CHAPTER TWO Cole

My apartment had sold at full list price, so I had no excuse to be disappointed about moving. Yet, here I was, miserable as fuck, and dreading losing the last thing that tied me to the love of my life. I'd bought Alan, my ex, out, and he'd moved on with his new partner. A man he'd met and married within six months after putting off marriage to me for seven years.

That breakup was nearly two years ago come Christmas, and I was still single. Everything about our apartment reminded me of Alan, and maybe that was why I stayed. I figured he could move on and I could stay and wallow in my sadness. And maybe, just maybe, if he came back to me, we'd still have our home. Looking back, that was probably a poor choice as things turned out. My life was in a deep rut and things weren't improving on any front.

I'd finally decided to make some big changes. First was the sale of my home in New York City. Second was to relocate out of the city and to a place less crowded and perhaps a bit quieter. At thirty-seven, I had no social life. I didn't go out to clubs or restaurant openings. I didn't spend hours on social media with friends and family or swiping my way through dick pics on Grindr. A date, a man, or even a hard cock, hadn't held my interest in two years. Naturally, I was still single as I continually ignored the world around me.

Today's final walkthrough would be the last time I'd be in this apartment. After two years without Alan, all I saw was Alan as I walked room by room, making sure I had everything. The movers had removed all the furniture and boxed items, loading it all and shipping them to the new house.

I turned the corner and came to my last stop before exiting one last time, the kitchen. There was a box on the island with a note attached. The note was from a random mover named Chuck, and it read that they had found the box under the bed in the master suite. I must have forgotten I'd stored it there.

I didn't have to open the cardboard box to know what was in it, but did so anyway. I stored the box under the bed after Alan left me for his boss. All of our early love notes, cards, and romantic written communication were kept inside. Occasionally, after he'd left, I'd drag the box from under the bed whenever I was feeling especially pathetic and would reread the cards and love notes. Doing so wasn't helping me move on, but the temptation was always too much. Perhaps rereading them gave validation to what we'd shared together.

I lifted the lid and peeked inside. Pushing notes and cards from side to side, amazed at the volume, I noticed a card I'd received before Christmas two years prior. I instantly recognized the handwriting on the red envelope. The card and the letter inside were the only ones not from Alan.

This was the very last communication I'd received from my very best friend on the planet, Jack. Jack died suddenly just before Christmas two years ago and he'd mailed this to me less than a week before he passed. I hadn't had the time to respond before Perry's call informing me of Jack's passing. My failure to be there for Perry after has haunted me ever since.

Jack always made a smiley face out of the letter O in my name, and the envelope of this last card was no different. I ran a finger across the open flap, nervous to remove the letter and reread the contents. What I didn't need on this day of overwhelming sadness was another reminder of how alone I was. Besides Alan, Jack had been everything to me.

Naturally, his husband Perry was devastated by the loss back then, but had found love again. I couldn't say the same for me. I wished I'd been a good friend to Perry after Jack died, but I hadn't been. I was barely coping with the grief of my breakup, and then add in losing my best friend at nearly the same time, and I was a completely fucked up mess.

And then you add in the news a year later that Perry had managed to find love again and had relocated out of New York, and I was jealous of him. A shitty thing to be to a man who had been madly in love with my best friend and had always treated our friendship with respect and love. He'd deserved better, but time had piled up, and the more time that went by, the less brave I was about reaching out and reconnecting.

Unfortunately, I had added Perry to the pile of friends I'd shut out. One by one, I stopped communicating with them. I lost Alan and then I lost Jack. My only friend now was the misery I kept company with. I floundered in my sorrow and committed to being petty and bitter about what had happened to me. My grief had turned to anger, and I was stuck there. A lonely island of self-pity and bitterness.

Friends gave up trying to help after I ignored their calls and invitations. Shocking, right? Month after month went by, and now, two years later, I had no one. Looking around the vacant kitchen and then down the hallway toward a quiet living room, the bare space was a perfect metaphor for my life. Empty. Empty. Empty.

After I finally stopped dragging my finger across the open flap of the envelope, I removed the letter. I would've recognized Jack's penmanship if I'd had a thousand samples of other people's cursive writing in front of me. Cursive was a dying style, and Jack took pride in keeping it alive. He was the most amazing person about sending cards or calling. He never missed a birthday or a holiday of any kind, up to and including Groundhog Day when he'd send one every day for a week as a joke. Always the same damn card with the same exact message included. Thankfully, I'd saved this final card and stored it where I kept all the important messages I treasured.

My dearest friend,

I send you this Christmas card with nothing but love for you and our friendship. Because of your pain this season, I need to remind you of how much you mean to me. You are my best friend, and I can never thank you enough for all you do for me and my heart.

There are few people that one can count on day in and day out. Of course, I have Perry, but you are the other person I depend on for support and love. A true and valued friend through thick and thin. You are there for me and I want to be there for you. Especially now.

Please don't shut me out, Cole. I cannot begin to understand your pain and the sense of loss you must be feeling, especially during the holiday season. You must know that I will be here for you, and we can get you through this together. You do not have to do this alone.

With the new year ahead of you, there will be new opportunities, new and wonderful experiences, and of course, me. I'm here, my friend. I always have been, and I always will be.

Trust me, you'll get past this and you will love again. You know me, I'll make sure you do. And never forget, I ALWAYS get my way. Just ask Perry.

As much as I'd miss you, might I suggest a change of scenery? Somewhere new to allow you a fresh beginning with an open heart. Think about it, will you?

All my love in the new year and beyond,

Jack

He didn't live long enough to provide the support he'd written about. I haven't managed to find my feet underneath me since. Funny how he'd advised me on a move. I'd forgotten his written words. Every path forward looked like a dead-end, but I had to start living again. Some way, somehow.

I replaced the letter inside the card and held it against my chest, tears streaming down my face. "Thank you, Jack," I whispered. "You're right again. It's time."