Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
It’s as if a lightbulb went off for my mom. She nods. “I can see it now.”
“So you can see it’s strange?”
Mom’s shoulder lifts. “Maybe she’s harboring feelings for you. Like you are for her.”
I scoff, but Mom isn’t wrong. “When I saw her earlier, she was wearing my old ball cap. She had taken it to school with her. I hadn’t thought about that hat in a long time, and then I saw it on her today and I don’t know.”
“You miss her?”
Shaking my head, I pick up my mug and take another sip. “I miss the old Lemon. I don’t know this one well enough to know if the girl I fell in love with all those years ago is still in there or not.”
“Maybe you should find out.”
A loud cackle escapes my mouth. “Nah, I value my life way too much to talk to her. Besides, if my suspicions are correct and she’s jealous of Goldie, then what? My daughter isn’t going anywhere, and I’d never be with someone who couldn’t accept my daughter. Not to mention, Ana’s in my life and I’m not sure Lemon would be able to deal with that.”
My mom reaches across the table and places her hand on mine. “I said talk to her, Wade. I didn’t say invite her into your life and rekindle things. Neither of you ever got any closure from the breakup. Maybe it’s time.”
“Closure?”
“Yeah, closure. Call her or go see her. Hash things out and move on. Never know, it might help the both of you, and in turn help Lemon see Goldie differently.”
“Okay, I’ll try.” I suppose it’s the least I can do.
We finish our coffee, leave enough money to cover the bill plus tip, and head in our separate directions for the day.
ten
lemon
Standing in front of my closet, holding the hat that once belonged to Wade, I contemplate putting it back in the box and burying it deep in my closet or throwing it and the contents of the box away. Instead, I take the box down from my shelf, carry it over to my bed and lift the lid.
Years of memories rush out in a whoosh. I pick up the faded movie stub ticket from our first official date. Behind it, the folded note which Wade wrote asking me to be his girlfriend. I tip the box over and let the contents spread over my comforter. Each item I pick up brings a bout of tears that I fight to keep at bay. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve cried enough over this man.
I pick up the dried roses from our junior prom, some of their petals fall off, and bring the flowers to my nose. A pang of want courses through me, wishing they still smelled. Wade told me he ordered the corsage himself, but I always wondered if his mom had done it for him. Next to it is the boutonniere he wore on his tuxedo for our senior prom. And there’s the first corsage he ever bought me for our cotillion ball. I don’t know why I kept them.
I don’t know why I still keep them.
But I do.
Along with numerous notes that I have zero intention of reading, there are concert tickets, more movie stubs, and a lot of photos. I don’t want to look at those either because the memories hurt.
My eye catches a photo, and I can’t help but reach for it. We’re probably eighteen and have either graduated from high school or are about to. I flip it over for a date but don’t see one. Looking back at the image, we’re sitting in his dad’s chair and Wade’s wearing the infamous hat. He’s looking at me while I’m smiling for the camera.
I focus on him and the way he’s looking at me. If anyone saw this photo today, they’d easily say he was madly in love with me.
We were in love.
At least for another two years after this photo was taken.
I set the photo down and pause. There, on my bed is the ring pop he gave me after graduation with the promise of a proposal to come later. He had placed it on my pinky after I complained the plastic pinched my skin. All night, he showed everyone who came near us the rock he’d given me and they all made comments about how sweet it was.
We were going to get married and build a life . . . until I changed everything.
An errant tear falls. I wipe at my cheek and clear my throat before my emotions take over. With a heavy sigh, I scoop everything up and put it back in the box. The contents are out of order and the flowers lose even more petals. “Shit,” I say as I take everything out again and reorganize them. I do my best to ignore the photos, to not look at Wade’s face and remember how much I loved him.