I sag onto my new bed and pull out my phone. It’s after two in the morning. Although I have the urge to call Kitty and tell her while all of my emotions are still fresh and raw, I know she needs her rest in order to keep fighting her own battles, so I plug my phone in and close my eyes for one of my last nights in Delaware.
“One of the most courageous things you can do is identify yourself, know who you are, what you believe in and where you want to go.”
–Sheila Murray Bethel
The sky is bluer than blue as I cross the Arizona border into California. It’s the dry stretch that travels through the Chocolate Mountains that Jameson refers to as rock piles.
I press a couple of buttons and ringing echoes through my car.
“Harper, did you make it safely?”
“I just crossed into California. I wanted to touch base with you and see how you’re feeling today.”
“I’m better knowing you’re finally happy.”
“I was happy, Kitty. I was happy in Delaware with Fitz, and you, and Danny. I enjoyed the lab, and school, and finding myself.”
“You were happy, weren’t you? You just weren’t fully complete.” I picture her knowing green eyes and smile. “I want to hear all about it! And you let me know when you get there. I don’t care how late it is.”
“Kitty?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for finding me.”
There’s a long pause and then I hear her suck in a deep breath. “I didn’t find you, Harper. You found yourself. I just helped show you where to look.”
“I love you.” I wipe away a few tears that race down my cheeks.
“I love you too. Drive safe and don’t forget to let me know when you get there.”
“I will. I’ll text you if it’s really late, and then you can call me tomorrow.”
I pull up beside Kendall’s car a little after nine and let out a deep breath. “Alright, Dad, we made it,” I say quietly, running my fingers over the letter that rode across country with me over the last four days.
My bare feet burn slightly against the heat that clings to the asphalt as I grip my Converse shoes by their laces, my father’s letter still in hand. I look up to the night sky and see an airplane fly overhead, defying convention, and it makes me smile. I look beyond it and find the brightest star in the sky.
“I love you too, Dad.”
My finger shakes as I ring the doorbell.
The door opens a second later and rather than having the perfect movie scene where Max is standing here, ready to kiss me, Kendall looks at me with her bright blue eyes rounding and her breath leaving her in a quiet rush. A teary squeal climbs from her throat as she pulls me into her arms and hugs me with a severity that I’ve learned to recognize over the last few days is only able to transpire between someone that really loves you.
“I feel like I’m dreaming. I’m not though, right? You’re here?”
I smile and nod. “I’m here.”
She shakes her head and pulls me to her once again.
“I really want to talk to you. I have so much to explain, but I need to talk to Max really quick, first.”
“Ace?” Max steps behind Kendall, followed by his dad and Jameson. I hadn’t anticipated an audience during the million times I thought about this scene and how it would play out as I travelled across the entire country, but I work to push my discomfort aside and breathe. “What are you doing here?”
Kendall takes a few steps back as Max takes a few hesitant ones forward, and I lift my shoes for him to take.
His brow furrows as he takes the laces from my fingers. “What are … why are you giving me your … your shoes?”
I work to ignore the fact that the others are all looking at me with earnest anticipation and curiosity and focus on Max. “They’re the last piece of me.” My voice is quieter and sounds hoarse and broken, so I clear my throat. “I’m giving you my last piece. I didn’t know how else to show you that I’m not afraid anymore. You have to work with me a little with the metaphor here—”
My words stop as Max’s lips land on mine with a need that resonates in my soul.
When he pulls back, a smile is spread across his face. Cheers register and I look over Max’s shoulder to see Kendall, Tim, Jameson, Wes, and Landon all yelling and cheering. I smile and watch Jameson and Kendall hug as she bounces on her toes with excitement. My eyes float across the small group that I love as family and see their warm smiles. I stop when I reach Wes, who gives me a wink with a single nod before my sole focus returns to Max.
Just Max.
“How in the hell did he know?”
I raise my eyebrows in confusion.
“I have something for you to read later, but I think these guys want to see you first. And before that, I’m going to kiss you. I’m going to kiss the hell out of you until you don’t have a single doubt about being here.”
“I don’t have a single one,” I whisper against his cheek as he leans down to hug me. “Not a single one.”
Max still kisses me, long and hard, and the others give us an encore applause before finally disappearing into the house and allowing us a small bit of privacy.
“What do you have for me to read?”
“Do you want to read it now or go see everyone?”
“I want to read it. I want to explain everything—I have so much to tell you.”
Max’s hands clasp both sides of my face, and his forehead leans against mine as he releases a soft breath that holds the hint of mint and the promise of him.
He leads me to his room and opens the bottom drawer of his nightstand, revealing stacks of pictures of the two of us and of just me. One of my old anatomy flashcard sits in the back, and my most recent note is folded in half, covering several other previous ones. He fishes to the bottom of the drawer with a knowing practice and extracts a white envelope that has his name scrawled across it in my father’s handwriting. I look at Max as he pushes it toward me.
“He wanted you to read it when you were ready,” he explains softly.
A part of me feels anxious to read more words from my father and relish in this feeling that has descended upon me since reading his letter to me. Yet my chest tightens with a new wave of heartache from missing him.
I sit on the edge of Max’s bed and carefully open the letter.
Dear Max,
Each year in December I write a new letter to each of my girls, and also to their families. I know that you aren’t married yet, but I’ll bet my last dime that you’re going to be a member of our family forever, so I thought I may as well begin your stack of letters this year as well.
I write these letters so I can impart some final advice to my girls on the off chance that something ever happens to me, and I’m not there to help them in the way that I’ve always strived to.
When Muriel was pregnant with Mindi, we didn’t know she was a girl. Part of me had wanted a boy, someone to rebuild cars with, and watch sports, and one day drink a beer with, and talk about him proposing to a girl that he loved as much as I love Muriel. Five girls later I don’t have a single regret. I have cherished every single makeover, Barbie session, and tea party more than words could ever explain, and I look forward to enjoying them with all of my grandchildren, or granddaughters as they love to tease. They’re filled with the best things that life has to offer, and part of that is the emotions that sometimes run high. I’ve strived to balance between supporting them and offering them advice that will guide them in the right direction, without curtailing their own journey and decisions in the process.