Now, I read the letters how they were meant to be read.
Curt and impatient.
And for the first time, anger twined around my heart. Yes, I might’ve been young and overly eager, but he didn’t have to be so cold. I only tried to be nice. If he’d just given me a few extra minutes of his day, who knew if I’d feel as lonely as I did now.
I’d tried making friends. Dad even let me go to normal school instead of being home-schooled by Keeko so I could mingle with kids my own age. However, they were all so…juvenile. So focused on parties and who-liked-who and scrambling to study for exams.
No one had time for me.
And my loneliness grew ever more acute.
Hope,
Sorry to hear about your arm.
Get better quick!
Jacob.
I groaned, pressing my face into my hands. When I’d received that note, I’d read between the lines and believed he wanted me to heal fast, not for me, but for him.
Now, I saw two simple sentences sent only to appease a clingy, silly girl.
The last letter was the worst.
Hope,
Yes, I moved out of home. It was time.
Glad you’re enjoying acting a little.
That’s great.
Awesome to hear you’re moving on and growing up.
All the best.
Jacob.
Not one sign he wanted me to reply. Not one of my questions about his life answered. His letters were as unyielding and uninformative as he was in person, and I’d cried after receiving that one.
Because, finally, the blinders I’d been wearing were torn off. Maybe it was the fact he didn’t live with his mom anymore. Maybe it’d been because time had already pushed him further out of my reach. Or maybe it was because I was sick of reaching out for a friend only to be hurt by his indifference.
Either way, I hadn’t written to him again.
In fact, I did my best not to think about him. The locket with Mom’s lace lived permanently around my neck, but I forced myself only to think of her when I noticed it in the mirror after my shower or when I tucked it into my school uniform in the morning.
But thanks to strolling down bitter memory lane last night, I wasn’t in the mood to do anything but sulk.
What was so repulsive about me? Why were the boys interested in hooking up but not connecting? Why did girls like me to begin with, then hate me a week later?
At least Scotland’s weather matched my despondency, giving me an afternoon of drizzle that was perfect for a bowl of buttery popcorn and a perusal of the DVD cabinet to veg on the couch.
Skimming the shelves of rom-coms, dramas, and sci-fis, my attention latched onto the blue spine with the glittery script of The Boy & His Ribbon.
I hadn’t seen the movie since the premiere. I hadn’t had an urge to. Normally, I didn’t like watching the movies Dad had acted in, but…this one was about Jacob—in a roundabout way.
I couldn’t stop myself as I grabbed the disk, inserted it into the home theatre system, and settled down to watch what love could be like.
A love I wanted for myself.
A love that any girl—young or old—coveted, begged for, and dreamed of.
No matter the pain in the end.
* * * * *
“Whatcha watching?” Dad strode into the living room as I swiped at my tears, totally suckered into Dad’s acting and the agony of saying goodbye.
“Nothing.” My hand shot forward for the remote, but it was too late.
He paused, his arms behind him as he shrugged off his jacket. “The Boy & His Ribbon?”
I shrank into the comfy couch. “Just fancied a lazy Sunday.”
Dad finished taking off his jacket before slinging it over the recliner and sitting down to remove his boots. The beard he’d grown for work was unkempt and highland wild, but he was happy in this role. Completely in his element in the howling winds and roaring fireplaces of the past.
“Heard from Jacob or Della lately?”
I shook my head, hiding my flinch.
Stretching backward, he yawned and rubbed his face. “I’ll be glad once this early morning battle scene is done.”
Sitting cross-legged, I paused the movie where Jacob and his mom were in the forest with an urn of ashes, stopped comparing it to the rainy afternoon when my mom’s casket was lowered into a grave, and focused on my only living family. “Yeah, you’ve been pulling some crazy hours lately.”
Dad gave me a tired smile. “All right. Out with it. What’s up, Little Lace?”
“What? There’s nothing.”
“I know you.” He sighed gently. “Something is on your mind.”
“I’m good.”
“Is it about you sneaking home at ten past midnight last night?”
I froze. “Oh.”
“Is it about that boy Brian Regan who is never to step foot in my house again?”
I sat taller, getting defensive. “I didn’t do anything wrong if that’s what you’re implying.”