Let Love Heal (The Love Series) (26 page)

By some miracle, and with a lot of Peyton’s help, I manage to pull my grades out of the gutter and I finish my first year of college with a 3.4 average. Not my best work, but all things considered, I’m more than pleased with the results. I’ve actually surprised myself in recent weeks with the whole “you don’t have to be perfect all the time” routine. A lot has changed since spring break, in fact. The most important change has been that I’ve actually grown to like myself much more than I used to. I’ve learned to forgive myself over what happened with Bryan. I still haven’t worked up the nerve to talk to him, though. I walked past the lab the other day. I didn’t expect him to be there so as I peered into the large window-lined wall of the lab as I walked past, I nearly tripped over my own two feet when his sad brown eyes met mine.

I wanted to go to him and ask him a million questions. How are things with his parents? How is Emmie doing? Is he excited about graduating? What are his plans for the summer?

Does he miss me?

But instead of doing that, I offered up a tight smile and a small wave. He nodded in return and then promptly busied himself with something on his computer. Part of me couldn’t help but wonder if he was just touching random keys to avoid looking at me.

I miss him a lot. But it’s not in that silly, pining, teenage girl way. I miss him in a way that actually hurts my bones. I didn’t realize it back when we were together, but the way he made me feel about myself was more than just special. And, no, I’m not talking about the physical stuff. He helped me see the value in myself that I should have seen a long time ago. He loved me not because he had to, but because he wanted to. And, yeah, I hate myself for having ruined that love, but it served as an epiphany of sorts. I was loved despite the flaws I thought I had, and in the process of growing that love, I found out that what I saw as some of my worst flaws were actually some of my greatest assets. I just wish I could have one more chance; I wish I could get a do over with him – with us.

I’ve thought about telling him what I learned from Tyler, but I just haven’t been able to work up the courage. I’m not sure that it would make a difference anyway. I want to think it will change how he feels about me, like it will allow him to forgive me, but then his words about learning to love myself ring in my ears and I chicken out on talking to him again.

I’ve changed, but can I really say that I love everything about who I am?

Can anyone
ever
love everything about themselves?

Maybe the best you can hope for is learning how to appreciate who you are without paying much attention to who you aren’t.

Maybe that’s how I’ve changed the most. I’ve learned to love myself for who I am instead of hating myself for who I’m not.

And no, not all of my new-found self-appreciation has come from Bryan; that wouldn’t really be true self-appreciation anyway. I’ve done a lot of soul-searching and I learned to no longer define myself by my flaws. Everyone has flaws. I refuse to be defined by mere imperfections.

I think a large part of being able to forgive and love myself has come from talking to Mom too. I no longer feel like I’ve been a burden to her all these years. Seeing her with Evan has lightened my heart. In a way, it’s like I was holding back allowing myself to be happy until I knew she was happy.

I love that she’s moving on, and in a way, it’s given me permission to let go and move on as well. Well, move in actually. It’s our last week in the suite and I am more than excited to move into our new apartment.

Cammie, on the other hand, is not so happy. It’s her sad face that I see as I return to the suite from getting lunch with Peyton. She had to go work at the tutoring center and Lia is out shopping. I have no clue what else that girl could possibly need. When I asked her, she said “New clothes for the apartment, silly.” Of course! Why hadn’t I thought of that?

Rather glumly, Cammie is packing up some dishes and silverware in the kitchen. As I close the door behind me, I walk over to her and hop up onto the pale blue Formica counter. “Based on the look on your face, I guess he’s sticking by his decision, huh?” I pull a tortilla chip from the half-eaten bag on the counter next to me and crunch on it as she contemplates her answer.

Leaning back against the counter, she grabs a chip and bites into it rather forcefully. Crossing her arms over her chest, she sighs. A resigned look flits across her pretty face. “Yeah, he is. I know it’s what’s best for him, but I hate the idea of being apart from him for a whole year.”

I jump down from the counter and grab two bottles of water out of the fridge. Handing her one, I say, “But you’ll visit him and he’ll visit you. Chicago isn’t
that
far. Besides, when you graduate, you can move there with him.”

Huffing a sigh again, she concedes. “I know. I know. I’m being a total girl over this. It’s just that we’ve been together for five years now and we’ve never been more than a two hour drive away from each other.” Sipping her water, she adds, “And now he’s going to be starting a huge part of his life without me and it’s scary.”

Jack will be moving to Chicago in just a few weeks to start his two-year grad-school program for Physical Therapy. At the end of it, he’ll be a real doctor and everything. It’s weird to think of Solo-cup-filling Jack being called Dr. Parker.

I wrap my arm around her shoulder and give her a tight squeeze. “Cammie, you two are the strongest couple I have ever met. While it might take some getting used to, I know that you’ll make it.”

Lia takes this opportunity to barrel through the door carrying way too many bags for her own good. “Did you leave anything behind for anyone else?” I joke as I help her with the bags.

“Oh, shut it! I got lots of stuff for the apartment. I want it to be pretty,” Lia declares as she starts pulling scented candles and colorful vases out of the bags. There’s no denying it; the girl has a serious sense of style. I am more than willing to let her decorate our place for us.

“This is all really pretty,” I remark as I let a purple table runner glide through my fingers.

“I know! I’m good, right?” she says proudly.

“Did you ever think about doing anything with it? Your talent, I mean? Oh, you could go on one of those ‘be the next big name designer’ TV shows or something like that.” Lia takes my wisecrack in jest and just laughs at me.

As she’s wrapping a glass bowl in newspaper, she replies to my question. “Actually, I have thought about doing something about it. It turns out with just a few extra classes, in addition to my fashion design degree, I can also be a certified interior designer.”

Cammie squeals with delight, her face beaming with pride for her cousin. “Omigod, Lia. That would be perfect for you!”

Not that I didn’t think it wouldn’t be, but I know that with Lia’s touch our apartment is going to be much more than that. It is going to be a home and I can’t wait to move in there. The three of us spend the rest of the afternoon packing up the suite getting lost in the memories and excited about the future.

Moving sucks. Jack and a few of his friends helped us with all of the boxes, and since the apartment is furnished, we didn’t have too much heavy lifting, but still – this sucks. We’ve spent the last few days cleaning everything. Counters, floors, rugs, windows. I mean the place was sort of clean when we came to see it a few weeks ago, but then the shit must have hit the fan – or the old tenants threw one huge-ass party.

We’ve only been here for about a week or so, but already it feels like a home. It also helps that it is actually a home. We’re renting a small single-level home. With four medium-sized bedrooms, a large living and dining room combo and a fairly new kitchen, it’s nothing like the suite and everything like a real house. With a lot of elbow grease and Lia’s decorative touch, the place is finally done. I fold up the final empty box and tie up the last garbage bag and take them down to the curb where the other garbage is piled high.

I’m a sweaty mess today. Wearing rolled up sweats and a beat up, hot pink tank top, I know I look like a hot mess. But, stepping out into the hot sun of the early summer, I feel new and alive. Scanning the small flowerbed to the side of the front stoop, I see that it’s overgrown with weeds and decide that it too needs be fresh and new.

Hell, I’m filthy already. What’s a little more dirt?

Crouching down on the lawn, I start ripping and tearing at the overgrown weed garden. After ten minutes, my nails are caked with dirt; sweat is dripping down my face and my shoulders burn both from the sun and the strain. But I’ve made progress and I’m excited to get a few flowers to plant.

After tossing the weeds into the pail, I wipe my dirt-covered hands on my sweats. Lifting my arm to wipe a drop of sweat from my face, I catch a whiff of myself and oh dear Lord do I stink. The girls will all be home in a little bit so I’ve got just enough time to shower in peace before the battle over the bathroom begins. One bathroom. Four girls. That’s never fun.

Before turning to walk back inside, something across the street catches my attention. I should say someone, actually. I don’t know how I missed it before, but that’s Bryan’s car parked in the small dirt lot. Just as my heart lodges in my throat and my stomach crashes down to the floor, Bryan catches sight of me.

Of all freaking days.

By some magnetic force, instead of walking back into the house, I am pulled to him. He must feel it too, because instead of getting in his car and driving away, he crosses the road walks right up the small walkway that leads to where I’m standing.

“Hey,” he says tentatively as he rakes his hand through his hair. It’s grown longer since I’ve seen him last and a few strands fall back into his eyes even after having pushed them away.

“Hi.” My voice is shaky and uneasy. I hate that.

I raise my arm to my head to block the blinding sun that’s beating down on us from behind Bryan, then I remember that I’m a smelly mess. Swiftly dropping my arm to my side, I hope he didn’t just smell that.

“So you moved, huh?” Bryan scans the front of the house and nods in approval. It is a cute place, if I do say so myself.

“Yeah, just last week actually.” Out of nervousness, I wipe my hands on my pants once more. His face is cast in the shadow created by the sun glaring from behind him so I’m forced to squint in order to see him.

“It’s nice,” Bryan states blandly.

“Uh huh.” Oh God, this is going nowhere and fast. This conversation, if you can even call it that, is jilted and awkward. We haven’t talked in three months, but it shouldn’t be this difficult to talk to the person you once loved.

The person you still love, in my case at least.

Needing to fill the void of silence that is threatening to swallow us whole, I say, “So,” as I shrug my shoulders lamely.

He shrugs his. “Well, I should get going.” Just as he turns to move away, I grab for his arm. I forget about my dirty hands and my stinky pits. I need to talk to him. I want to talk to him. I know that I can’t let him get away.

Staring down at my filthy hand wrapped around his tanned forearm, his face takes on a resigned look. I wonder if he feels
it
– that fiery crackle of heat that has existed between us since we first met.

I feel it.

Extending my arm to the small porch, I ask if we can sit and talk. He simply nods and we arrive at the steps in three short strides. Thinking back to just a few weeks ago when I saw him through the window at the lab, I remember wanting to ask him a million questions. But now, sitting here on my front steps, our legs almost touching, my fingers still vibrating from just having touched him, I can’t remember a single one of them.

I opt for the topic that I think will make him the most happy. “How is Emmie? Is she excited about the summer?”

His lips tip up in the corners and his tense shoulders relax as her name comes out of my mouth. “Emmie’s good. She loves the summer. Her birthday was just the other day and she went on and on about her party for days.” Then his lips turn down and then tension is back. Hanging his head low into his hands, he sighs agitatedly.

“What’s wrong, Bryan?” My fingers itch to be laced through his; my hands are almost shaking with the need to rub comforting circles on his back.

“It’s the divorce. That’s all.” The abrupt curtness of his words tells me that things have not been going well.

“I’m here for you.” He lifts his face from his hands and looks at me strangely. “I know we haven’t talked in forever and I know that things didn’t end well, but I can be your friend. We can talk. I hate seeing you like this, Bryan.”

The strange look that was in his eyes morphs into something that looks a lot like longing. “No, we can’t be friends, Melanie. I can’t get over how you didn’t trust me.” He shakes his head and sighs loudly. “You know after we broke up, Courtney came after me again. I still didn’t want anything to do with her. When I said something to her about texting you, she came clean – told me it was an old picture. I think she felt like if she told the truth, she would have a chance of getting back with me. But, I still can’t wrap my head around how
you
couldn’t trust me. I still can’t … We can’t be friends.” He stands from the steps and turns to leave.