Page 81 of Love Rewritten

Neither of us talk while we watch the sunrise. Abby cuddles into my side and leans her head on my shoulder. It’s a warm morning, but I’m still thankful for the contact. It doesn’t take long until we see a sliver of the sun peeking its head over the silhouette of the trees on the other side of the pond. The orange, pink, and purple hues create a gorgeous ombre over the sky, coloring the clouds like watercolors. The reflection of the trees in the pond looks almost surreal with how still it is. It’s like glass, like a mirror, painting the same picture between the divide of the horizon.

A flock of birds flies past the growing sun, chirping to each other about where they should go next. A chipmunk skitters across the fallen tree, perching on the split log momentarily before darting behind it into the pile of fallen branches. A single mourning dove coos somewhere across the pond, and it echoes over the great expanse of water.

Serenity. Peace. Maybe even a little hope.

We watch until the sun is fully visible, the ball of yellow flames coating everything in an orange hue.

Abby tips her head up and looks at me. “Thank you for bringing me out here. Even if you did wake me up before the ass crack of dawn.”

I grin. “Hey, you’re the one who suggested the first time I brought you here that we should see a sunrise together.” I chuckle when she pokes me in the side. “You’re welcome. I figured it was good timing after … everything.”

She smiles and hums as she leans her head back on my shoulder.

“Maybe this is bad timing, but have you talked to your dad since karaoke?”

I let out a short laugh. “No. It’s going to take a while before he and I are on talking terms again. That’s something I’m implementing. Not him. I just need some time to sort through my own feelings on the matter. Eventually, yes, I would like to reach a point where he and I can at least be in the same room where I don’t feel that ache in my gut at just the sight of him. I’m hopeful we’ll get there. But not today.”

“I think that’s fair. Do it on your own terms. Don’t force it.”

I know Abby won’t be pushy on the whole parent-relationship thing, not after everything with her mom. I can sense she wants to say more, but she never does. She keeps her head on my shoulder, our breathing turning into one smooth motion.

It isn’t long before she sits up and digs through her purse for something. I watch her curiously before she pulls something metal out of the bottom. She holds it up for me to see but doesn’t say anything as she gets up and moves to the edge of the water. It takes me a second to realize what she has in her hand. Her old apartment key. I watch from my spot on the bench, resting an arm over the back.

She looks back at me and says, “It’s metaphorical.” And then she winds up and chucks the key far into the pond. It lands in the water with an almost silent plunk, sinking to the bottom of the pond never to be seen again, sending a ripple out in every direction. She holds her arms out wide like she’s flying, like she feels free.

Even for me, that small action warms my heart, knowing she’s committed to being done with everything related to him. I hadn’t realized she still had that key. I thought she got rid of it after wandering into her old apartment a while back. I can only imagine how good that feels to her.

She walks back to me and takes a seat, leaning forward, her elbows braced on her knees.

“Feel better?” I don’t move toward her.

She tilts her head slightly but doesn’t look at me. “Maybe?”

I’m not sure if I expected her to continue, but she doesn’t, so I rest a hand on her back and ask, “How so?” hoping letting her talk through it will help her feel a little better.

She shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong, that felt really good, but I think I thought it would be a little more cathartic than it was. It’s like a dopamine hit that doesn’t last as long as you want it to.”

“Makes sense. As much as I’m sure we both want it to, throwing a key into a pond isn’t going to magically fix everything.”

She leans back. “If only.”

“If only,” I repeat.

If only.

“Would you ever let me read your short story? Is that something you’d share with me?” I ask more for selfish reasons, but also because I want to support her even after the fact.

She pulls a knee up on the bench and rests her chin on it but doesn’t look at me. “It’s about you, you know.”

The corner of my mouth ticks up as I think about the passages I’ve heard her read aloud.

“Not the whole thing,” she continues. “But parts of it. Like I said in court, it’s my life’s journey so far. The past, present, and future.” She looks out over the pond. “I got writer’s block shortly before I met you. I couldn’t figure out why I was having such a hard time coming up with the rest of the story. But then you walked into my life, and suddenly, the words were all there, just waiting for me to write them, to put them on paper, to share them with someone,anyonewilling. And I realized why I couldn’t finish the story while I was with Sam.” She turns to face me with a smile. “Do you remember the spot about the hand reaching out for me?”

I nod, remembering her reading that section at the LAO awards ceremony.

“That’s your hand. That’s you reaching for me, Dallas. I couldn’t finish the story because I didn’t know what it really felt like to be free from him, to be in a healthy relationship. You showed me that.” She takes a deep breath. “So, to answer your question, yes. You are more than welcome to read it.”

“Thank you,” I smile and press a kiss to her lips.

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