months. I’m cursing Rocky for sending me the damn request through social media causing this ridiculous obsession.
Ten minutes later, Eric and Charlie still aren’t here. I throw my cell onto the table in frustration, crossing my arms as I wait impatiently.
I hate tardiness.
This time alone isn’t good for me, today’s events leaving me in the biggest funk ever. This is the first of many milestones Andy will celebrate without Elijah. Graduations, wedding—the list goes on.
I still recall his baptism, a request from my parents to avoid Andy living in ‘limbo’ if anything should happen. Then came his first steps, to his first birthday. Each one of those moments brought pain and joy all rolled into one emotion.
How dare he do this to us! I want to scream out loud.
I didn’t sign up for this life. I was born and raised in your typical American family. I had a dad and mom who were the best parents a girl could ask for. My brother was your typical jock, a loving, smart-ass older sibling who had this protective nature over his little sister. Girls loved him, and so did my best friend.
We were your television sitcom loving family. You couldn’t get any more typical than us.
Then I met this boy—Elijah Jean Evans.
I knew from the moment I met him that he was my future husband. So what if I was only seventeen and a virgin? He was great, and we were great together. Elijah filled my life with so many happy memories, and it wasn’t until the first cancer scare did I realize how quickly it can be taken from us. Elijah fought hard, and my brother fought even harder to keep Elijah alive. After the battle was won, not once did I think it would come back, and most importantly, not once did I think my husband would stop fighting. Not even when he agreed to try IVF to conceive a baby.
At times, I’m angry at him, at God, at everyone. And other times, I just carry on as best as I can.
Glancing at the time again, I send Eric a text with a big fat ‘Where the fuck are you?’ Out of all people, he knows what I’m like, and knowing Eric, he’ll come up with some pathetic excuse.
Letting out a huff, I busy myself with an email a buyer sent me about my upcoming spring collection.
Opening a boutique in LA is the best thing I could’ve done for Andy and me. I closed my store in Brooklyn, not because of the distance but of the memories of Elijah.
Back to designing and fashion, I’m in my element, and it keeps my mind distracted. Aside from that, I need an income. Lex being Lex, he offers to pay off my mortgage, but I don’t want to be that charity case.
Since Elijah’s plan was to leave us, I’m going to make damn sure nobody else has to provide for my son. Between daycare and my mom, I’m able to head into the boutique a few times a week, and I hired three younger girls to manage the store when I’m not around. Business is thriving. Celebrities in LA want to wear my designs. The red carpet has already showcased a few of my popular pieces. The demand is starting to build, so at night when I struggle with insomnia, I work on my designs.
I have a plan—a plan to move forward.
Until the day he walked into my life.
Julian Baker.
I have this awful habit of being a fate preacher to those around me. You know, that whole ‘oh, it’s so meant to be that you were in the right place at the right time’ bullshit.
Yes, I’m that annoying friend.
Yet, with my own circumstances, I shut it out. I was having a weak day, year, actually lifetime, the night I harmed myself. I’ll never forget that moment, the pain of losing Elijah even greater than the actual day I lost him in the hospital. For the sake of my son, I knew I needed help, just not from anyone close to me.
Taking that first step was extremely hard. I had to reach out to complete strangers. I didn’t expect him to be there, of all the places. I mean really, universe, what the fuck is that about?
At first, I had no idea it was him. Not willing to make eye contact with anyone as I shamefully sat covering my open wounds, ashamed and embarrassed I had resorted to this, knowing I had a son