warm chest only centimeters from my back, his dimple perfectly popped at my lukewarm scolding face before Isolde swats at him.

I’ll be doing dishes, turning a plate in my hand, and think of how close he places his body to mine, still, as he’s been helping me relearn the wheel of the Gilligan,so you can steal it—a tease, but he’s not going to be laughing if I actually take it for a solo spin.

He doesn’t give an inch, staying as near to me as possible when we’re together, his gaze never far from holding mine.

Those swirls of torment and wonder are never far, either.

I think of him with Adam lying beside me. Whatourlife could’ve been like.

If I try to imagine what a life with Levicouldbe like, the images turn to acid in my chest.

I’m not crazy.

I wasn’t crazy then.

But I might be crazy for deciding to talk to my father, though I didn’t really decide, my mom did.

The box has been calling to me like the drumming of the Jumanji game, so I finally stampede through his door, having no choice but to take immediate control.

We halt at the same time, me just inside the door, him as he walks out from the kitchen, jolted by me, the water inside the glass he’s holding almost splashing over the side as his jaw pops open.

I wait with held breath to see him grab at his chest, groan loudly, and fall over with a dramaticthud.

I don’t get to find out if that only happens in the movies, because my father doesn’t have another heart attack.

“Well, that woke me up,” he jokes as he walks toward me.

“It’s midday,” I respond, my feet fearing more of the floor, my tone sprinkled with the judgment I learned from him, while knowing the many mental messes that can keep you in bed until noon. In his case, the physical.

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