Chapter 7 (Felicity)

                                        

                                              
I woke with my eyes feeling crusty and my body buzzing with the hurt of an emotional hangover. I swear I could feel my heartbeat in my teeth—if I didn't know better, I would've said I took down a couple bottles of wine last night, but in reality, I had only a glass.
I pulled up to a sitting position and forced myself to stand. I swear I groaned out loud as I almost waddled—heading toward the bathroom. When did my bones start to feel so old? I still had two days until forty, so this old-ass feeling in my body could suck it.
I stood up straight, grabbed the edge of the dresser, and steadied myself. I reached up toward the ceiling and stretched my body out. 
Looking at myself in the attached mirror, I spoke to the woman on the other side.
"Get your ass in gear, Felicity. Forty is the new thirty. Your marriage does not define who you are. You are a fucking beast, and you will stand with fucking dignity."
I looked at that tired woman I saw reflected, and as I spoke, I swear she started to grow more determined. Almost fortified by the impromptu speech.
"That's right, Felicity. You will close out your thirties with a bang—Caden or no Caden."
My eyes dropped to the object in my hand. It was white. Folded. I hadn't even realized I was holding it.
The letter.
I opened it again and reread the line that kept echoing in my head:
I'm going to show you that you are—and always have been—the love of my life.
I could almost taste the memory of a time when I really felt that.
Boston, July 4, 2018 (Flashback)
We'd arrived early—Caden insisted. 
Blankets, wine, snacks, Bluetooth speaker for the wait. He always overprepared, and I didn't mind it. It let me relax and go with the flow because I knew he had the details covered.
It was hot. Not unbearable, but enough that I tied my hair up and peeled off my sandals the moment we laid our blanket down near the Esplanade. It was early—as was necessary on the Fourth in Boston. The crowd hadn't fully settled yet, but he sat close, one leg stretched out behind mine like a safety rail.
"You good?" he asked, offering me a chilled water bottle he'd packed in a tiny cooler like a dad at his kid's softball game.
I nodded, smiling as I took it. "You're very proud of this setup."
"Damn straight. Blanket real estate is no laughing matter."
I laughed, then leaned into his side, resting my chin on his shoulder for a moment. He smelled like sunblock and soap and just a little like the white wine sweating in plastic cups between us.
"You used to come here a lot as a kid?"
He shook his head. "Nah. My parents weren't into the crowds. Then later, with Jessica—she preferred house parties. Watching the fireworks on TV instead of being here in person. This is one of my firsts."
I hesitated. He rarely mentioned his ex without prompting, but there wasn't any bitterness in his voice. Just fact.
"What made you want to come this year?"
He looked at me then. No smirk. No joke. Just eyes that went quieter than usual.
"You," he said. "I wanted to be here with you. I wanted to experience this first with you."
The fireworks hadn't even started yet—still hours to go—but something went off in my chest at that.
"Felicity," he said after a minute. "I know I talk too much. I make everything a joke when I don't know what else to say—but I need you to hear me on this."
He sat up straighter, pulling one knee toward him, his posture shifting into something more serious. He cleared his throat.
"I've never... wanted someone like I want you. Not just for now. Not for something casual or convenient. I want to build something with you. Whatever this is, it's not temporary to me."
I blinked. I hadn't expected that. We'd been dating a little under a year at that point. Things had been good—really good—but we'd never put it into words like that.
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking off toward the Charles. "I know that's a lot. I just... needed to say it."
Music started playing through the speakers along the river. Odd timing, but it felt like a sign. It screamed romantic so I went with it.
I slid my fingers over his, threading them together.
"It's not too much," I said.
And it wasn't.
Not when it was him.
Hours later—after countless card games, a couple of bottles of wine, some funnel cake, and a lot of laughs—we stood side by side to watch the fireworks. Hand in hand, standing barefoot on our blanket like the hundreds of people around us. It was the most magical moment of my life.
Thinking back on it now, I asked myself 'Where did that couple go?'