Page 65 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
“I don’t know how to do this, Rory. I don’t know how to be both parents, to protect her from the hurt. I don’t know how to make it alright while also giving her the space so she knows she doesn’t have to be alright. I buried my grief for a really long time because it was uncomfortable for other people. I don’t want that for her. I don’t want any of this for her.”
“I know. She knows that too.” He lifts his head and his eyes bore into mine for a minute, absorbing the words. “She may only be eight, but she knows how much you love her and that you’re working to make everything okay. She knows.”
A subtle nod is all I get. I wish I knew how to comfort him, but I feel underqualified. A crinkling sound draws my attention to his hand, which is clutching a worn piece of paper.
“Whatcha got there?” I ask, and his grip tightens around it.
“Did Wes tell you about the day she left?” The firelight from behind me dances in his eyes.
“No.” I shake my head. “He didn’t think it was his story to share, so he just told me she left and wasn’t coming back. That you guys needed to get away for a while. I—I never wanted to pry.”
Another small nod and the crease between his eyebrows deepens. “I’ve been carrying this around since that day.” He slides a finger up the creased side of the paper. It looks like it’s been folded and unfolded, crumpled and smoothed out more times than I can imagine. “I don’t really even know why. I think I did it at first because letting it go meant letting go of the future I’d envisioned for us. Then I think it became about holding on to the anger. I needed to feel something toward her that wasn’t sadness. But I don’t want to hold on to that now either.”
Breck extends the paper to me. I’m afraid to touch it, but with one more squeeze to his leg, I finally reach for it. He offers me an encouraging smile and nods. He wants me to take it. He wants me to know. I offer him a small grin in return and bring my full attention to the paper, unfolding it with trembling fingers.
It’s a letter. Loopy script flows over the whole page. Before even reading a word, I know who it’s from.
Dear Breck,
I’m sorry. I know this will be a shock to you, but I’m leaving Sydney. With Drew. By the time you read this, we’ll already be gone. I never wanted to be a mother. This wasn’t the life I envisioned for myself, and I can’t pretend any longer that it is. I couldn’t be the partner you needed. The mother Willow needed. I’m not those things, and deep down I’ve always known it. With Drew, I can be who I’ve always wanted to be.
I know the only thing you’re thinking about right now is Willow. That’s why you're her dad, why you’re so amazing in that role. You’ve always thought of her first. Always. It was never me you wanted, not truly. It was her. I know if anyone can get through this, it’s you, and you’ll help her get through it too.
In the manila envelope you’ll find the legal release of my rights to Willow. I wanted a clean break so you could move onwith your lives as easily as possible, just like I’m moving on with mine. There’s a part of me that will always love you, and her, for the years we had together. But I’m going to put myself first now. I need this. I want a life with Drew.
I’d say I hope you’ll understand, but I know you won’t. I never should’ve carried on like this for so long. I wanted to be what you wanted so badly, but I never was and I’m tired of trying. I’m tired of hiding what Drew and I have. I hope someday you’ll find someone to love, who loves you, in this way.
I know you’ll never forgive me for this, but know I wish you nothing but the best in your future.
Talia
My exhale when I reach the end of the page is like a release valve on a pressure cooker. I lift my eyes from the paper in my lap, seeking Breck’s, and I don’t understand what I’m seeing. My shoulders have tensed over the last couple of minutes—but his have lowered, relaxed, like a weight’s been lifted.
“This is—this is how she left?” My voice is calm, lethally so.
“Yeah. She left it on my desk at work while I was out with Wes one night. Willow was at a sleepover. I called her once, the day after, but she didn’t answer. Today’s the first time I’ve heard her voice since.”
“I’m so sorry.” I understand why this letter looks so worn. I want to crumple it up myself… throw it… stomp on it with muddy boots.
“It’s okay.”
“Breck—”This is not okay. He stops me with a hand over mine, steadying the shaking paper.
“What she did isnotokay. I know that. But I am.” I raise my eyebrows, and he smirks. God, that smirk. “Or at least I’m getting there.”
“You are,” I say, letting the letter drop to the floor so I can hold his hand between mine. “The future might look different for you and Willow, but you have so much to look forward to. There’s something better waiting for you. A better job, a better relationship…”
I trail off, not wanting to sound like I’m implying anything. I’m not. That was never what this was meant to be. We were meant to be the easy, don’t-overthink-it situationship. Nothing more. Eventually though, when he goes back to Australia, there will be someone for him and Willow who will fill the gaps in his future. I ignore the pang in my chest at the thought—at the picture of him finding someone out there while I’m here in the exact same place I am now. Because no matter how hard I try to see that future for myself, I can’t. It feels out of reach, far away and blurry.
“What do you need?” I ask, breaking the tension.
“I don’t want to keep holding on to something that isn’t there, and being angry at her isn’t serving me or Willow. I need to let this”—his long fingers reach to pick up the letter from the floor between us—“go.”
He balls it between his fists and stands. I slide back, giving him room to get around me, and spin to face the fire. He looks at it, flames dancing high in the grate, shoulders square and strong. Then he turns and extends his right hand to me. I jump up and place mine in his before I can blink. The light makes his eyes look brighter and the stubble of his five-o’clock shadow more prominent. He doesn’t look away from me as he tosses the paper into the blaze and finally lets go of the past.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Rory
