Ido take it off onceIget into my car, though, because it’s too difficult to drive with it on, andIcan’t handle takingUbersto work any longer.Ineed the sense of freedomIget from my car.Duringmy drive home,Ledgercalls and asks if he can come over with dinner.Theman is so thoughtful.He’salways doing things like this for me, andI’mnever the one who thinks of doing it for him.SoItell him no— thatIam coming tohisapartment and bringinghimfood.
Asmuch asIlike to be the best of the best as an intelligence operative (and beatLedgerat everything), when it comes to navigating a relationship and being good at it,Iamnotthe best of the best.I’mnot even the best of the worst.Ihave not figured it out any more thanIhad figured out how to be an intelligence operative as an eight-year-old.
Ledgergrew up knowing how to do all of it.Heprobably didn’t even realize he was learning it.Heprobably doesn’t even know how good he is at it.AndI’mscared he’ll find out how badIam at it.Hehas been at my hotel and my apartment so many times, yet this is the first timeIam going to his apartment.I’mnot even sureIknew that he lives inCloakwood.
Heopens the door beforeIget close enough to knock— probably because he heard my clomping steps coming up to the door, andIthink the view of him whenhe opens the door will be forever burned in my mind.Hejust looks so elated to see me.Idon’t thinkI’veever had someone so deep-down thrilled at my presence.He’sgot me smiling right back, feeling that same happiness.
Hewelcomes me in, wrapping an arm around my waist and giving me a kiss thatIsavor.Thenhe smiles into the kiss and whispers, “Welcometo my home.”
“Wheredo you want this?”Isay, holding up the bag that contains the pesto chicken salad sandwiches and strawberry lemonade pie thatIgot from a little caféIfound in his town.Hesets it on a countertop that doubles as a breakfast bar and a half-wall separating the kitchen from the living area, andItake a look around.
Thisplace is exactly howIexpected it would be.Openand instantly welcoming.Abig, comfortable-looking, modern sectional sits in his living room, and it isn’t hard to imagine it filled withLedger’sfriends, all playing games, laughing, having a good time.Itisn’t hard to imagine the two of us cozied up together on the couch, either.
Thewalls have colorful artwork interspersed with photos ofLedgerwith people thatI’msure mean a lot to him, as well as photos of him skydiving, in scuba gear underwater with colorful marine life, windsurfing, ice climbing, high lining, you name it.There’seven a few, like kite skiing and steep creeking thatIhaven’t even tried.Therewould never be a dull moment aroundLedger, that’s for sure.
Ledgerjust holds back asIlook around at everything, including his bookshelves and sound system.WhenIturn back to him after looking at everything, he puts his armsaround me again and, now thatI’mno longer holding the bag with dinner,Iwrap my arms around his neck and keep him close as we kiss.Itfeels so good to be like this thatImemorize the way it feels to be in his arms.Tohave his lips against mine.Iwant to be able to remember this forever.
Aswe eat side by side at his breakfast bar, we talk about our day and about any progress we each made in our search forAragundior theBarnoBrothers.
Iam just finishing eating my strawberry lemonade pie— which is incredible— andIcan practically feel the excitement that seems like it’s been building inLedgerfor the entire meal.Iturn to him, “Okay, what is it?You’rekilling me, here.”
Itwas as if all he needed was permission to end the meal early, because he practically bounds off his chair and into his bedroom.Heemerges a few seconds later with a small, flat box in his hand. “I’vegot something for you.”
Ispin on my barstool to face him, a question on my face as he nears and holds it out to me.Thebox is from a jewelry store.It’snot even close to my birthday and it’s notChristmas, soIdon’t have any idea why he’s giving this to me.Iremove the lid, and so much is going through my mind that it takes a second to process whatI’mseeing.
It’sa necklace with two pendants on it.Thechain and the heart look exactly like my necklace thatIlost.Exactly.Didhe find one online and recognize it as similar to the one thatIlost?No, this is the real one.Mine.Iwould recognize it anywhere.
Itouch the pendant, then place thebox back inLedger’shand and, fingers shaking, work to open the locket.Iknow this is the necklaceIlost.TheoneI’veworn around my neck for the past twenty years.Butthe part of me that knows it can’t possibly be the real thing is telling me that the locket is likely empty, and that it’s going to feel like a stab to the heart to open it and see.ButIdo it anyway.
Igasp and a hand flies to my mouth.Ithas the picture of my first foster parents in it.Itismy necklace.Thevery same necklace thatIlost.Myeyes are filling with tears asIlook atLedger. “What?How?Wheredid this…”
Hegives me a smile that shows he’s seeing all of me.Allthe emotion that’s filling me. “Itbroke when you fell inAnkara.Ifound it on the ground next to you and put it in my pocket before carrying you to the car.Istill can’t believeIeven saw it in the darkness and rain.Iguess it wanted to be found.
“Theclasp was broken, soIhad to take it to a jeweler to have it fixed, but it should be as good as new now.Iknow it means a lot to you and reminds you that your first foster family loved you.”
“Ican’t believe you found it,”Isay, my voice coming out as barely a whisper.
Hereaches out and touches the second pendant, the one that is hanging right next to the locket.It’sa lock, and it’s gold, too, just like the rest of the necklace.Theygo well enough together that it looks like they were always meant to be together. “Ihad them add this.Ihope it will remind you that you are loved by more than just your first foster family— you’re loved by a lot of people.Especiallyme.Thelock represents that it’s not temporary.Youwill always be loved.”
Iam so overcome with emotion thatIcan’t even talk.I’mglad thatLedgeris holding the box now, because my hands are shaking.Ledgersets the box on the countertop and removes the card that the necklace is displayed on, carefully pulling the chain out from the slits at the top.Ihold up my braid as he fastens it at the base of my neck.
Assoon asIfeel its familiar weight against my skin after going so long without it, everything immediately feels right again.Thething most precious to me is back where it goes afterIthought it was gone forever.Ireach up and touch the locket, likeI’vedone thousands of times before.Andthis time, my fingers also touch the lock.
Youare loved by a lot of people.Especiallyme.Ledger’swords echo in my mind, andIwant them to stay there forever.Toalways be tied to the lock in the same way that my first foster parents’ love is tied to the locket.
Ilook atLedger, overwhelmed with gratitude for him, and can’t even begin to express a thank you big enough to encompass this.Soinstead,Ijust kiss him.Ipour all of it— all the emotionI’mfeeling— into the kiss.Myfingers grasp his hair at the base of his skull, andIhold him close, kissing him as tears stream down my face, making our kiss taste salty.Thetears are streaming so much that they are even falling off my face and onto us.
Eventually,Ipull back just enough to gaze intoLedger’sbeautiful gray-blue eyes.Ismile and shake my head a bit. “Idon’t deserve someone as amazing and as thoughtful as you,”Isay, meaningevery word.
Icollapse back onto the barstoolI’dbeen sitting on before, feeling incredibly spent from experiencing so many emotions.Ipull the necklace forward as much as it can, looking down at it.Ican’t believeIhave it back.Andback even better than it was.
ButIreally don’t deserveLedger.Iam not worthy of the kind of love he is showing me.AsIlook down at the necklace,Istart to feel it more intensely.Thisrepresents a deep kind of love for someone who is worthy of that kind of love.Iam not.Asmuch asIam enamored by everything it represents,Ifeel like a fraud having it bestowed upon me.
Itwould be like reallyreallywanting to win the school spelling bee, and working so hard to learn the words.Inthe end, though, being awful at spelling and not even coming close to actually winning.Butthen they crown you “SpellingBeeChampion” anyway and hand you the trophy as if you did.Andeveryone acts like it rightfully belongs to you even when youknowit doesn’t.
Ididn’t earn this kind of love.Idon’t deserve it.Andone day,Ledgeris going to realize that.
Myown mom realized it.Forso long as a kid,Ihad wondered if something was fundamentally wrong with me: ifIwas unlovable.Then, in living with my first foster family,Ihad started to feel differently.LikemaybeIhad been mistaken.Butafter the next couple of foster homes,Istarted to realize that feeling lovable with my first foster family was the anomaly.Actuallynot being lovable was the reality.
