Hate Notes

My email notification showed I’d just received an instant payment of five thousand dollars. That was definitely the most money I’d ever gotten in one lump sum. Allison’s designer feathered wedding gown had sold on eBay in less than a day.

That hadn’t taken long at all. The dress was worth far more—at least twenty grand—but I needed the money soon to fund my trip to Europe. Well, I’d already bought the tickets, but I needed the cash to pay the hefty credit card bill that would be coming at the end of the month. The only way I could guarantee quick money was to undersell.

I hadn’t told Reed I was back in the city. As far as he was concerned, I was still in Poughkeepsie with my parents. I would only be here long enough to ship the dress and pack my things before my flight this weekend anyway.

I’d decided to fly into Paris and would spend a few days roaming the city before taking an overnight train to Rome. I’d booked a sleeper car. It wasn’t quite the scenario I’d hoped for on my Fuck-It List, but it was as close as I was going to get.

After carefully clipping Reed’s blue note out of the dress, I held the paper in my hand and read the message a few times.

To Allison—

“She said, ‘Forgive me for being a dreamer,’ and he took her by the hand and replied, ‘Forgive me for not being here sooner to dream with you.’” ―J. Iron Word

Thank you for making all of my dreams come true.

Your love,

Reed

How I wished to be loved by him. But maybe he wasn’t capable of loving the way he had when he’d penned the note. He’d hardened. As much as I wished he would see things the way I did, I just couldn’t force him to. His resistance had worn me down. Couple that with my numbness as of late, and I just had no energy to fight anything, least of all Reed Eastwood.

As I carefully packed the dress into a large, flat white box, I hoped that it would bring good luck to Lily Houle of Madison, Wisconsin. Lily would now be the recipient of its magic, which no longer seemed to be working for me.

I thought about how this dress had changed my life. It had brought me Reed, and even if he and I never had anything more than what had already taken place, he’d changed my life. He’d made me feel things I never had before, and he’d given me the closure I needed when it came to my roots.

Taking one last look at the fabric before I closed the box, I was ready to put the fairy tale to bed. Love wasn’t about a beautiful dress, a note, or even poignant words. It was about being with someone through thick and thin, about seeing them through not only the best moments of life but also the worst. It was about being there for someone like I would have been there for Reed if he’d let me. I thought of my birth mother. True love was also about forgiveness.

It made me sad that I felt like I was giving up on Reed, especially after the night we’d had in Houston. But if that amazing sex couldn’t finally bring us together, what could? I missed his body, the way he felt inside of me, so much. The need kept me up at night lately. We’d become one physically, yet emotionally he was still so guarded, still so far away. How many times could I stand to get rejected by one man? I’d rather be alone than alongside an unattainable Reed, playing this cat-and-mouse game that never ended. I didn’t want to quit working at Eastwood, but I was probably going to have to. I had some big decisions to make, and I was hoping the overseas trip would bring clarity.

First day in Paris consisted of bread and cheese, followed by bread and more cheese.

Sitting in front of La Fromagerie, I wondered if I’d accomplish anything more than gaining an extra five pounds while on this trip. I wasn’t going to find my solutions in a baguette, that was for sure. Yet eating alone seemed to be what I wanted to do. And this trip was just as much about doing nothing as it was about finding something meaningful.

I was surrounded by smoking Parisians sipping their coffees and speaking in a language that I really couldn’t understand despite my best efforts in trying to learn. Staying in my own world, I enjoyed the cheese-and-fruit platter I ordered.

I’d decided I was going to visit as many cafés as I possibly could before I had to board the train to Italy.

As alone as I was here, I didn’t feel lonely, mainly because of all the other people around me enjoying solitude. Take, for example, the artist sitting in the corner, sketching something. I was in good company in being alone. And that was comforting.

The sight of the Eiffel Tower in the distance served as a spectacular reminder to look up from my plate once in a while and to not forget the splendor of where I was. Instead of a hotel, I’d opted to stay in an Airbnb in the Quartier Saint-Germain-des-Prés, a small but charming neighborhood not far from the tower. Tomorrow, I would take a break from my culinary tour to visit Notre Dame and the Louvre.

My eyes wandered to a man who looked like he could be Reed from the back—dark hair, dressed in a suit, broad stature. My heart felt like it skipped a beat at the thought of how incredible it would be to have him here with me.

The man was sitting alone, reading a newspaper. Suddenly, it hit me that you could travel across the Atlantic, seek out all the distractions in the world to suppress the pain in your heart . . . but one little reminder was all it took to unravel everything. A few moments later, the man was joined by a woman and two rosy-faced children. He stood up from his chair and bent down to embrace the two little cherubs. Still observing him from the back, the man was basically Reed to me. And the sight I was witnessing was Reed and his children—a life he might have had if it weren’t for his fears. A life I might have had if it weren’t for his fears.

Tears started streaming down my face. I was a sight to behold between the crying and the chewing.

Just as I was about to get up and head to my next culinary destination, the artist in the corner began to approach me. He said something in French that I couldn’t understand, then winked and handed me the portrait he’d been working on. He scooted away—literally—before I had a chance to say anything back.

I looked down and gasped. It was the most hideous picture of myself. Hideous not because it was poorly drawn, but because it was very likely exactly what I looked like today. In the drawing, my mouth was open as I stuffed my face with a piece of bread. My eyes were bugged out, and they looked swollen from tears. Tomorrow, I would be going to see the calm and collected Mona Lisa. This hot mess in my hands was the polar opposite.

As I continued to stare at the portrait of myself, though, it hit me that despite the fact that I felt my life was a mess, this stranger had found something artworthy in me. By simply being and enjoying the present moment, I had inspired him somehow. I stared at the picture some more. The longer I looked at it, the less I saw the lost girl eating bread and the more I saw the independent woman. One who’d just found and lost her mother, yet who persevered anyway—and despite being in love with a man she could never have. She survived anyway. Eating cheese. Maybe this was a lesson that I’m okay just as I am—alone and experiencing whatever life throws my way. Maybe I am enough.

I am enough.

In that moment, I realized that while it might take some time, I would really be okay no matter what happened between Reed and me—because I would have myself. And I was strong—perfectly imperfect.

Later that day, I happened to walk by a boutique on Rue du Commerce that sold vintage wedding dresses.

I couldn’t help but stop to gaze at the gown that was on display in the storefront. It was stunning, not in the same way that Allison’s blush feathered dress was. This one was trumpet-style, white, and covered in sequins. It was a simple style but had a beautiful waistband that gave it character and tied the look together.

I thought back to my last wedding dress–boutique experience all those months ago, how much had happened since, how much I’d changed. My tastes had matured along with a lot of things about my life.

So much was left uncertain. Would I stay working at Eastwood, or would I go back to school? I had a lot to think about when I got back home. Despite the uncertainties, there were so many more things I had become certain about in terms of what I wanted out of life.

I was certain I deserved the kind of man who would love me like Reed might have if he weren’t so scared. And I knew I shouldn’t give up hope about finding that. Even my mother had gone on to find love and live a happy—albeit short—life after all that she’d been through after giving me up.

I took one last look at the dress in the window. It was the type of dress I might have chosen today—not as ostentatious as the feathered gown, but not plain, either. If the feathered dress represented a false ideal, this one represented . . . me.

Simple yet elegant with lots of sparkle.