Page 47 of My Sweetest Obsession
The plastic bag sits on the shelf, and I pull it out and set it on the counter with far too much trepidation.
Cam always seems to know what I need.
And he gives it to me even when I don’t or can’t ask for it.
And when I open it with shaking hands, I find another note on top.
I didn’t know which one you might be craving.
I don’t even have to open what’s inside the cylindrical items wrapped in paper under the Post-it. Because I know what’s inside—cheesesteaks from Max’s and Dalessandro’s.
15
CAM
Finally.
I don’t know why it took me so long to get here. Nor can I understand why I struggled to figure out how to say what I’ve been trying to voice for so many fucking months.
It shouldn’t have taken waking up in Drew’s bed, with my arms wrapped around his fiancée, his baby kicking against my hand, to finally make me realize why everything I’ve painted has felt so fucking wrong.
But it did.
The moment I felt that tiny little foot press into my palm, I knew what I needed to do. I knew what I needed to say. And it needed to happen right away.
I move like a man possessed because that’s what I am.
Only instead of being caught in an endless loop of sadness, that soul-crushing, monstrous force that seemed to churn and churn, spit me out, then suck me back into it again, I’ve finally gotten my head above water.
I’m consumed by the overwhelming need to get this out now that I understand.
All I’ve thought about is the death of everything I loved so much—Drew, my relationship with Mom, and this obsession with Ivy that only brought so much pain.
But that kick felt like life.
Because that’s what it is.
That little girl is Drew.
And Drew loved life and all the things in it.
He fought day in and day out for other people’s lives. To save them. To ensure their families never suffered the way we all are now. He loved even the simplest things—one in particular that we always shared.
The reason every time I picked up a brush and put paint on canvas has been so frustrating, so infuriating, was that I’ve been trying to tell the wrong story.
I’ve been seeing the wrong thing.
First, it was only Ivy…
Then Drew…
But it was the wrong Drew.
And now that it’s so clear, I can’t stop.
I couldn’t even if I wanted to.
The image flows out of me so fast, so freely, that I don’t even have to think about it. Because I’ve lived it. We lived it.
