Alice is radiating with happiness and she deserves it. It has taken her so long to find something she loves and I think this job is a perfect fit for her.
“No, it’s perfect,” I tell her, meaning every word. She has some serious talent and it’s obvious this photographer recognized that.
I lean over and pull her into a hug and as happy as I am for Alice, my heart still aches. It’s like a fog that never leaves. Some days are better than others, but it’s always there in the back of my mind. All that time I wasted in this job I hate, wasted searching for Elliot, yet every day, I still miss him. I still miss what could have been.
“I have something for you,” Alice whispers and when I move away from her she’s crying.
“What’s wrong, Alice?” I ask and she shakes her head as if she can’t get the words out.
Leaving the room, I’m left sitting on the couch wondering what is going on. Alice returns with a large box wrapped in silver paper and tied with a red ribbon. She hands me the box and sits down next to me.
“Open it,” she says, her voice shaky.
Attached to the red ribbon is a tag that says, “Write what you love.” I look up at Alice giving her a strange glance, but she just nods toward the package, once again indicating I should open it.
I remove the ribbon and wrapping to find the box filled with photographs, papers and Alice’s laptop. Once again I look up at her and she says nothing, so I begin to remove everything from the box.
With each item I remove, I realize what Alice has done and I’m sobbing. There are multiple pictures from each stop we made when I was looking for Elliot this last time and included with it are notes about each stop. Some of the notes include what I said or how I looked or what Alice thought I was feeling. And when I open her laptop, I see she has written down almost everything I told her about Elliot and about our story.
But what gets me is the handwritten letter at the bottom of the box. And it says, “Nora, Write your story. Write what you love. I love you. Alice.”
“Alice,” I choke out, but I can’t say anything more. The tears falling hard and fast until my head throbs and my teeth hurt.
Alice rests her hand on my leg and smiles weakly at me. She swallows hard and I know she’s trying not to cry.
“I don’t have the talent you have, but I tried my best to remember everything about our trip. I hope you can use what I have, but if not, that’s okay.”
“Alice,” I try again and this time I find my voice. “This is the most amazing gift I have ever received and I just hope I can bring to life what you have given me.”
“Of course you can,” she announces, her voice firm. “Just sit down and do it. Tell your story.”
A huge smile spreads across my face and I grab Alice, hugging her tightly and thanking her over and over again.
“I will,” I say, forever grateful that she joined me on the trip, not only because of what she gave me, but because that trip somehow healed a broken relationship between the two of us. “You’ll be the first to read it.”
“Damn right,” Alice says and it makes us both laugh.
I gather the box and all the papers that were strewn around me and retreat to my room to sort through everything.
The fact that Alice took the time to put all of this together makes me feel guilty for thinking she was ever selfish. This is the most selfless act she has ever displayed and I realize throughout all my struggles to move beyond my obsession with finding Elliot, this is her attempt to help me.
While it is a struggle to let go of something you’ve held onto for so long, there comes a time when it becomes too much.
Climbing onto my bed, I begin to look through the pictures and the notes Alice has included, while some things make me smile, others make my chest constrict. I can feel the start of tears and for once it isn’t over missing Elliot or what I think my life would’ve been like had I found him, but about the amount of time I wasted. It’s no longer about finding him. It’s about writing my story, our story and finding a way to start my life again. Leaving the complacency of all of it and starting a new life for myself.
I pull my laptop from the nightstand and for the first time in eight years, I’m not writing a description of an overpriced roasting pan or editing someone else’s work.
I’m writing my story.
Before I know it two hours have passed and I’ve been writing nonstop. While it seems to be flowing easily, it hasn’t been without its obstacles. At times I realize how ridiculous what I’ve done for the last twelve years has been and I begin to hate myself for keeping at it for so long. But the more I write, the more I realize it was a part of my life I can’t change. At that time, I needed Elliot to come into my life. He shook things up and made the normalcy of it seem foreign, like I needed something new.
I clung to that feeling for twelve years. That feeling of falling love where your heart feels like it might burst and you can’t get close enough to the person, that balance of innocence and wanting something that feels real.
It was the first time I remember having that reaction to someone despite dating guys throughout high school. The connection I felt to Elliot was unlike any other and as I write, I can’t help but think I held fast to finding him just to have that feeling again.
As we age, I’ve now come to terms with the fact that at eighteen everything is far more intense, obsessive and desperate, and as I realize all this, I know I will never be able to recreate what I found with Elliot. It ends now.
So I write it. A romanticized version of what really occurred, a true love story that may never come to be.
Part Two: Elliot
Chapter Ten
Twelve Years Ago - San Diego
I see her from across the room and she’s stunning. I watch her look around, chew her bottom lip a few times and roll her eyes, and despite the fact that she looks entirely pissed off, I decide to approach her.
She’s far more beautiful up close, and I can feel my heart begin to race as I try to come up with something to say. I take in her brown eyes and the small smattering of freckles that dot her nose. Her skin is tanned and her dark brown hair is pulled back in a loose messy knot making her face even more strikingly beautiful. But for some reason she’s alone. The most beautiful girl at this party is alone.
It’s a party I wasn’t even supposed to be at, but happened upon as I headed home from work. I stopped, filled a plastic cup from the keg in the backyard and went inside. I know a few of the guys here so it wasn’t like I was crashing the party. But as I stand here looking at her, she’s the reason I’m here. I was meant to meet her.
“That look is killer,” I say as I stop in front of her. “I hope it’s not directed at me.” With just a few simple words I watch her demeanor change. She eases and a soft smile forms on her lips.
“Nah,” she says, shaking her head, and I watch her lips as she speaks, suddenly wanting to kiss her, but she adds, “It’s for someone who isn’t here and even if she were, she wouldn’t notice.”
She’s cute, she doesn’t even realize what she said makes it sound a little dirty and I point it out to her with a devious look and a wink.