chance too, okay? Sometimes it takes a little longer to make amends.”
It’s easy to hear my dad’s influence in my mom’s words. They did a lot of soul-searching together after my dad was diagnosed with stage four prostate cancer several years ago. It made it easier and at the same time harder for us to know there was no cure for him, and that he wouldn’t be with us for much longer.
The limited time amplified all of our relationships, and I’m eternally grateful for that bond we shared and will always have. Nothing will take that away. His diagnosis—and ultimately his death—changed both my mom and me. But in the end, it was also the major reason we moved back to Berkeley. I guess both of our hearts were still in Northern California.
Now we’re here . . . to start anew.
To be with our friends and family.
To try and mend old wounds.
Because how can you expect your life to change for the better, for your soul to be nurtured, when you don’t show someone else—someone you once loved—that you’re sorry?
Even when it’s not easy.
Even when I’m ready to pee my pants just thinking about facing Noah tonight.
Bidding on him during the bachelor auction wasn’t planned. At that point, I was still wondering how I’d actually get in contact with him.
But when the host announced Noah’s name, and the mysterious man—the one who rescued me from the drunken douchebag—walked onto that stage, I couldn’t believe it. I mean, what were the odds?
He stood up there, and the mask didn’t take away a thing from his looks. With his short brown hair, and a body built to beat competitors in the water, all wrapped up in a suit that fit perfectly in all the right places, I couldn’t help myself.
Without a doubt, he has turned into an even hotter version of his teenage self. I looked him up for the first few years after we left Berkeley, but when it entered an unhealthy stage, I had to stop. Seeing him in any form kept me from moving on, from trying to live a normal life. My unhealthy obsession—a deep and dark sadness—over my old boyfriend didn’t do me any favors.
Francesco snaps me out of my thoughts when he squeezes my shoulder. He hums deep in his chest. “No old feelings, huh?”
“What?”
He points toward the mirror and therefore, me.
At my wide eyes and flushed cheeks. Thank goodness they can’t see past the high neckline of my gray dress because my skin feels like it’s on fire everywhere.
Meeting up with Noah has been long overdue. Knowing we’re in the same city again drives my mind crazy, and I hope my thoughts will calm down after I see him.
And of course, I wonder if the glimpse I caught of the man at the party mixed with the memory of the boy I knew so long ago matches my wildest dreams.
Because even though the chances of him forgiving me are very slim, I can’t lie to myself.
I’ve been imagining this meeting, this conversation, for the past decade.
When I step out of the Uber at the Berkeley Marina, I feel slightly lightheaded. My brain’s been getting even crazier on the drive over, and I’m questioning everything. Because is this really a good idea? Waking up and confronting these old ghosts?
I’ve gotten pretty good at ignoring the guilt and regrets over the years—or at least, I’ve tried—so maybe it would be better to just leave things be. What if I only make things worse by confronting him, by opening up that Pandora’s box I’ve tried to keep as tight a lid on as possible?
Promise to live your best life. Don’t let the past weigh you down. If there are things you can fix, bridges you can mend, patch them up. There’s nothing worse than being at the end of the road and looking back at a pile of remorse. Especially when there’s a chance you could have made things better.
I bite back the sting of emotions that threaten to surface at my dad’s words.
I close my eyes and breathe in for four counts before breathing out for four. I do this several times until the familiar calmness settles over me like a comforting veil. It’s not as effective as it normally is, but a ton better than before.
Taking out my phone gives me a welcome distraction. A look at the time confirms that I’m fashionably late, on purpose. The last thing I wanted to happen was to be