truck to a stop in the driveway, I hop out and head inside the house. And while he fiddles around in his office, trying to find the envelope of money my mother put god knows where, I don’t waste any time finding solace in my quiet bedroom.
Surely, the nice thing to do would be to help him, but freaking A, I just need…a minute.
I walk into my bedroom and plop down on my desk chair.
This day, while beautiful and amazing and exciting, has served as a stark reminder of the fact that Luke isn’t here with me. All day, I’ve tried so hard not to think about it and just focus on my sister Kate, but my mind was determined, letting the painful thoughts seep in whenever it could.
God, I just want to get back to New York. Back to Luke.
Even though I know he’s going to be headed to Houston soon, I just want to see him. To talk to him. To tell him everything I’m thinking and feeling. I honestly don’t know what will happen between us, but I know I miss him. Badly.
Tears prick my eyes, and I do my best to get them under control before they ruin my makeup.
Ugh. This sucks. So hard.
I reach down to adjust my stiletto, but when I spot what looks like an envelope under my bed, I tilt my head to the side in curiosity. And then, I stand up, kneel down beside my bed, and snag the mystery item in my hands.
The name Ava is written on the front, and I furrow my brow as I take off the red bow and open it.
Inside sit three sheets of paper. All letters.
When I begin to read the first one, I lift my hand to my mouth as emotion overcomes me.
Ace,
This proves that I’m not the only one who believes in you.
I hope, one day soon, you’ll see your art the way I see it—incredible.
This signifies the opportunity for you to finally follow your dreams.
The start of you really showing the world your awe-inspiring talent.
Merry Christmas, sweetheart.
All my love,
Luke
When I look at the other two sheets of paper, I understand what he’s talking about. Letters from the curators of two very prestigious galleries—one in LA and one in New York—waxing poetic about the paintings of mine Luke showed them and enthusiastically requesting that I host an exhibition.
They want my art in their galleries.
Unchecked, tears stream down my cheeks. My heart twists and turns inside my chest, and I’m torn between feeling downright elated and completely heartbroken.
Luke did all of this. For me.
“Avie?” My dad’s voice fills my ears, and I look up to find him standing just outside my bedroom. “What’s wrong?” he asks, and a sobbing breath escapes my lungs.
“I think I ruined everything.”
“What?” he questions and steps into my bedroom to sit down beside me and pull me into a hug. “What do you think you ruined?” he asks, and I bury my face into his chest.
“Everything,” I whisper, my voice shaky.
“Is this about Luke?”
I nod.
“Is this maybe why he’s not here now? At your sister’s wedding?”
I nod again.
“Well, why don’t you give me an idea of what we’re dealing with here, and maybe I can provide a little insight…”
I inhale a deep breath and lean back to meet his eyes. “It’s a long story, Dad,” I eventually answer, and he shrugs me off.
“We’ve got a little time before we need to be back at the reception hall.”
When I don’t respond, he nudges me with his elbow. “Trust me, no one will even notice if it takes us a little longer to get there.”
The gentleness in his eyes is my undoing.
I tell him everything. The fact that Luke was just pretending to be my boyfriend because I was starting to feel pressured by Mom and Callie and everyone else about being the only single Lucie sister left.
I tell him how, eventually, all of that pretending didn’t feel so much like pretending.
That it felt real.
Because it was real.
I tell him how I think I’ve been in love with Luke for a very long time.
I tell him about Luke’s acceptance to NASA and how he didn’t tell me until two days ago.
I tell him how horribly I reacted to that news.
And then I show him the Christmas gift from Luke I just found under my bed.
By the time I’m done, I don’t feel better, but I do feel like a giant weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
“Well, that’s some story,”