You Again | Editing

Chapter 29

"So, are you going to tell me why you just made me lie to that sweet young man?" Mom stares at me from the front door expectantly, her eyebrows raised in question. Leon's truck roars to life, then tears down the street moments later. "Or am I supposed to ignore it?"

Her second question throws me for a loop. "I just . . ." I trail off, searching–and failing–to find a reasonable excuse with my gaze fixed on the spot in the driveway where Leon was just parked in. I shake my head, defeated. "I don't know."

"Yes you do." And I do.

Admitting that I have a problem with pushing people away is easy.

But applying the necessary changes by allowing them in? Not so much.

I've always been grateful for my intuition when it comes to my love life, it's never steered me in the wrong direction and it's always spared me from drama and more heartbreak. But now that life's presented me with a man with seemingly no flaws in any way shape or form, I realize now that it wasn't my intuition that's been protecting me for all these years, it's been my fears.

I'm afraid of being vulnerable and letting people in. I'm afraid of the power that gives them. I'm afraid that they'll leave and how much it'll hurt when they inevitably do. I'm afraid if they stay, I'll ruin them and our relationship with all of my baggage. I'm afraid of how afraid I am. I'm afraid of Leon.

I'm afraid . . . I'm so fucking afraid.

It scares me how he doesn't give up on me. It scares me how easily I opened up to him. It scares me that, no matter how many tears I shed in front of him, he doesn't cower in fear and simply wipes away my tears. It scares me that he doesn't seem scared at all. It scares me how deeply I feel for him after only knowing him for a few short weeks.

God, what I would give to not feel scared of my feelings for him.

Mom pads over to the couch and grabs her purse from the ground. She reaches into it and retrieves a folded piece of paper, then passes it to me. It's worn and tattered around the edges, and my name is scrawled down in the center in handwriting I'm all too familiar with.

"She wanted me to give this to you when I felt you needed it."

I trace the cursive font, feeling the indentations of each character in my name on the paper. The letter feels heavy in my hand, but not nearly as heavy as my heart feels knowing who it's from. Mom must sense this because a second later, she's tilting my face up by my chin.

"Read it now," she insists, pressing a kiss against my forehead. Mom tosses her crossbody purse over her shoulder, starting for the door. "You know that giving advice was her specialty." I nod my head, watching her retreating frame as I unfold the letter. "I love you, Katie."

"I love you, too, Mom."

Dear Katie,

You're probably wondering why on earth your mother gave you this letter long after I've been gone, but I can assure you, it's with good reason.

From a young age, I've watched you endure many hardships. You've had your heart stomped on, chewed up, and spit out. I've watched you hold back tears, hide away your pain, and hope like hell it'd go away. And since you're receiving this letter, it's only fair of me to assume that it hasn't left you yet.

Life has taught me many things. One of the things I've learned is that it's human instinct to want to protect yourself–whether you've been hurt before or not. But something else I've learned is, sometimes, the fear of getting hurt gets you hurt, especially if it's something–or someone–that you really want.

Let go of the past, let go of the hurt and fear. Take chances, whatever they may be. Let them in. Fall hard, fast or slow. Do whatever feels right, even if it's scary.

I love you, Katie. More than you can imagine.

Love always, Grandma.