Page 55 of In All My Dreams

And so I tell her.

24

Ian

Six Years Ago

It’s been four years since Georgia walked out of my life, leaving nothing but a note on her bedside table for me. A note telling me that saying goodbye would be too hard and that it was better for her to leave this way.

Leaving me in tatters as she ran away from Crane Manor with my heart in her hands.

Sure, in the note she told me to follow her when I was ready. She even made sure to write that she wouldn’t change her cell phone number in case Iwantedto get ahold of her one day.

What Iwantedwas for my parents to relinquish the death grip they’ve had on me ever since my sister Irene died when we were just five years old.

What Iwantedwas for me not to be such a fucking coward and tell them that I don’t care if they didn’t approve of Georgia. I know in my bones that she is the only girl for me, and it’s time I win her back.

Which is why, four years later, I am staring up at the five-story apartment building she now lives in.

How do I know where she lives when I haven’t talked to her in four years because I’ve been too much of a sour jackass to reach out?

Well, I know this because she sent her father a birthday card a couple of months ago, and Mr. Harris gave me the return address when I asked him yesterday if he knew where she was staying. He handed me the empty envelope with nothing but a sly smile and a wink. A much better reaction than my parents gave me.

My mother cried, begging me to stay, because she couldn’t lose another child. My father laughed, a hideous grin on his lips as he told me that Georgia would just use and abuse me and that I’d be scurrying home with my tail between my legs in no time.

I scoff under my breath. I can’t let my father’s words get into my head and ruin this for me. I’ve been dreaming of this moment for four years, and I won’t let him taint this reunion with Georgia.

With shaking hands, I press the buzzer next toG. Harris.

Her voice greets me almost immediately. “Come on up!” she says through the small speaker, causing my heart to beat faster in my chest when I hear her voice. A loud buzz from the main door rings loudly overhead.

Is she expecting anyone? A boyfriend, maybe? Hopefully not, or this trip will be awkward as hell. Not that I would blame her for meeting someone else. She did leave me high and dry with nothing but a note as her goodbye gesture. After everything we’ve survived together, I thought I knew her better than that. I didn’t think she was capable of being so cruel and heartless.

I make my way inside, and the building is nicer than I expected, but I guess most things in Los Angeles look shabbier on the outside. I opt to use the stairs instead of the elevator because I don’t think I can sit still long enough for the elevator to go four floors. I’m nervous as hell to see her. Nervous, and excited.

Probably the most excited I’ve ever been if the butterflies in my stomach are any indication.

I’m nearly panting by the time I make it to the fourth floor. Taking deep, calming breaths, I shove the duffle bag higher up on my shoulder and scan the numbers until I find Georgia’s apartment: 4G.

The door is painted a bright mustard yellow, which might seem out of sorts if all the other doors on the floor weren’t painted in varying hues of yellow and teal to match the hideous geometric carpeting that lines the hall floors. Large framed photos of Andy Warhol’s pop art collection hang between each apartment door. Georgia’s door has that funky banana on one side and some sort of soup can on the other.

I sincerely hope the inside of the apartments are spared from whoever decorated this monstrosity.

Not that I hate the banana; I might enjoy it in my own house one day. I chuckle to myself when I imagine Georgia coming home every day and being greeted by a giant banana.

It’s absolutely ridiculous.

Okay, okay. Time to rip this Band-Aid of my own doing off. I take another deep, steadying breath as I reach up with a shaking fist and knock on the mustard-yellow door.

My breath gets caught in my throat when she finally opens the door and I see her for the first time in four years.

Four long, long years.

“Ian?” Georgia’s voice greets me, an obvious tremble in her voice as we take each other in. “Is that really you?”

The smile that spreads across her face stuns me into speechlessness.

Her chestnut hair is much shorter than it was the last time I saw her but still complements her heart-shaped face and dark eyes perfectly. She’s wearing a simple white tank top that’s tucked into the tight blue jeans that seem to hug every curve of her. She obviously spends a lot of time outside here in California because her freckles are dulled by her sun-kissed skin.