Two Bar Mitzvahs (No Weddings #3)(72)

I couldn’t find my keys and had to knock on the door. The Jeep was parked in the driveway, and it was a weekday, so I hoped Mase was home. The inside entryway light flicked on. The door opened.

I laughed at his shaggy hair and wild-eyed expression. “Damn, I’ve missed you, Mase.”

“Holy f*ck, dude.” A hundred and ninety pounds of lean surfer tackled me to the concrete on my front landing. “You disappeared with only a note. That’s bullshit.”

I grunted. “Get off me, cretin. And didn’t Kristen tell you?”

He climbed off and stood. “A note from you and a cryptic voicemail from her that you’d be gone awhile. Lame. Next time I expect a call from you.” He glared at me, then offered me a hand up. Ava barreled through the open front door and jumped onto my chest before I fully grasped his hand. Her weight knocked me back onto the ground, as if seconding Mase’s complaint.

Mase laughed, pulling his hand back. “We both missed you, you stupid f*ck. You don’t get to just up and leave your life. You worried the shit out of us.”

Ava kept licking my face. “Hey, girl.” I laughed. “I missed you too, ya’ little menace.” I looked up at Mase. “Yeah, sorry. Just needed to physically and mentally check out for a while.”

I scooped Ava off my lap, shooed her into the entryway, and rolled up off the ground. Then I followed them into the house.

“Do me a favor and order us a pizza? I need to text everyone and let them know I’m back.”

“Of course, man. Whatever you need.”

I nodded and disappeared into my room, shut the door, and collapsed onto my bed. I wanted the first text to be Hannah, my fingers hovered over her name, but I held back. She had my letter. That would be better than anything else I could do. I created a group text and added everyone in.



Hi, guys. Back home now. Exhausted. Eating then passing out. Will get together with everyone soon.



I closed my eyes while I waited for the pizza to arrive. When I woke, it felt like a few hours later. Turned out, it was almost sixteen hours later. Bright sunlight streamed through the windows as I stumbled into the kitchen.

I scrubbed my hands down my face, getting my bearings before I opened the fridge. I grabbed a bottle of water and a takeout pizza box that had edible-looking contents.

As I sat down at the table, half a pepperoni slice shoved into my mouth, my eyes drifted over to the corked empty wine bottle sitting on the center of the table. Inside the bottle was a crumbled wad of paper. Not rolled like mine had been, or folded like the one from Hannah, just a crushed note sitting in a sad heap on the bottom.

My heart sank.

Chest heavy, it was everything I could do to pull another full breath into my lungs. I chewed my mouthful carefully before doing anything further, thinking it would be ironic for me to choke to death on cold pizza before I read my death sentence.

Then, as if the tragic comedy thus far hadn’t been ridiculous enough, it took a full five minutes to manipulate that damned wad of paper through the narrow bottle neck and tiny opening without destroying it. I mentally sent out every positive vibe and thought possible while trying to breathe, praying that good things came to humble men who’d wronged, suffered, and were determined to be better.

I finally pulled the crumpled mass free.

Nothing on its surface indicated a fatal prognosis. With care and hope, I pulled the corners free, flattening out the paper with my hands (only after I’d wiped my sweating palms on my jeans.) The side facing up was the letter I’d written to her on the connecting flight to Boston from Dubai. I took three deep breaths to steady myself before flipping it over.

To a blank page.

I blinked.

I flipped it over again, back to the side of my letter, scanning it thoroughly to be certain I hadn’t missed a note in the margin or an underlined word. But nothing new had been written.

So that was it then. My heartfelt letter crushed was the reply.

I flipped it back over, closing my eyes, fighting back tears.

A door opened. I heard shuffling and the rapid clicks of puppy claws running across the wood flooring.

“Hey, man. Welcome to the land of the living.” The fridge door opened. Shut.

Hardly. The land of the living dead was more like it.

Mase sat across from me.

I sighed and opened my eyes, shoving the rest of the pizza slice into my mouth, even though I’d likely puke it up in a few minutes with how my stomach churned.

“What’s that?” Mase pulled the note out of my reach.

“Nothing,” I grumbled. He didn’t turn it over, just stared at the crumpled blank page, so I didn’t get too territorial over what might as well serve as my obituary.

Mase pointed to the center of the paper. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, then the paper. Asshole better not be f*cking with me. I swiped the page back from under his pointed finger. When I leaned over to have a closer look, all the air wheezed out of my lungs.

On the reply to her note that I’d left in her door almost a week ago, I’d written a huge “no” on one folded side.

But on the wide expanse of my wine-bottle parchment letter in which she could have written her reply—an entire blank side of paper for her to let me know how she felt about my request—she’d only sent back one tiny word.