Page 5 of The Hang Up
The words hang in the air, unspoken truths bleeding into the silence, because the truth is, I do remember. I never forgot.
“Maybe you need to hear him out so you can finally let it go,” Arlowe says softly. “Or maybe…you don’t want to.”
“I’m over him,” I lie. “Nothing good could come from opening that door again.”
They don’t press me on it. They just help me finish the closing routine. We stack chairs, mop floors, and lock up the register. It’s muscle memory by now, comforting in its repetition. The three of us move like clockwork, like sisters.
“Want me to walk you out?” Auden asks as I shrug on my coat.
“Nah, I’m good. You two get home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
They hug me, and I head out into the chilly Lilac Harbor night. My car is parked out back, and the cold air helps to clear my head—for a moment. But by the time I reach the apartment I share with my mom, the emotional weight is already settling on my shoulders.
The place is dark except for the faint glow from the TV in her bedroom. I peek in to find her fast asleep, her breathing shallow but steady. She’s curled up under the crocheted blanket I made for her last Christmas.
I tiptoe to the kitchen, pour a glass of water, and quietly pad to my room.
I should go straight to bed. I should try to rest, but instead, I find myself pulling open the bottom drawer of my nightstand to retrieve the worn envelope that lives there.
It’s bent at the corners, the paper soft from years of being handled. My name is scrawled across the front in Holden’s messy, familiar handwriting.
I don’t know why I’ve kept it. Maybe because it was the last real piece of him I had.
I slide the letter out and unfold it slowly. The paper crackles in my hands. I scan the words, even though I know them by heart.
Lena,
I’m not good with words (and I won’t win any handwriting awards), but I needed to tell you this on paper, because sometimes, when I’m around you, I forget how to talk. You smile, and my brain goes all fuzzy.
Being with you feels like breathing for the first time. Like everything that came before was just waiting for this.
For you.
You’re my favorite part of every day. The way you laugh when I do something stupid. The way you smell like sugar and vanilla. The way you always believe in me, even when I don’t.
You make me feel like I’m more than a guy from a small town with a busted truck and big dreams. Like I could do something amazing, be someone worthy, because you’ll be there beside me.
I don’t know what the future holds, but I know this: I want every piece of it with you.
Prom. Graduation. Whatever comes next. I want it all if it means I get to hold your hand through it.
You’re it for me, Lena. You always have been. You always will be.
Yours. Always.
Holden
I blink fast, but it’s no use. The tears come anyway.
“Liar,” I whisper, voice cracking. “I hate you. I hate that you left. I hate that you didn’t fight for me.”
I press the letter to my chest and curl onto my side. A sob slips out, then another. I cry until my eyes sting and my nose is stuffed up. Until the letter is damp in my hand and my heart aches with something dangerously close to longing.
What would’ve happened if he’d stayed?
Would we be married now? Living in a little cottage by the lake? Would we have a dog, a baby on the way? Would I have opened Clay & Cupcakes?
I don’t know, but tonight, I let myself imagine for a moment.
