“Thank you, Bridgitte. You didn’t have to come here. You didn’t have to bring me the book, but you did.”
She pauses for a while and the silence grows even more awkward, with neither of us certain what should be said.
Bridgitte breaks the silence as she exhales loudly, and when her eyes connect with mine she says, “Quite honestly, Elliot, I need this to be over. I need to move on. Like you, I’m holding on to something, but in my case you were never mine to begin with.”
I say the first thing that comes to my mind because there’s no sense in defending myself. I strung Bridgitte along. I made her think she had a chance when all along I was just pretending to forget Nora. It’s not that I never loved Bridgitte because I did. It just wasn’t enough to sustain our relationship long term. It makes me a shitty person and I know that.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, but I know it’s not enough. She may have forgiven me for being a complete fucking asshole, but it doesn’t correct what I put her through.
She walks toward the door and before leaving, she turns to look at me, her face full of sadness and her eyes wet with tears, she says quietly, “Take care, Elliot.”
And that’s it. I watch Bridgitte leave, once again feeling like shit, because I’ve finally fucking found what I’ve been looking for, but I’ve hurt someone in the process.
I sit down on the couch, my head in my hands. I’ve wanted this for so long, but the guilt I feel fucking sucks. I need to get over it because I’m not getting back together with Bridgitte and clearly Nora hasn’t forgotten about me, about us.
I turn the book over in my hands looking at the cover but noticing nothing but her name.
Nora Mills
Just seeing it there in front of me spawns my need to find her immediately. I grab my laptop from the coffee table and type her name into Google, and in only seconds, there she is. A picture of her appears on my screen and she looks exactly the same as she did the day I met her at that party. She’s as stunning as I remember.
The link and picture are a news story that comes from a New York magazine regarding the opening of a photography studio. I click the link, but the story isn’t about Nora. It’s about her sister Alice, and standing next to Nora is the man I encountered in Boston right before Bridgitte’s accident.
It only takes a second for me to recall the conversation I had with the man, “Maybe you’re looking for my daughter Alice?” he said. It’s all becoming clear and I curse out loud at how fucking close I was to finding Nora. I was standing outside her father’s house in Boston. Why wouldn’t he have mentioned his other daughter Nora? Why only Alice? Why didn’t I question him more and why was there no recent information on Nora?
I have a million fucking unanswered questions flying around in my head, questions that can only be answered by Nora. I have to find her.
Now that I have her last name it doesn’t take long to locate some information on her, including what I hope is an updated address. I also locate her publisher, and worst-case scenario, if the address I have isn’t hers, I can always visit the publishing company and finesse my way into hopefully finding her through them. I’ll just explain who I am…or maybe that’s idiotic because I’m sure there are guys already trying to cash in on my status, using my name to get to Nora. Why would a guy read Nora’s romance book? I’m fucking over thinking this shit. Fuck.
The address I have for Nora lists her as New York City, so I waste no time booking a flight into JFK for tomorrow morning, and while it costs me a fucking fortune, it will all be worth it in the end if I find Nora.
Next I do something I know I have to do, but I’m not looking forward to. I call Matt. I wouldn’t be surprised if he already knows with Bridgitte and Maggie still being friends. This seems like something Bridgitte wouldn’t keep from her.
It’s late by the time I get it together to call, after ten, although it’s not late on the west coast, Matt still answers the phone with a question and a small amount of concern.
“Everything alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, I found her,” I say immediately. No point in small talk, but he’s obviously confused by my response.
“What?”
“I found Nora.”
“Seriously? Are you sure?” he asks, his voice mixed with excitement and fear. He’s been with me throughout it all. He’s watched it destroy my relationship with Bridgitte and he’s been there when I needed to obsess over Nora and when I continually said fuck it all.
“I’m positive it’s her. She wrote a book about us. Well, she doesn’t use our names, but it’s our story.”
“And you’re certain it’s not just a similar story. Is the author’s name Nora?” Matt is full of questions and I understand why. I’ve been down this road with him before and they’ve all been dead ends.
“It’s her. It is absolutely her. I have no doubt and I’ve found an address for her. I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”
“Well, fuck that’s fast. You sure you don’t want to call her or email her first? What if it’s just a coincidence and it’s not her? If it is, what if she’s married? Has kids? It seems a little intrusive to just show up.”
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take,” I respond as I thumb through the pages of the book, coming to a stop at the dedication page and what it says:
To Elliot, wherever you are. I’ve missed you every day.
I fall silent as I re-read the dedication and I hear Matt call my name, but I don’t respond. This is all I need to know to realize I’m doing exactly what I should be. I’m going to find her. She wouldn’t put that as her dedication if she’s married, if she isn’t still feeling the same way I am. And if I had any doubt it was her, it’s all gone now.
“Elliot,” Matt calls down the phone, loudly this time.
“It’s definitely her and she’s been waiting for me to find her,” I assert, completely confident in my words. “Her dedication says, ‘To Elliot, wherever you are. I’ve missed you every day.’ If that’s not enough of a fucking indication I don’t know what is.”
“Okay, man, sounds legit. I just hope you know what you’re getting yourself into. It could be a total failure.”
“Again, I’m willing to take that chance.”
“Good luck,” Matt says just before hanging up, but then asks the question I’m still shaky about answering. “How’d you find her book? You don’t read romance,” he says with a small laugh.
“Bridgitte,” is all I say and he’s the one who falls silent. “Bridgitte brought the book to me tonight,” I add but it still doesn’t sound any less fucked up.
“Dude, that’s some weird shit. Your ex-fiancé helped you find the girl who broke up your relationship.” I know Matt is shaking his head at me right now, and hearing him lay it out, hearing him say it out loud, makes it sound even worse. It sounds horrible. Finding out from Bridgitte was obviously not the best possible scenario.
“I know. What can I say?”
“I don’t know, but I hope it’s all worth it in the end,” Matt says skeptically and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling the same way.