Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Ainsley

The drive home doesn't take long. When I reach the house, two things grab my attention: the lights at my parents' home are off, and there are five plastic containers on the porch. The first one has an envelope taped to it that says:

To Nine

I open it, and it's a postcard and a letter. A postcard of a sunset in the background. I read the back of it.

Ainse:

This is my favorite of all the ones I have collected since I was eight.

Always,

Mason.

He didn't collect postcards. That was me.

Now, I have five boxes here. Five. Before I open them, I unfold the letter. There is a yellowish old piece of paper inside the letter. I read the newest letter first.

Nine:

When I was eight, I stopped catching bugs and killing them. Instead, I asked everyone I knew to help me collect postcards for my friend. The letter I sent has a lot of nonsense for the cynic I became.

The cynic who feared to let you into his world. The asshole who jumped out of his skin when he realized he had made a home—with you. I feared that nothing great would happen after you, that we'd get bored with each other, and after, I'd suffer without you in my life.

Mom gave me a copy of the note, along with the boxes when I went to her house to pick them up from the attic. That's why I haven't looked for you since that morning in your garage. I took a few days off to figure out how to show you that you're the most important person in the world.

I also apologized to my mother for being an ass and not letting the two of you bond.

She told me the story about the postcards.

I remembered I had them for you, but not how I collected them. I wrote a letter, then we made copies and mailed them to everyone we knew. Dad helped. One of the few family activities we did together. How could I forget we did it as a team?

One day, during my teenage years, I woke up thinking that I'd never had it—a family. And I hated my parents for that. I've since learned that we were a family—I had a family. Just in a different way than other children did. It's taken me years to understand that not one person is like the other. I wish I hadn't wasted so much time hoping for what I didn't have and ignoring what I did.

That includes you, my beautiful heroine. I had you. I tried to enjoy you, and yet I missed my freedom and craved to have it back.

I hate that freedom. It's lonely out there.

I believe in you, in us.

Enjoy your postcards.

Always,

Mase.

My hands unfold the last paper with anticipation.

Everyone:

I'm collecting postcards from around the world. If you travel, or if you see any in your local stores that are pretty, please send them to me. Ainse, my best friend and the girl I'll marry one day, collects them. She likes pretty ones. One day I want to give her the biggest collection of postcards from all over the world.

Thank you.

Mason I. H. Bradley

If I had to speak at the moment, nothing would come out. I reread the postcard. The boy I grew up with wanted to marry me. Before enjoying my postcards, I enter the house and pull the boxes close to the sofa.

Toby greets me and bounces on top of the couch I'm about to sit on. I open the boxes filled with postcards from Australia, Montana, Peru, Philippines; so many places I can't keep up. If I combine these boxes with what I have, well, I guess I need to organize my collection. The fifth box is where I notice my iPod, the one I use for running, and on it is a tiny post-it.

Press play.

I tap the middle button, slide my finger, and find the same sunset as the cover.

In my dreams there's this vision

A vision I have about us

A life together with someone

Someone exactly like you

Everyone in this world needs that someone

Someone to fulfill their wildest fantasies

I'm not perfect but I'm your perfect someone

Someone you can call home

An entire life searching

Searching without a light

Searching without a path

But always searching for something… you

Everyone in this world needs that someone

Someone to fulfill their wildest fantasies

I'm not perfect but I'm your perfect someone

Someone you can call home

Someone as complicated

Someone surprisingly perfect

Someone as sweet and brave

Someone to take me home

Everyone in this world needs that someone

Someone to fulfill their wildest fantasies

I'm not perfect but I'm your perfect someone

Someone you can call home

Nine, I. Love. You. And here's the proof that my heart has belonged to you for more than twenty years.

Psst… Psst… swear he came up with the lyrics. With a little help. Some voice editing—plus he's really sorry and we kind of like him. We love you, Sis.

I can't help but laugh at the ending of the song. The melody continued playing while my brothers sang their part. This entire package stumps my brain.

What am I supposed to do now?

I call the best people I know for matters of the heart. My parents.

"Are you guys busy?" I question as Dad answers. Jacob made it sound like they had something going on tonight, and I was out of the loop.

"No, but I like the music you guys made for me," he responds. "Are you okay?"

"Confused," I respond. "How much do you and that husband of yours know?"

"We know everything about life—we're your parents. However, you have to be a bit more specific." Dad implies in a few words that I'm not making sense. "You sound agitated. Why don't you tell us what's going on with you?"

He puts the call on speaker, and I bring them up to speed in a few minutes. From the moment Mason appeared in my garage to the postcards and song.

"Am I being stupid for calling you?" I swing my legs down to the floor and pace back and forth.

"No," Dad responds. "You're being cautious. You want to talk about it before you make a rash decision. What does that tell you?"

"That I want to work it out." I hate logic. It takes the edge off the drama and makes things too simple.

"Hey, without second chances, college boy wouldn't be here," Papa says from the background. "Or third, or fourth chances for that matter."

"Stop it, Chris, because I gave you some of those, too," Dad growls. "Without second chances, our children wouldn't be here, you stubborn man."

"True story," Papa confirms. "That's what a wondrous relationship is—a love story—being together with your best friend. Working it out because, at the end of the day, you want to be with the one who understands and loves you. There're plenty of good things, but you need to be aware of the bad things. Fix and forgive the mistakes… if you're not willing to work it out and give—or ask—for second chances, then there's no point being together."

I remember how panicked I felt when Porter asked for a second chance. However, with Mason, I'm not afraid—just reserved. The empty spaces his departure left can't be filled no matter what I do. What if he walks out on me again? I can't live with fear, either. Tomorrow may be my last day, and I had no Mason to spend it with.

Live with no regrets.

The doorbell rings. I run to the kitchen where the security monitor reveals my brothers at the front door.

"Call us," Papa offers. "We're here for you."

"You two know what's going on, don't you?" I question, but it's obvious.

"Maybe he spoke with us earlier, Ainse." Papa lets out a big exhale. "He has a thing for you, a pretty serious thing. Did you hear the song? I dare to call it love—the forever kind. Don't think—follow your heart, baby girl."

Stumped, I work against gravity to make my feet move toward the door. My dads helped Mason. I want to squeal because that's something Papa would only do if he thought Mase was sincere and—if he approved.

"Put some shoes on, maybe change your clothes to something flirty," Jacob orders as his heavy black boots approach too close to my vulnerable toes. "We're going on a road trip."

"Why?" I take a step back, watching his shoes.

"Part of the ‘Please forgive me, I'm an idiot, but I love you' package."

I elevate my gaze, and he winks at me.

Giddy with anticipation, my legs regain their strength and make the fastest trip ever to my room. I'm jittery just thinking about what's next. Instead of changing into something flirty or revealing, I grab an infinity scarf, slide on a pair of boots, and head downstairs. I can't control the butterflies that are fluttering inside my body.

What else can he have in store?