Page 22 of Rewriting the Story

At fourteen years old, my sister is all barkandbite. I remember when my parents told me I was going to have a little sister. It was the most excited I had ever been, and from the minute she was born, she became my favorite person on the planet. Suddenly, I was someone’s big brother, and that alone made me want to shield her from every terrifying thing the world could bring.

Now that we’re older, we’re still as close as we have been. It’s weird seeing her grow up right in front of me, but I’m glad I’m still around so we can have moments like these.

“What gives, Hen? Why have you been so dreary lately?”

I put my pencil down. “Don’t you have homework to do?”

“I already did it,” she says as she saunters over to my desk. “What are you working on? Is that another book I’m not allowed to read?”

I laugh dryly at that. “You know why you’re not allowed to read them yet, and no, it’s not. It’s a list.”

“What kind of list?” Before I can answer, she grabs it from my desk in one swoop and starts reading it out loud. “Pros and cons of going to Oliver’s wedding. Who’s Oliver? I thought Mitch was your only friend.”

I swipe the list back from her. “First of all, ouch. Second, Mitch is my best friend. Thirdly, Oliver is someone I knew back in college.”

“Oh,” she says as she sits on the small chair in my office. “From Grand Mountain?”

“That is where I went to college,” I say to her. I know why she’s being so coy about all this. I never talk about college with my family. All they know from back then is that I was dating Amelia one day and she was gone the next. I didn't explain anything to them. I told them to never ask me about it.

I’ve been struggling for which side to put her on, but since I mostly have pros, I might throw her into the con column just to have a reason to not go.

But going might mean I’ll get the closure I’ve been chasing all these years. Or maybe it’ll bring up a whole bunch of other feelings I’d rather keep down. Maybe after we talk a little bit, I can move on and live the rest of my life without that hanging over my head.

“So, why wouldn't you go to his wedding?”

“Lots of reasons, Luce.”

“Is it mainly because of her?” she asks me outright. “I know you don’t like talking about her, but—”

“I don’t, but she will be there,” I tell my sister. “Maybe I should go.”

Everything happens for a reason, right? That’s the motto I live my life by at the ripe age of twenty-five, and since they invited me, there must be some sort of cosmic reason I should take the chance and go. I should bite the bullet that's inevitably headed my way in the form of Amelia Ellis, and maybe there’s a slight chance I can come out of this unscathed.

A small, minute chance, but everything she puts her hands on disintegrates immediately, and I wouldn't be surprised if she ruined me even further at this event that’s supposed to be about celebrating Paige and Oliver.

“You should,” she says, catching me off-guard. “Maybe it’ll be good for you to get out of this apartment and actually have a life.”

“Hey!” I throw a pen at her. “I have a life! I leave my house all the time.”

“Yeah, for like a month when you’re on a book tour, but other than that…” She trails off as she turns the pen in her hands. God, I forgot how blunt she can be for a teenager.

“Lucy, I can’t just drop work so I can go on vacation. That isn't really how my job works.”

“Hen, laptops are portable, you know! You’ve brought them on planes before, so I think a car ride will be okay.”

God, she’s right. At this point, I’m just looking for reasons to not go.

So, I crumple up my list and throw it in the garbage, affirming my choice to go to this wedding and confront the person who owes me a hell of a lot of answers. My current manuscript isn't the only unfinished story, and maybe confronting my biggest and toughest one might help the words flow again.

I guess I can only hope she’s grown enough in the past two years to want to give me the answers I’m rightfully owed. If not, maybeeverything doesn't happen for a reason. Maybe some things are just meant to be left unsaid—unfinished.

In about two weeks, I’ll find out if our story is closed, the last words written on our page the ones we barely spoke that day in the airport, or if there are blank pages waiting to be written on with the words we have yet to speak.

Henry: Count me in.

Grant: Hell yes! Oh my God, I’m gonna bring my copies for you to sign!

Oliver: Welcome to the chaos, Hen.

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