Track Twenty-Three: Butterfly Kisses
by Bob Carlisle
AVA
“It felt like time stood still. Like my bones were desperate to move, begging me to run after him. But all I could do was sit and stare at the space he left. All I could do was fixate obsessively on the ache he left inside of my chest.” I take a sip of water and glance up at the crowd of readers listening to my words.
The silence is somehow screaming as I unearth my past to the strangers before me. “I argued with myself, telling my brain to give it up, to give him up. We only dated a few months. He was never meant to be my forever. Right? I didn’t know then and I guess I still don’t know now. Ryland Johnson was my version of perfect. Everything he did, from the way he said my name to the feeling of my hand in his, made me feel a way I hadn’t even known existed up until I met him in that tiny record shop. But when he left, the feelings stayed. I couldn’t shake Ryland from my thoughts. So, I decided it was better to push him out. To act like he never existed in the first place. And that was my first mistake.”
I close my bestselling novel to date, and the bookstore patrons clap. I smile, pulling the book to my heart. “Thank you so much. Please feel free to stick around if you’d like to say hi or get your copy signed,” I say.
I had a book tour after this novel first came out and now, every so often a bookstore in the city asks me to come out for a signing, to which I always oblige. I love this part of my job.
Almost an hour into signing books for fans and new readers alike, an incredibly excited teenage girl comes up to me with her copy of Blurred Lines.
She gives me a warm smile, reaching her hand out to shake mine. “I’m Lydia. I loved your book; it reminded me of me and my boyfriend. I want to be an author someday, too.” She giggles, her cheeks reddening. “I’m sorry, I just really look up to you so much.”
“No, don’t be at all! That means so much to me,” I tell her, taking the book and signing it for her.
“My boyfriend is going away to school, to Connecticut, but we’re going to try and make things work. We’ve already promised to call each other every day and visit as much as we can,” she says.
A woman I assume to be the girl’s mother waits patiently behind her, smiling at me when I notice her.
“Thank you so much for writing this book,” the girl says. “Can I…can I ask you a question?”
I nod, offering, “Of course! What’s up?”
“Is Ryland based on someone in your actual life? Did you ever have any experiences like the ones in your book?”
I’ve answered this question many times before. Typically, I try to give a little information without totally throwing my personal life out there, but something about this young woman makes me want to tell her more. “Ryland is based on someone I once knew. And we actually did reconnect. The timing of it wasn’t exactly ideal, so, we went our separate ways again. I still think about him often, though,” I confess. “If you take anything away from today, please let it be that you can make your relationship work. You can. You just both have to put in the effort.” I smile at her, a regret forming behind it that I hope she can’t see. “And I hope you’ll send me a copy of your first bestseller someday.”
She nods and smiles back at me before thanking me for signing her book. She turns to leave but stops and focuses her attention on me once more. “If you love him even half as much as Allie loves Ryland in your book, I really hope the two of you cross paths again. Maybe the timing will be better next time.”
Her words force River back into the forefront of my mind again. Though this time I’m not sure what washes over me more, the regret, or this youthful hope.
I glance around my apartment one final time just as a knock sounds on my door.
My family has never been the kind to nitpick about the cleanliness of my space, but I always like it to look as perfect as it can for them. My decorative pillows are laid out on my couch with purpose, my house plants are freshly watered, and I’ve had pot roast simmering in my crock pot, filling my apartment with its savory scent.
“Hey, guys!” I say, opening the door and motioning them through.
My dad wheels through first, always in his trusty wheelchair on treatment days because of the toll it takes on his strength. Dillon bounces in after him and I can’t help but wish I had even half of his energy.
“Hey, kid!” my dad says. “It smells like heaven in here. Sorry we couldn’t come to your signing earlier. These damn treatments get in the way of everything.”
“Number one, don’t apologize for going to treatment. Number two, my mom’s recipe was easy to follow, thank the Lord, because we all know I don’t know my way around a kitchen to save my life.” I laugh as my mother pulls me in for a hug.
“You even have one of my favorites on the record player. Now this is a jam if I ever knew one,” he notes, as the sound of Unchained Melody drifts through the speakers.
We sit around my small kitchen table, bumping elbows as we eat. The slow-cooked meat is tender and juicy, to my surprise, not burnt like my usual homemade meal attempts.
“Dillon has some pretty cool news to share, don’t you, Dill?” our dad says when our chatter dies down a bit, glancing over toward my brother.
A smile spreads across Dillon’s face as he takes a bite of his food and shyly keeps his eyes trained on his plate. “Dad!” he groans out. “Stop making it a big deal.”
“It is a big deal, honey,” my mom says, adding her opinion while eyeing my brother and then me. I notice for the first time how tired she looks. Like maybe everything my dad is going through is weighing heavily on her. Even more than usual. “Tell your sister before I do,” she says, grinning from ear to ear.
“Okay, what the heck is going on?” I inquire.
“I have a girlfriend,” Dillon finally says
My jaw drops in response. “What! Why didn’t any of you tell me before now? Who is it? Is she nice? What’s her name?” I’m a mess of questions, elated for my little brother. His first girlfriend.
“Calm down, lady,” Dillon jokes. “It’s pretty new. I met her at my program. We were put into a group together to learn about taxes and mortgages.” He’s talking about The Leading Way, the organization he belongs to.
“Her name is Sabine, and she’s a very nice girl,” my dad says, to which my mom agrees by nodding her head. “We’ve only met her twice, so we haven’t been holding out on you or anything. We just thought Dillon should tell you in person. Plus, we may have wanted to see your reaction.” He smiles, and Dillon playfully jabs his elbow at him.
“Dillon, that’s awesome. I’m really excited for you. I can’t wait to meet her. Soon, okay?” I say, reaching to squeeze his shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah.” He smirks. “Let’s talk about something else.”
I’ve never known my sweet brother to be shy. This girl must really be something.
Track Twenty-Four: Changes