Third Life - Noelle Adams Page 0,73

With you. I’d just like you to understand. Since you haven’t returned any of these letters, I hope it means you’re reading them. You don’t have to ever love me again, but I don’t want you to hate me. I’d like you to understand. I’ve spent my life trying to be a person as different from that little boy as I could make him. I never wanted to feel like him again. But in the end I just made sure I would always be him because I never allowed myself to be loved. I never let anyone in enough. That’s what happened with my wife. It was my fault. I never let her in. It’s no surprise she never really loved me. I never let her know me. I did let you know me, but not enough. I know it’s too late to change things between us, but maybe it’s not too late to change me.

I cry over that letter too. I cry over all of them really. And after reading and rereading them, I fold them up, slip them into their envelopes, and put them in the box with the champagne flutes.

For a month, he keeps writing me, and my world gets a little bit better. Not because it’s all about Richard but because knowing I wasn’t completely wrong about him gives me confidence again.

I can do relationships. I can even be good at it. There’s something about me that a man might want. So I try to date again. I reactivate my account on a dating app. I call up George and leave a rambling, embarrassing message about how I’m sorry I never called him back. I was going through some stuff, but it’s over now so if he’s interested in getting together again, I’d be open to it.

I’m utterly shocked when he calls me back. We go out a few times, and it’s good. As good as I can hope for at this point in my life.

At the end of our third date, I invite him up to my apartment, thinking it’s time to get over Richard for good.

I try. I really do. There’s nothing in the world wrong with George. I like him quite a lot. We kiss, and it’s okay, but when it gets more than that, when he starts to touch me more intentionally, I have to pull away.

I know it means the end of anything I might have with George, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to have sex with him. I’m not ready. It still feels like the only person who gets to touch me like that is Richard.

It hurts—the realization. But it’s true.

With all the letters Richard has sent me—twenty of them over the past six weeks—it feels like he’s still part of my life. So I either need to make him a real part of my life in whatever way it works out. Or I need to cut him out for good. This midground isn’t going to work for much longer.

So I think about it. Both options. Going to see him sends my stomach into topsy-turvy twists of nerves and excitement. And the idea of never hearing from him again, sending back his letter, makes me literally sick. There’s no way. I can’t do it. I don’t want to do it.

Even if we can only be casual acquaintances now, I need to keep him in my life.

So I know what I have to do.

Which is why for the first time since I got his first letter, I take a different route for my daily walk, heading toward his neighborhood.

I know it. I can walk there in about thirty minutes. There’s a coffee shop on the corner. One that’s going to be Richard’s as soon as he takes full ownership.

A half hour later, I end up there, standing right outside the front door.

I take several deep breaths, making sure this feels right.

It does. I need to see him. I want to see him. I can’t think of any reason in the world why I shouldn’t see him.

He hurt me. A lot. But now he’s doing the best he can, just like I am.

I’m not about to fall into his arms. I just want to say a few words, see if we can maybe be friends.

I want that. I want him in my life.

So I steel my courage, open the door, and step inside.

Ten

THE COFFEE SHOP IS crowded. Really crowded. The line is almost to the door, and for a moment