Say You Swear

“You are going to love the way this thing turned out!” She shakes her head, placing a shoe box-sized package in front of me. “Let’s pull it out so you can make sure it’s all correct.” She begins tugging on the gold tie holding it closed, and I dart a hand out.

“No, wait,” I rush out.

She freezes.

“I uh, it looks so pretty with the ribbon. I don’t want to mess it up. I’m sure it’s perfect.” I nod anxiously.

“Oh, no problem at all.” The woman folds a few pieces of paper, placing them on top of the box and pushes it toward me. “Oh, I almost forgot! This…” She removes a sticky note from the side of the box I can’t see, pressing it down on top as well. “A woman came in and left this address. Asked that we tell you to come back after you picked this up. I guess she’s been tryin’ to reach ya, too.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. My emails are buried right now.”

“Well, hun, you have a happy holiday.”

And just like that, she moves on to another customer, and with tense muscles, I carry the box, no heavier than a pair of shoes to the car.

Rather than pull it open, I put the address on the sticky note into Mason’s GPS, and fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling into a parking lot I’d be happy to never see again.

Killing the engine, I climb out and hope I’m headed into the right area, a little unsure when I get closer and see the name of the place.

Tri-City Rehabilitation Center.

I remember this place. I saw it when I came back for my follow-up.

With a deep breath, I head inside and a wave of nausea hits me.

The woman behind the counter smiles, waving me forward, so with slow steps, I do, and as she hangs up the phone, she beams.

“Sign on in, honey. Who you here to see?”

“Oh, um—”

“Ari?”

My head snaps left to find a woman around my mom’s age walking up, a clipboard in her hand. “Hi.”

“I’m so glad you made it by! I’ve been trying to reach you for days. I was going to call Noah, but she made me promise not to.”

My heart beats wildly and I nod.

Who made her promise?

She frowns, slowly moving behind the counter. “Give me a minute, okay, hun?”

“Yeah, sure.” I swallow, consider turning and running away, but I don’t know why. There’s a heaviness creeping over me, threatening to knock me over.

A little less than ten minutes go by, and the woman comes back, a sealed envelope inside, something hard within it. “Sorry about that. Here.” She passes it over, speaking gently. “So sorry for your loss, she was very loved here.”

My smile is tight, and I nod.

“Take care of yourself, Ari.”

“Thanks, Cathy.” With that, I leave the building but freeze right outside.

Cathy.

How…

I shake it off, more confused now than I was before.

I drive back to campus, my knee bouncing the entire time, and rush up to my room. Thankfully, Cameron isn’t home, so I lock my door and set both the box and letter before me.

Minutes, maybe even hours pass, and I don’t move. I pace my room, comb my hair a dozen times, never once taking my eyes off the top of my comforter.

My phone rings, but I ignore it.

My stomach growls, but I ignore that too.

“Fuck it.”

I jump onto the bed, tear the envelope open, and pour the contents out.

My mouth gapes when another sealed envelope falls out, a folded piece of paper falling on top of it addressed to me.

A letter.

It’s a letter.

It takes a moment, but I find the courage to open it, setting it down before me.

Grabbing a pillow for support, I bury my mouth against it as I hug it to myself, and I hold my breath.

And then I look down and read.

* * *

Dear Arianna,

* * *

I’m not quite sure how to start this letter so I’m just going to dive right in and tell you that you, sweet girl, are a gift I never thought I would receive. You are the gift. The one that has allowed me to breathe for the first time in a very long time. Because of you, my daily struggle has lessened and I’m finally able to put my white flag to rest.

What does that mean? Well, it means that my mind and heart are finally on speaking terms with my body. And if I’m understanding the secrets my body has shared with me, I’ve left him.

I’ve left my son.

If you haven’t guessed, this letter is from me, Lori Riley, Noah’s mother.

* * *

I gasp, my hold on the pillow tightening.

* * *

I know you don’t remember me, but we’re good friends, you and I, but we can come back to that. Back to Noah.

As you once knew, I was all he had in this world. For all of his life, it was simply him and I and while I wouldn’t change a thing about the lives we lived, I came to regret a lot of it. With that regret came resentment, and it pointed straight back at me.