We heard the barista call his name, and he went to pick up our drinks.
“That’s all, really. I don’t want to keep you. I just wanted to give you the package, and ever since he left, I’ve been leery of discussing things over the phone. Call me crazy, but I always feel like someone’s listening. Maybe that feeling will finally go away now.”
It probably would. Randy had nothing left with Damien’s family now that he’d killed Damien.
I thought about how many lives Randy was ruining. I wasn’t sure why we couldn’t call the police. I wasn’t sure why he was getting away with what he did.
Suddenly I was furious at the whole situation.
My emotions were all over the place, and once again a part of me longed for the indifference I’d forced on myself for so long.
I was sad. I was angry. I was in mourning. I was in love.
I wasn’t sure what the fuck I was half the goddamn time.
Parker came back with our drinks, and Carla stood. “Nice meeting you,” she said, her eyes scanning him.
“I’m so sorry for what you are going through,” he said. “I know my words won’t ease your pain, but I hope you find peace.”
“Thank you.”
And that was it. Carla left. Parker looked at the box on the table in front of me. It was a just a small and simple cardboard box with my name on it.
I wondered what was in it. It was odd holding a piece of Damien in my hands after I’d eliminated just about every piece of him from my life except for a couple of things shoved to the back of a drawer in my bathroom.
Perhaps that note he had left me hadn’t been the last note he’d ever written me. Perhaps there was another one right inside of the box on the table in front of me.
“What do you think it is?” Parker asked as he sat across from me.
I shrugged.
He took a sip of his coffee while I stared down at the box. “You want to open it?”
“Not here. Let’s go home.”
He nodded. We picked up our coffees and I picked up the box.
I felt anxious the whole way home. It seemed like every red light was working against us, like every car in front of us was driving below the speed limit.
But when we finally arrived home, I was too afraid to actually open it.
I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was dying to know, but at the same time, I was terrified to know. What the hell could possibly be inside of that box?
So it sat on my counter like a ticking time bomb.
Parker stared at it when he walked by.
I stared at it when I walked by.
I felt like it was looking back at me, like da Vinci’s famous Mona Lisa painting, its eyes following me around the room.
It was awkward and strange and confusing.
But I wasn’t ready to open it.
I wasn’t ready to see the last thing I’d ever see from Damien.
I didn’t feel like I was holding onto the past. I just felt like this was the only thing I had left to keep Damien’s memory alive. How do you just tear into a box that holds the very last thing that someone ever meant for you to have?
It was almost two hours after we’d gotten home. We were in the kitchen making grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner when Parker finally asked, “Are you going to open that?”
I shrugged, and he smiled, trying to make light of the situation.
“What’s in the box?” he said, mimicking Brad Pitt’s character at the end of the movie Seven.
It was maybe the first time I’d smiled since I’d left Starbucks.
“Fine. I’ll open it.”
twenty
I pulled a pair of scissors out of a drawer and slit the tape that Damien had carefully placed along the top of the box. I opened it and found two envelopes inside with packing peanuts.
Both envelopes were blank on the front. I opened the top one first. It was a letter.
February 14
Roxanna,
Your dad has been keeping me safe, which you may know by now. If you don’t, you should probably talk to your dad. You may be in danger next. I got into some things that I never expected, and staying with you only would’ve put you in danger. If you’re reading this now, it’s because I’m gone. I promise not to haunt you. That’s not what this letter is about. It’s to warn you. I can’t name names because who knows whose hands this letter might get into, but you probably know a certain business associate of your father’s who gambles professionally. If I’m gone and foul play is suspected, point all fingers to that person.
I’ve done a lot of thinking in the last several months, and I can’t think of a better time than Valentine’s Day to write this letter to you. I love you, Roxy, but I think we both know what we had, especially now that it’s gone. I relied on you for things, and you relied on me for things. We had some amazing times together, but we both know that we never could have made it the distance. We were both too fucked up to make things work together. I’m sorry for the times I didn’t let you in. I’m sorry for the times you felt used. You kept quiet about it, but I know you felt it.
Above all else, I’m sorry for the way I left. You deserved a goodbye. The way I left you was shitty, and I hope you moved on quickly. Well, not too quickly. I hope there was some level of sadness. Only because I know I will never get over you. You will always own a part of my heart, a part that only you deserves to own. I hope a small part of your heart belongs to me, too, but not the big part. I want more than anything for you to give the big part to someone else, to someone who deserves you. Maybe you’ve already met him, and maybe you haven’t, but I just have one word of advice for you: Never let him treat you the way I did. Never let him keep secrets, and never let him get by without confiding in you. I often think about how different things could have been if I just would have been honest with you, but we both know that wondering doesn’t do any good. If something is meant to last forever, it will. Obviously that wasn’t our path.
Something in the way you loved me will always remain in my heart. I’d tell you to come as you are, but it’s probably better if you stay away.
Forever yours,
D
I read the letter four times before I looked up at Parker. He was staring at me intently.
“Well?” he asked.
A thousand thoughts ran through my head. He’d written me on Valentine’s Day. I remembered my Valentine’s Day. It was during the horrid stretch of indifference I’d felt until the moment I’d met Parker. I didn’t care about anything at the time. I hadn’t cared about love, about sex, about hate, about sadness. It had all just been an empty existence set on repeat. It was strange for me to think that he’d already wanted me to move on at that point. I supposed it just took meeting the right person for me to move on, and once I’d met him, the rest fell into place. It certainly hadn’t been an easy road, but now that we were only days away from pledging our commitment to one another for the rest of our lives, it was clear that everything that had happened was because our paths were fated to cross.
I shrugged and handed Parker the letter.
He chuckled at the line about haunting me, just as I had the first time I’d read it through. I watched my fiancé as his eyes scanned the letter. I wondered what was going through his mind.
“You okay?” I asked once he finished reading and his eyes met mine.
He nodded. “I should be asking you that.”