Page 43 of The Beginning and End of Everything
When Daddy’s car pulled down the street, slowing to park, I rushed out the backdoor. Each step I took jarred loose tears until an endless stream poured down my cheeks. By the time I reached Connor’s, I couldn’t catch my breath.
He opened the door and pulled me into a hug, one that felt safe. “What’s wrong, Poppy?”
I was too embarrassed to tell him, so I shook my head and buried my face in his shoulder. That was when I realized, the bad boys may break a girl’s heart, but the good ones will piece it back together.
Part II
The Present. The Beginning and the End.
22
Connor
November 2013
“This is feckin stupid.” Brandon rips the piece of paper from the notebook and balls it up, tossing it into the bin. “Grave letter… Can’t you just sign my name to yours?”
“No.”
With a huff, Brandon scrawls something on the new page.
These letters are protocol, and while I know the chances of it ever being sent are slim, it still leaves me unsettled. It brings an uneasy awareness of my own mortality crashing down around me.
I read over the few words I’ve written, and I hope to God Poppy never gets this.
Poppy,
I hate writing these letters. It’s depressing. But if you’re reading this
But what do I write? If she ever reads this letter, that means I’m gone. It means we’ll never have the life we spent the last seven years planning. And there is not a dictionary’s worth of words that I could write to tell her everything I would want to say.
That I was in love with her at nine—as in love as a kid can be, and those feelings only grew. That all of my happiest moments in life have revolved around her. How do I put into words the regret I feel when I think there’s a possibility I may leave her?
Poppy was the first girl I kissed. The only girl I had ever dated—we were each other’s firsts at everything…
Brandon tears off another page. “There. That’ll do.”
“You’re done?”
“Not much to say.” He clears his throat. “Poss, you and Con were always my best friends. Name your first born after me. Even if it’s a girl. Sorry I croaked. Love, Brandon.”
“Blunt and to the point,” I say and pen another line of my letter before glancing back at him. “But I’m not naming my firstborn after you. I love you, but you were a shithead as a kid.”
He snorts, then stuffs the letter into an envelope and tosses it to the table. “Afghanistan’s going to blow.”
“Probably.”
Brandon cocks his head to the side, considering something, although I’m not sure what that might be—with Brandon, one never knows. “Do you hate me for making you join yet?”
“You didn’tmakeme.” He always gives himself too much credit.
Brandon laughs. “Sure thing, Con.”
The day Brandon marched in, interrupting mine and Poppy’s dinner, to tell us he’d joined the army, it just made sense that I join, too. We promised to stay with each other always. And it does make for a nice career, at least when I’m at home.
“You would’ve gone AWOL during training,” I say, not really giving him much of my attention.
Brandon tips his chair back on two legs, pointing at me with a grin. “True. Those few days in the muddy ditch were enough to do me in.”
