Every love has a story. How you first met. Who said the first word.
Even mine does.
Seven o'clock is not the time anyone will think of falling in love. But as our worlds collided, we did just that. In a moment...
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CHAPTER 8
Kath bit her thumb, mumbling something in her sleep. Pushing back the strands of hair that fell on her face when she turned to her side, I hushed down her worry. She should only think about happy thoughts. I would take care of the ghosts and monsters for her.
As I was watching her, I thought about the content of the last envelope. The fourth pink envelope was in my locker yesterday. It fell out when I opened my locker door, as I was about to grab my things before going home. It was a good thing that I had stayed in the library to do some reading, and there was nobody else in the hall when it happened.
And with the name scribbled in capital letters on the back of the fourth envelope, there was no more doubt about the sender.
TO: CHATEAUBRIAND
❄
And when she gets down again,
I'll tell her these words,
I am in love with you, angel,
Every single breath, forevermore.
❄
With a deep breath, I quietly confessed to Kath, "You know Stephen, right? He was the one who was giving me those pink envelopes. I don't know what to do."
Questions were coming to me, and I was lost for answers. It felt like an exam where I didn't know any of the questions. A clean paper that contained no essay, and it scared me.
I never experienced anything like this before. I thought I'd be able to come up with something overtime, but I didn't. Days had turned into weeks. Despite that, there was nothing.
I exhaled, getting up from the floor and tucking in my sister. Grabbing a sticky note from her table, I wrote her a quick note, saying that I'd go out for a while.
Quietly closing the door of her room, I went downstairs. There was a calendar pinned to a corkboard on the kitchen wall. I encircled the date with a red marker. It was the twenty-fourth of November, my dad's death anniversary.
"I'm already sixteen now, Daddy. Kath will soon become a teenager, too," I whispered, tracing the date on the calendar. "I'll take care of her. Don't worry."
My father and I had always been a team. After he left, it was never easy. That was the thing about leaving and being left behind. There was always someone hanging on the other end of the line. There was always someone who was broken but had to stay strong. When all the others refused to take action, there was someone who should take the initiative and pick up the remaining pieces.
So after my father's death, I'd been that person. I had picked myself up in just a few weeks, even if I also wanted to grieve at my own pace. Eventually, it had become a habit. I was fine. I should be okay. I accepted he was gone. I'd fooled myself long enough to believe it.
