“I think it will always feel like that. Loving someone that much, that hard, in that capacity, that never goes away.”
He concentrates on my hair as he speaks, “She made me promise something that I haven’t been able to do. It isn’t because I don’t think I’m capable; I just don’t know if I’m ready.”
“What was the promise?”
He looks up from my hair and meets his steel blue eyes with my green ones. “She made me promise to love someone again. It was her dying wish, but… I don’t know.”
“I can see why she promised that.”
The comb drops from his hand and clatters to the floor. I’m thinking about Annabeth and her reasons for wanting Owen to love again. It’s very selfless, to tell the man you love to love someone else one day. It must have been hard for her.
“Why do you say that?” he questions, combing my hair once more.
I lift my left shoulder and let it drop. “I think she was thinking of what’s best for you in her final moments. I think she experienced a love of her lifetime, just like you did, and she wanted you to share that again with someone. I bet she found your love to be too big not to ever share it again.” I stare down at my fingers and pick at my cuticles. “I think that was amazing of her to do, to want what is best for you, even as she died. She loved you very much. It must be nice to be loved like that.”
I expect him to say something back, but he doesn’t. I glance into the mirror again and find him staring at me, guilt written on his face.
“Do you plan to uphold her promise?” I ask him out of the blue.
“No, I never did. I never planned to. It was the one thing I didn’t think I could do,” he admits. “I never thought of it like that, how she thought of me in her last moments. I … I was too stricken with grief.”
“I think she knew that too,” I say, giving him a warm smile in hopes he will feel better. “I don’t think she expected you to fall in love all over again in a day, but one day. I think she’s right.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, and our eyes lock again in the mirror. A moment passes between us again, and I’m not sure what to make of it. He realizes what he needs to do.
He needs to be selfless instead of being selfish for a love he will never have again with Annabeth. Comparing what he had to what he may have isn’t fair. Whatever love he experiences again will never be the same as his first, but the amount of love he could have, that may be the same, if not just as intense.
“So tell me about you.” He clears his throat. I’m not sure he’s getting anywhere with these useless strands, but I appreciate his effort.
Effort.
The tiniest word with the biggest meaning. It can turn worlds, shape lives, make someone's bad day better.
The only effort I’ve ever experienced is all the days I pushed myself, alone, to get through work and college to make something of myself.
Sometimes effort is exhausting when you’re the only one giving yourself the drive to get to where you need to be.
And I’m tired.
It looks like Owen is too.
“There’s nothing to know, not really. I told you everything.”
“I don’t believe that. What’s your favorite color? Movie? Food?”
“I don’t remember the last thing I watched on TV. I love sushi. I love the color between pink and orange. Coral? I guess. I love that color.”
He squeezes more conditioner into his palm and loads the same strip of hair he has been working on for the last hour. “That’s a good color. I like blue.”
I roll my eyes. “All freaking men like blue.”
He chuckles and nods. “I suppose we do, but don’t tell anyone—a close second is purple. I love that color.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” I giggle just as the plastic comb breaks, the teeth of it snapping in half.
He lifts the comb in the air and pinches his lips together, then plucks the pieces of plastic out of my hair. “That’s okay. I can get another comb.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I hesitantly whisper, hating that this is what has to happen. “Let’s be honest.” I swallow, coating my dry throat as my eyes well up again. “We both knew there was no saving this. You were being nice.”