Page 153 of Pretend You Love Me
Met with my therapist today. Talked about my dad. I’d like to share more with you, but I’m too spent right now. I’m halfway through my novel though. I’ve never written anything this quickly.
Kip
He flips to the next letter.
Brooklyn,
Hawk and I had dinner last night. No punches were thrown. Progress.
Kip
I laugh again, and he chuckles.
Brooklyn,
I miss you. I miss everything about you. I miss the way you like your toast just a little burned. I miss the way you hum when you chop onions. I miss the way you steal all the covers.
“I do not!” I interrupt.
“You do. I don’t mind.”
I just shake my head, and he ignores me.
I miss your laugh. I miss your smell. I miss the way your hair falls around my face when we’re together. I dream about you every night. The only time I’m not thinking about you is when I’m writing. I wish you were here. I wish we’d parted differently.
Kip
His eyes float up to mine and hold on me for a moment. Electricity seems to fill the air. I stand up quickly. “Do you want water? I need some water.”
“Sure,” he says slowly. I walk into the kitchen and pour two glasses. My hands are shaking as I carry them back and place them on the table. Neither of us touches them.
Brooklyn,
I finished. I finished a whole novel in just over two weeks.
“What?” I cut in.
He looks up. “Yeah. Surprised the hell out of me too.”
It’s rough around the edges, but a complete story. I sent it to my agent and publisher. They love it. I’m flying to D.C. in a few days to meet with them. I’ve debated back and forth about whether to call you. I want to see you, but I’m not ready to see you. You deserve more than I can give you right now.
Kip
“I don’t want to read the next ones.” He picks up his water and takes a long sip. We both know what’s coming next, and to his credit, he keeps reading.
Brooklyn,
I saw you in D.C. You were on a fucking date. I’ve never felt jealousy like that - white-hot, blinding rage when I spotted his hand on the small of your back. I wanted to rip his arm from his body. I can’t believe you’ve moved on. I know you told me it was temporary. You never promised anything differently, but I thought what we had was special. I guess it wasn’t.
I don’t know why I’m writing you any longer.
Kip
He doesn’t look up, flipping to the next letter without a pause.
Brooklyn,
I keep thinking about you and your date. Picturing you with him. Wondering if he appreciates how lucky he is.
