Page 93 of Unforgettable

“Eventually one has to give,” she says sadly. “And it’s your choice to decide which one.”

“Mommy,” a little voice calls from the door.

“Oh, hey, sweetie,” Callie says, sitting up and turning to Poppy. “Want to jump in?”

Poppy runs onto the bed excitedly and Callie squashes her in her arms.

“Uncle Reeve, are you going to come out of your room today?” she asks innocently.

I glance at Callie, and she’s looking at me pointedly. “Yes,” I answer. “I was thinking maybe I’ll unpack and clean this room. Do you want to help?”

She looks to her mom, and Callie nods. “Sounds like a great idea and then maybe if Uncle Reeve cleans his room quickly enough, we can take him out for burgers for dinner.”

“I love burgers,” Poppy muses to herself.

“We better clean this mess up,” I announce, referring to myself.

Climbing off the bed, I rummage around for some clean clothes. “We’ll start cleaning when I get back out,” I say to Poppy and then quickly head for the bathroom.

After a quick shave and shower, I put on sweats and a t-shirt and walk back into my bedroom.

Poppy and Callie are surprisingly no longer there, but the bed has been stripped of the sheets, and the windows of my room have been opened up to let in light and air.

Picking up my suitcase and the duffel I used to travel to and from Vermont, I place them on my bed, open them, and begin to sort between the dirty and clean clothes.

I throw all my dirty clothes down the laundry chute and begin folding my clean clothes to put away.

I remember when I first moved to Seattle and my parents tried to convince me that it would be better if they covered the rent for a place and had someone come in and cook and clean for me once a week.

Refusing, I moved into the dorms, and I taught myself how to survive, and until this day, whenever I come home, I try not to fall into that entitled lifestyle and clean up after myself.

When the clothes are put away, and the floor of the room is visible, I head for the linen closet that’s downstairs in the laundry room, but I’m momentarily stunned when I notice the bag holding the suit I wore to the wedding hanging on the back of my bedroom door.

I left Vermont in such a daze of despair, I don’t even remember bringing it home with me or hanging it up.

Reaching for it, I pull the zipper down and angle the suit into view. Triggering images of our night together, I get sidetracked just staring at it, remembering the way we touched. The way he felt. How much missing him hurts.

On instinct, I look through the pockets, making sure they’re empty, and find a small black card that I remember the photographer handing to me.

“You two take some beautiful photos together,” he’d said. And the photos on my phone proved that. But like the masochist I was, I wanted to punish myself with more.

Hurrying back to my desk, I open my laptop and log in. When I can, I open up my browser and type in the webpage. A smiling Dixie and Archer fill up the screen, a button that says ‘see photos’ directly underneath them.

I follow the prompts, type in the code, and prepare myself to relive one of the best days of my life, and it wasn’t even my wedding.

I flick through each of the photos, reminded just how happy and beautiful Oz and his family looked that day.

The photos are uploaded according to the timeline of the day, and each one with Oz in it makes my heart scream in agony. When I get closer to the ones I’m searching for, I feel like I’m about to climb out of my own skin.

The close-up of Oz’s face on my screen, his mouth wide in a smile, feels like a knife to the heart.

He’s staring at me. With his beautiful, honest, blue eyes, he’s staring at me the way one would stare at someone they love.

The photos are a montage of Oz and me. Oz laughing and talking and laughing and kissing. Just laughing.

It’s the happiest I’ve ever seen myself. The most relaxed. The most content.

The worries I knew were in my head and heart that day nowhere to be found in these photos. I stop at one where we’re looking in one another’s eyes, smiling, Oz’s hand casually running through my hair.

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