One that I’m so freaking thankful for. He moved into his apartment pretty much the day we left Talcott. Drove down to the city and busted his ass walking all of his stuff up five flights of stairs. The FaceTime call we had when he was done and lying on a mattress on his floor was both sad but hopeful. I’ll be there soon, and with every day, even though we’re apart, I grow more sure that we’re a forever type of deal.
I’m home for three weeks before I head to New York City for my UN internship, and this period in Webton is sort of a test. My parents and sister have taken a big chunk of time off her training schedule to try to patch up the hurt in our family. After reading my mom’s letter, which Kath delivered to me at college, my heart began to soften. I know we all have a lot of making up to do.
At first, I begged them not to. Kath has so much work to do before the Olympics next summer, and I’ve never said I wasn’t extremely proud of her. I’m going to be there cheering her on like no one else.
They waved me off when I said they shouldn’t take time off, and I’m more than happy they did. I know how difficult taking time off is for them, but they put me first for the first time in a while.
Since I got home, we’ve had family dinner each night, took a trip to the movies, and Kath and I have started watching Gossip Girl. She’s never seen it, while I’ve binged it several times, and it’s hilarious watching her reactions to all of the twists and turns.
Things are more easily patched between my sister and me, and I’m finding that the more time that we spend with each other, she’s actually very funny. She has a sharp wit about her that I truly appreciate, and I’m both sad it took us this long to figure it out and happy that we’re getting somewhere.
It’s harder with my mom and dad. There is so much blame on my end and guilt on theirs that conversations have been difficult. I can see they’re really trying, which is great, but it’s just going to take time to heal.
“You have a letter.” Mom hands me the envelope as she passes the couch and smiles warmly.
My stomach drops as I take it from her. Will I ever get used to having letters handed to me ever again? And why is the universe taunting me? She can be a cruel bitch sometimes.
Except when I turn it over, the handwriting on the front is penmanship I recognize. And the stamp and return address are marked as coming from New York City.
Carefully, I slice open the envelope with my finger and pull out a singular piece of paper.
My beautiful Taya, the opening reads, and my eyes instantly well up with tears. He wrote me a letter.
Austin, the man I’ve loved for so many years, the one I wrote about, has written me a love letter. With my heart beating out of my chest, I read on.
This letter is far overdue, so forgive me. Also, forgive me that this is so sloppy. I remember reading your curly script in the time capsule letter and falling half in love with you just by the swirl of your writing.
I’m sitting here, on the tiny balcony, which is technically just a fire escape, listening to the sounds of the city. And I miss you. I miss you so much that my heart aches. That organ beats for you and only you.
The only thing that seems to make it better is the knowledge that you’ll be here soon. That we’ll drink coffees as we walk hand in hand through Central Park. That I’ll school you in HORSE if we can find an outdoor court nearby. That I’ll walk you to work, and we’ll ride the subway together, huddled in a corner like all of those lovers you see in movies.
This summer is going to be epic, I promise you that.
I love you, Taya. You are the sweetest woman I know. This will be my time capsule letter to you, because mark my words, when you’re reading this in ten, twenty, fifty years, we will be together.
Always,
Austin
I put my hand over my heart and find it beating.
For him. Only ever for him.
Epilogue
Taya
One Week Later
It wasn’t a question that I would move in with Austin for my six-week program at the United Nations.
Living apart would have been dumb, since we’d have spent every night together. This just cut down on commute time, cost, and I didn’t have to live with a random intern roommate. Plus, living with your boyfriend in New York City with no chaperones and no other roommates?
That’s the fucking dream.
There is a grunt and a whine as he pushes open the creaky front door of the apartment and hefts one of my suitcases inside.
“You have more bags for six weeks of living here than I brought for my entire life moving forward,” he complains as he drags it into the tiny bedroom behind me.
“You promised me a summer to remember, and that requires cute outfits.” I pout and then skip over to kiss him.
I’m just so giddy. The energy and vibe of the city has infected my veins, and I have a feeling it won’t leave for a long time. The minute my parents dropped me and my bags off on the curb outside Austin’s apartment building, I knew I was meant to fit here.
Maybe not this apartment, but it’ll do for now. When we’re older, more successful, we’ll have one of those places a young couple could be proud of. Not that I’m not proud of Austin now. He scored a deal on this place since someone is subletting it for a year. Go figure, he’s king of the sublet. Living alone, or now with his girlfriend for six weeks, is an accomplishment when first moving to New York. Though the place is just a galley kitchen, small living room with a table and chairs smashed into the corner, and a bedroom barely able to comfortably fit a queen, it’s private. And it’s ours to play house in for the next couple of weeks.
And my boyfriend has accomplished so much in a month here. He’s busting his ass at the radio station. Working overtime, jumping at any chance for extra projects. Signing up for call times no one wants or shuttling guests to and from their hotels. Some of the work is beneath him, but he realizes anything might give him a leg up or a shot at being noticed. And he was just last week. He was simply chatting in the lunch room about some hockey trade, and one of the main sportscasters wandered in and was listening to him. The guy thought Austin had great insight and asked if he’d want to brainstorm about an upcoming segment.
Needless to say, Austin is over the moon. I know that while I’m here, his work schedule isn’t going to let up. Nor is he going to stop volunteering simply because his girlfriend is living with him. I am more than okay with that. The most important thing we are both doing here is establishing our careers. Not that our relationship comes second, but I love how dedicated he is to his passion, and he feels the same way about my career.
As we unpack, the sounds of Radiohead float through the small space when Austin turned his phone on. He sings along, and I listen, smiling like a goofy idiot in love. Because I am.
My cell vibrates on the bed, and I pick it up to read the message.
“It’s from Amelie. She almost ran into Gannon at Target and had to duck behind a display of water bottles to avoid him.” I chuckle, even though it’s not really funny.
“Is she ever just going to either tell him to fuck off, or actually fuck him?” Austin ponders as he unpacks my bag of shoes.
The guy looks thoroughly confused as he keeps pulling pairs out of the bag. The poor man, he just doesn’t understand how my wardrobe is about to take over his apartment.