Page 99 of Rewriting the Story

Just dinner? “Henry, after what I did—”

“I never even told them what happened.” His admittance surprises me. “I told them we broke up, but I didn't talk to them about what happened. It was too hard.”

That killsme even more.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he says as he presses a small kiss to my knuckles. “We can leave whenever you want, okay?”

“Should we have some sort of signal or something?”

He shakes his head. “We don’t need signals, Amelia. I can read your mind, remember?”

I laugh—of course he can. “Okay,” I say as I pull my shoulders back. “Let’s do this.”

Even though I’ve only met his parents a few times, that hasn't stopped the spiral. I spiraled so bad last night after my medication wore off that I called the girls, and they helped to soothe my thoughts. It was actually really helpful, having them be here for me when my mind got too loud. Then, I cried to them on the phone for not giving up on me. Let’s just say last night was an emotional one, but I actually slept through the whole night.

He opens my door for me, and as we walk up the beautifully gardened path to the front door, I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. I want so badly to cower behind Henry, but as soon as the door opens and their familiar faces hit my mine, they smile.

And they both bring me in for a hug.

“Amelia!” his mother says into my ear. “We’re so happy you could make it tonight.”

I have to stop myself from questioning that; my own parents would never be this happy to see me, so it confuses me as to why his are, especially after I broke their son’s heart and left the fucking country.

“Hey, Dad,” Henry says as he hugs his father. “How’s the recent puzzle coming?”

“Well, if you head to the dining room table, you’ll find out.”

I step into the house, Henry’s hand on the small of my back as the scent of garlic bread hits my nose. This house is more home-like than the one I grew up in. Colors look brighter here. It’s an exact contrast to mychildhood house that’s devoid of the things that make a house feel like a home.

“Hen, he refused to move it off the table,” his mother says as he takes my coat. “I knew he took his puzzles seriously, but he’s making us squish around the table in the kitchen because he didn't want me to move it.”

“It’s the puzzle of both of Henry’s book covers, Sheila,” his father says. “I couldn’t move it when I’m almost done!”

“You have a puzzle with his covers on it?” I ask, wanting to see it for myself.

“Come on,” Henry says as he leads the way. I find myself remembering the layout of the house since I came here for Thanksgiving our senior year, then a few times after that for dinner. It’s weird how certain memories don’t fade.

As soon as I see the red cover of his debut, I smile.

“Wow,” I say as I run my hand over the completed sections. “This is so cool. Where did he get this?”

“Henry made it for me on some create your own puzzle website,” his dad says as he hands us both a glass of water. “It was a wonderful birthday present a few weeks ago.”

“Where’s Lucy?” Henry asks.

“She’s out with some friends at the beach,” his mother says from the other room. “She’s not coming, unfortunately. You know how teenagers are.”

“I know how excited you were to see her,” his father says. “And she was excited to see you as well.”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to me. “Really? Me?”

“Amelia, you were her favorite person to talk to way back when. She would not stop mentioning her new friend Amelia to all her classmates.”

My throat practically closes. I guess I didn't just break Henry when I left. I loved his little sister, and even though most children annoy the ever-loving crap out of me, she never fit into the category. Matter of fact,I remember telling Henry multiple times that I thought his sister was marginally cooler than him. He agreed, of course.

I swallow the knot in my throat—the memories overwhelming me—and I have to remind myself to stay in the present. Henry is on his way to forgiving me. I’m showing up for him. I’m here and trying not to run from the things that terrify me.

Henry meets my eyes, and I can tell he’s asking me if I’m okay.

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