A Lover's Lament(47)

For a year or so, I felt this built-up resentment in the pit of my stomach and it was dragging me down. Ugh, you can’t judge me for this next part, okay? I spent about two hours one random night writing out how I felt … all of it. I mean, this thing ended up being like five pages long. I spent thirty minutes on the phone telling her what I’d written, pretty much chewing her ass out. She got pissed off and turned it around on me, blaming me for my dad leaving because she said he never wanted kids in the first place. We argued off and on, and then her last words to me were, “So what? It’s in the past.” I said ‘f*ck you,’ hung up the phone and never called again. It’s been three years now since we last spoke, and I can’t say that I’ve missed her.

As crazy as I’m sure all that sounds, I felt better after I did it, like a weight had been lifted. I wasn’t burdened anymore, because I’d laid it all out on the table and washed my hands clean of it. This is actually my first time thinking about her in a while, so thanks for that (and yes, I’m being a smartass).

I did have a great two years with my grandma though. I worked odd jobs and took some classes at a community college nearby. With what free time I had, I read her books. Her favorite author was Nicholas Sparks. We’d often get to that dreaded last page of the book, and as the final words poured from my lips, she’d flip those eyes open wide, let out a long, satisfied sigh, and then start in on a story about grandpa and her falling in love. She said they fell in love with each other over and over and over again. She missed him terribly in the years she spent without him, and it seemed the closer she got to the end, the more excited she was to see him again. It may sound dumb, but it was just a really beautiful thing to be a part of.

Sorry, I think I may be the one babbling today. And enough about me anyway. Tell me about you. It’s been a decade, so what have I missed? What does Miss (or Mrs?) Katie Devora do? You know I’m a soldier out here playing in the world’s largest sandbox. What are you doing with your life? Can I take three guesses? Teacher, nurse, or social worker. I know how big that heart of yours is, and you always said that you wanted to do something to help others.

Well, it’s been a really long day and my eyeballs hate me right now so I’m going to hop off of here. But I want you to know that it’s been nice to talk to someone, particularly you. I’m glad we have a faster means of communication, because I don’t want to wait weeks in between hearing from you again—not after the last decade we’ve spent apart.

PS. How is your mom and Bailey?

Sincerely,

Devin



My body is a jumbled mix of emotions as I lean back against my headboard and take in everything he wrote. My heart aches for Devin and what he’s witnessed and endured both at war and at home. I don’t know how he does it, how he copes from day to day, but I could tell by his mad rush of words that he needed to get what happened today—or maybe it was yesterday—off his chest. He also mentioned that it was nice to have someone to talk to, and my stomach flutters at the thought that I’m that person. A sense of peace, belonging and friendship washes over me, and I squeeze my eyes shut because the feeling is so familiar that it physically hurts.

And for the first time, it hits me—I miss him. I miss our friendship, the connection that we shared. I miss being able to talk to him without being judged, and I miss the way he used to support me without swaying any of my thoughts or actions.

I miss Devin.

Somewhere in the back of my head, there’s a tiny vision of me crying in the middle of his driveway after I found out that he’d left, but I push it away and focus on his words.

How in the world can his words affect me this way? It took about a year after he left to face the facts that he wasn’t coming back, and another year to convince myself that whatever feelings he had for me weren’t real. About a year after that, I finally realized that I’d never be the same. So for him to be able to easily infiltrate my life this way after a decade of nothing … well, it’s scary really. Because if he hurt me once, he could do it again.

That thought alone makes my stomach churn, but I take a deep, cleansing breath, pushing past the nausea. Because right now I want nothing more than to take all of this for what it is and go with it. I don’t want to live in fear. What I want is to move forward.

Just as I’m about to reply to his email, my phone vibrates again.

Wyatt: Please call me

“Come on, Wy,” I mumble, to no one but myself. “Please don’t do this.” I sit for several minutes, trying to decide what to do, and when I blow out a breath and look to the side, my eye catches on a picture wedged into the side of my mirror. My first thought is how in the hell is that picture still up there? Then, as my eyes linger on the photo of Wyatt and me, arm in arm, the day after we got engaged, I instantly think of Devin.

Why did he ask if I was a Miss or Mrs.? Is he curious because he thinks that this … whatever this is … is more than what it is? Or maybe he realizes he made a colossal f*cking mistake and wants me back. If that’s the case, then no way, mister. You snooze, you lose, and Lord knows I’m not going down that path again. Right? Right! But what if …

Maybe he’s engaged. Or, worse yet, married. Holy shit, what if he has a family?

My chest tightens at the thought of building an emotional connection with him if he belongs to someone else, and for a split second I hesitate to respond. Emphasis on split second, which is over when I hit ‘reply,’ all thoughts of Wyatt completely gone.