A Matter of Forever (36 page)

I remember reading something when I was younger, about how if you truly love somebody, you should let them go when things become too difficult. If they come back, they were always meant to be yours. If not, then it was for the best. He and I ... we were constantly running from one another. He left me. I left him. He left again. And now ... now I’m going to have to let him cut that cord of dysfunction between us.

I love him. There’s no doubt about that. I love him so much that imagining him in some other home, with some other girl, with a whole gaggle of beautiful children that look like him, is a thousand knives through my soul. Part of me screams out that it should be me there with him, me having his child. Me falling asleep next to him each night and waking up to his beautiful face.
Me
.

Part of me will always wish for this, I think, Connection or no.

But the rest of me knows the truth. Knows that I’m better off with Jonah, that Jonah’s the one who completes me. Not because of our Connection, not because we’d met as kids, but because he is the one I choose to spend my life with. The one I
choose
to love. I’d tried to live without him and failed miserably. Tried to live without both of them, actually. And while the pain of Kellan’s absence tore through me like the ulcers that once festered within, it was never anything like that of Jonah’s.

I don’t want to live life without my husband.

We’ve walked away from each other so many times, Kellan and I. Now I just need to let him walk away one last time so he can fly free toward his happiness. I need to finally let go.

Jonah eventually comes home that night, crawling into bed next to me without any words. I don’t say anything, either. He just wraps his arms around me, pressing his face into the back of my neck, and we lie there together in the soft silence of night, two halves fitting together seamlessly as our hearts break at the same time.

Now that light spills out across the sheets, Jonah says to me, “I can’t change his mind.”

Dark smudges ring his eyes; his sleep was just as poor as my own last night. “I listened in,” I admit.

A hint of a smile surfaces for the tiniest of moments. “I figured you would.”

“I’m so sorry, Jonah,” I whisper, leaning over to press a gentle kiss against his shoulder.

“Will you talk to him?”

Regret and oh-so-much sadness fills me. He wants me to change Kellan’s mind when in reality, to do so, the only thing I can think of would be to leave Jonah behind. And that’s a choice I won’t make—can’t make, not if I stay true to my heart.

“I’ll talk to him,” I tell the love of my life, “but I have the feeling it won’t do any good.”

I think Jonah knows this, but I promise him I’ll give it my best anyway.

I don’t have to track Kellan down; he finds me about an hour after Jonah leaves for a brief mission that ought to take him right up until dinner. He’s immediately on the defensive, sweet-talking me with, “I’ve been jonesing for hot dogs. Wanna go hit up our favorite cart?”

While Jonah easily guessed that I would snoop on their conversation, it seems Kellan remains unaware. But maybe that’s not fair—maybe Jonah’s ability to read my emotions so easily always gives me away. Kellan used to be able to do that, too, but now ... Now he has to trust me solely on how I act. And right now? I’m deserving of golden awards, because I have a smile on my face and I’ve forced ease into my muscles.

All night, I considered what it would be like saying goodbye to a person whose existence feels so crucial to my own. How does somebody let part of their heart go without a fight? How do you move on?

But then I realized he must be asking himself the same questions. So I decided I wasn’t going to come into our goodbye all teary and resistant. I’m going to give Kellan exactly what he needs from me. If he wants me to let go, then I will let go. I love him too much to do anything else.

“Hot dogs would be great,” I tell him.

A half hour later, we’re sitting on a bench so very familiar to us, one we’ve sat on dozens and dozens of times before in the past, eating hot dogs then as we do now. The sun is warm on our arms, and when I turn to look at this man I adore, it spills out across his shiny hair, forming a halo. I’m dazzled by the sight.

“You look like an angel right now.” I motion toward his head with the last third of my hot dog, and then trace a circle above my own crown.

He chuckles. “I’m no angel.”

Neither am I. None of us are. And that’s the thing, how everyone’s lives are built on a series of good and bad decisions—we try so hard to do the right thing, but every so often, we fail. Despite our lineages, we’re only human after all.

I tell him, “Is there anything I can say to change your mind?”

The easy smile he’d been favoring me with slides off his face. “What did he tell you?”

I fudge at the truth. “That you feel the need to leave.”

A hard, long breath leaves him; half of his hot dog now rests on a napkin between us. But I wait for him to make the next move, because he does not deserve the hysterics threatening at my gates right now.

“It’s for the best,” is what he finally says.

For him, yes. Maybe even for me. But not for Jonah. Never for Jonah. And that realization just kills me a thousand times over. Because Kellan, without his true memories in the forefront of his mind, will never miss the brother that he’s shared his thoughts and life with for nearly twenty-one years. For him, Jonah will simply cease to exist. But for Jonah, he’ll always have that hole; he’ll always know somewhere out there is his other half. My pain will never remotely come close to his.

“I wish,” I tell him, “I wish oh-so-many things. I have so many regrets, so many what-ifs. But I will always wish for your happiness. If you think this is the best, that this is your chance at happiness, I will support you. I only ask that you think it through carefully.”

He lets out another breath, smaller and surprised.

“Your leaving will possibly lead to your happiness,” I continue. “that much is true. And gods, I hope it does, if you do choose to leave. But you need to consider that you will be leaving behind so many people who love you very much. Whose lives will be greatly affected by your loss. Your brother ... your mother ...” Hot, stinging tears threaten to blind me, but I wage war and hold them back. “Your best friend ... your coworkers ... your friends and family ...” I tell him, and then selfishly, “and me. And on a lot of levels, I get why you think this is the best option for you, but you’re sacrificing too much.”

“The thing about sacrifices, C, is that sometimes they go both ways.”

I’m a dog with a bone, though. “You mean a lot to many people who will be devastated to lose you.”

He looks away, into the distance of trees and peoples lives who don’t realize ours are about to change so drastically. “I know. Believe me, I
know
.”

“But,” I continue, “you’ve sacrificed so much of your happiness for me and your brother, and it’s broken my heart over and over again knowing that. You deserve happiness, too, Kellan. Gods, you deserve it so very much. So, if you feel you can’t find it here ...” Air is hard to come by as I tell him one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to say. “Then I will support your decision.”

His hands tremble as he tugs at the cuff on his wrist. “You have to promise me something, C. You have to promise me you will be there for him every step of the way. That you will be a rock for him in the coming months, that you will let him know it’s okay to feel what he needs to feel. Don’t let him shut down.”

It’s my turn to look away as tears hammer at my eyelids in efforts to slide down my cheeks. Who will be there for him? Who will be his rock, if not Jonah?

“You have to promise to always put him first from now on. That you won’t leave him like I’m going to, like our parents and uncle and aunt did.”

It takes every last bit of strength in me to not flat-out break down in public. This is so unfair. How has it all come down to this?

“My brother is the strongest person I know,” he says. “And it tears me apart, knowing I am leaving him behind. That I’m hurting him yet again. That he constantly suffers needless guilt over things beyond his control. But Chloe, I can’t think of any other way to fix all of this. The three of us ... we’re trapped in this situation. The only way out is for one of us to leave. And that person has got to be me.”

Why does it have to be him? Why should he sacrifice everything?

“When you brought me back ... you finally gave us the solution. My Connections to you two are broken. If I leave, if I ...” His swallow is audible. “When I die, then it won’t affect you any longer. You’ll miss me, yes ... but it won’t be the same. Not without the Connections. You two have a shot now at your happy ending. And, whether or not I deserve one, so do I.”

“Of course you deserve one.” Despite all my efforts, my voice cracks and breaks, all thin glass threatened by hurricane force gales. “The very best kind of happy ending. Don’t ever think you don’t.” My happy ending, I think, should never come at the expense of his own. How could it ever be a happy ending at such a cost?

A hand touches my arm; I open my eyes and find him tilted toward me, his striking blue eyes so solemn for such a sunny day. “This is the only way I can let you go,” he whispers, and my focus falls to those lips of his that have done so many wonderful things to me. “Because if I don’t leave, I will always want you, Connection or no.”

Just like I would always want him, Connection or no.

“I love you,” he tells me, “but more importantly, I love my brother more than my own life. Please help him understand that this is the way it has to be.”

I nod, and force myself to stay strong even though I want nothing more than to let it all go.

His hand leaves my arm; tingles—not so savagely delicious as before when we shared a Connection—linger behind. And we sit there in warm sun and silence, the distance between us already growing.

He breaks the news to the rest of the family the next night.

Astrid has called together yet another family dinner—this time at her house, where the combined group of Lotuses, Whitecombs, and Danes converge to nosh on roast beef. Callie jokes that it’s like a mini holiday dinner just days after the real thing, but it’s oddly fitting to me. One last big family meal together; the next will be one person smaller.

After lunch, as we walked back to the apartment, Kellan made a big push to act normal. We talked about normal things—things that had nothing to do with his leaving. Things like movies and songs and books we’ve read lately. About how it seems like it’s far past time for Callie and Will to simply break down and admit something’s between them. How glad we both are that Astrid and Cameron are so happy. How absolutely, hilariously weird it will be if parents and then children both end up as couples—or better yet, married. I cracked up as he talked about this possibility, laughed so hard until my sides ached, and I forced myself to accept that if those weddings happen, he will not be at any of them.

Or even know they’d be taking place at all.

When Jonah came home, he and his brother spent time together, talking long through the night. I found them the next morning, both asleep on Kellan’s couch, take-out containers littering the coffee table and the television softly humming in the background. They looked so young like that, sprawled out across the black leather with long legs sticking in every direction. And they looked so very much alike that I turned right back around, went upstairs, and locked myself in the bathroom until I could breathe again.

How can this relationship just simply cease to be?

And now here we are, sitting at Astrid’s brand new, huge oak table that engulfs the dining room, and Jonah is a wire stretched tight and thin and I’m holding my breath, waiting for the bomb to drop. I take hold of his hand under the table and squeeze it.

I let the press of my skin against his tell him that I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for him. I love him. We are forever. We will get through this together. He is not alone.

I squeeze his hand over and over again when Kellan calmly tells his mother his decision. I squeeze his hand when Astrid’s quiet tears cut our souls, and when Callie yells angrily at her best friend. I squeeze his hand when the girl he’s known his whole life storms out of the room so she doesn’t break down in front of everyone, and then again when Astrid gets up and hugs her son, afraid to let go. I squeeze his hand and finally let go when he gets up and joins them, these two boys and the mother that took them in when they had nobody else to love them. And then I find my hands being squeezed by the men who did the same for me when the last bombshell drops.

Tonight is our last night with him.

We get no sleep that night. Instead, the three of us stay awake and fill the hours with all the words we won’t be able to get in during the coming decades. And then we talk about what’s going to happen.

Kellan has already finalized all of the plans with Zthane. Kiah, as a Dreamer, and Jonah, as an Emotional, will tag team in their efforts manipulating Kellan’s memories. Kiah will carry the bulk of the work; she’ll alter Kellan’s realities. Jonah will come in and influence those false experiences, leaving behind feelings and drives that will help propel his life forward. It will take several hours, I’m told; this is not the first time such a thing has happened before. There have been documented cases over the centuries of Magicals’ memories being blocked as punishments, of having their powers stripped away. It’s just ... this is the first time it’s being done voluntarily. Because this is the first time a Magical has died and then was brought back by a stubborn Creator, and nobody else has had to face the choices Kellan has before.