Page 109 of Just One Moment

Shehands me a tissue and wipes away the moisture in her own eyes. “Idon’t know ifGrahamtold you about my childhood, but,Claire”—my hand wraps around hers—“you’re a wonderfulMom, and they’re all so lucky to have you.Thankyou for sharing that with me.”

Shebats a hand at me. “Oh,Ishould be thanking you.”

“Forwhat?”

“Forloving my sweet boy so thoroughly and not giving up on him.”

Theagony in my chest that’s been there sinceIleft his apartment threatens to send me toppling sideways.Myarms ache to hold him.Tohug him and tell him how proudIam that he spoke to his mom.

Shereaches into her pocket and pulls out two envelopes. “Grahamasked that you read the smaller one first.”

I’maround the table and bending to hugClairein the blink of an eye.

“I’llleave you to it.”Shepats me on the cheek. “Christmasisn’t far away.Ihope you’ll be bringing some of that carrot cake with you.”

Witha teary goodbye,Iwave toClaireandBoothas they climb into his truck.

Myeyes fall to the envelopes.Havinghis mother hand deliver these ones has nervous-excitement churning in my chest.

Slowly,Ibreak through the seal of the first envelope and a smallPost-it note falls to the table.

Thisentry wasn’t dated, but it was written the nightJennaandIbroke up. –G

Ashaky breath flutters the paper in my hand.

“There’sa reason everyone calls youGray.It’sfitting: dull, boring, and emotionless.”

Thatwas how she ended a decade-long relationship.

Reliefis the last thingIshould feel.Where’sthe sadness?Regret?Hopethat we can try again?

I’mnot sure when it ended, but it was long before tonight.

She’swrong for so many things, butIcan’t find any reason to disagree with her.

HadIbeen a different man, this would have ended differently.Andsooner.

ButI’mjustGraham.

Gray.

Ittakes every modicum of restraint not to crumple up the paper in a fit of rage.

Idon’t recognize the author behind the words.

Theother envelope burns a hole in the table and before my anger worsens,Islip the second letter out and cast my eyes overGraham’shandwriting.AtfirstIdon’t notice it, but thenIrealize this isn’t a journal entry but another letter.

TomyQuinn,

I’llkeep this one short and sweet—like you.

Idon’t share this entry with you searching for pity, but to show you howIwas before you.Iknow you asked me not to change, andIhaven’t, but being with you has allowed me to see howJenna’sbetrayal and cruelty left me branded with so much self-doubt thatIforgot whoIwas.

Becauseof you,Ifound myself again.I’llcontinue to search for the parts of meIlost or still question.

LastweekItook a new step in that journey and reached out to a therapist.

Tolove you is a privilege.Tolove myself is fundamental.