Page 98 of Rewriting the Story

“The hot chocolate was just a ruse, then?” I say as I shake my head, setting my mug down as if I’m annoyed. “God, I’m an idiot.”

“You poor man,” she jokes. “Held hostage by hot chocolate.”

I take a sweep around her place, noting how much it feels like I just walked into her brain, and I take a deep breath. I can almost believe her, but there will always be a part of me waiting for her to leave. Maybe in time, that will go away, but for now, I have to protect myself.

“It’s a beautiful place, Ames,” I tell her.

“Thanks.” She smiles. “I’m thinking of having the girls over for a housewarming party next weekend.”

“It sounds like they’ve forgiven you,” I say as I sip my hot chocolate.

“As much as they can, I guess,” she says, gripping her mug with both hands. “But like I’m doing with you, I’m still proving to them I can show up and stick around. It may not look like it, but I’m trying my fucking hardest to have my actions match my words.”

“Everyone can tell how hard you’re trying, Amelia. Sure, we might be a little worried about the future once this sudden urge to fix things ends, but we can all tell you’re trying.”

“I worry it’s not going to be enough,” she says, her eyes falling.

“Why? Why do you always think you’re not enough?”

“I’ve been trying to be enough my whole life, Hen. People either couldn't understand me or didn't want to stick around enough to deal with me and my not-so-glowing personality. Now, I realize it’s my ADHD that has made me think and behave how I have my entire life, but the fear is still there. It still lingers until I’m asking the people who love me if they still like me, or if I’m too annoying.”

“Then they’re not the right people for you,” I remind her. “Only you can decide what’s good enough. Don’t let other’s skewed projections of you cloud who you know you are.”

“Trust me,” she wipes a tear from her face, “my therapist and I are working on it.”

“That’s good, Ames,” I say as I grab her hand. “I’m proud of you.”

“You are?” Her face is more shocked than I thought it would be. “I’ve barely done anything, Hen.”

“Stop selling yourself short,” I remind her. “You're trying. The hardest I’ve seen you try at anything, really.”

“Henry, I didn't bring you over here for this. You should not be making me feel better. I should—”

“You need to hear it, Ames. Because if you keep assuming you're not good enough for the people around you, you’ll run again. You are enough for the girls, and you are enough for me, even if I’m still terrified you’re going to wake up one day and leave.”

She lets the words sit for a second. “Then I’ve got more work to do to prove your mind otherwise,” she says as she takes my mug from me. I follow her to the kitchen, grabbing my jacket off her coat rack.

“Thanks for the hot chocolate,” I tell her as she heads to the front door with me.

“I’ll call you at some point.”

I press a small kiss to her cheek, unable to help myself but knowing I can’t fully kiss her. If I do, I’m not sure I’d stop, and right now, I can’t afford to give in. I need a little more from her. It’s only been a few weeks since she declared on my doorstep that she was back for good. Two weeks is nothing compared to the scale I’ve known Amelia on.

She tripped and fell into my life over three years ago, and since that moment, I’ve never been the same.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about my life as two different periods: before Amelia and after Amelia. Now, I'm starting to think there is no afterAmelia, at least not for me. I’m starting to think there is nowithoutAmelia.

Maybe in my head, after Amelia simply means we’re an us again. Maybe this is the point in our story where we make it to the ending neither of us thought we would write.

“I know you will, baby.”

38

Ordinary People by John Legend

Myfoottapsnervouslyas I sit in the passenger seat of Henry’s car, and, as if he can read my thoughts, he turns the music down before he parks in his driveway.

“They don’t hate you, Mills. They’re not going to be mean or turn you away.” He grabs my hand. “It’s just dinner.”

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