And I had the desire to take something ugly and make it beautiful again.
I asked Mack if he knew anyone with good taste that might help me choose some materials and appliances, and he suggested I ask April Sawyer. I shot her a text on the first Friday in November.
She replied that she’d be happy to help and offered to drive with me down to the Home Depot in Traverse City on Saturday. I’d have preferred to meet her there, but I didn’t want to be an asshole, so I said okay and told her I’d pick her up at Cloverleigh around three.
My phone rang a minute later.
“Why don’t I drive to your house?” April suggested. “That way I can see the space.”
“Oh, right. Okay.” I gave her the address. “See you tomorrow. Thanks.”
We hung up, and I looked around the kitchen, thinking that I’d better clean up if April was going to come look at it tomorrow. I washed all the dishes in the sink and put them away. I cleaned out the fridge. I dragged a mop over the floor. I gathered all the mail that had been piling up on the counter and sorted through it.
That’s when I saw the envelope with my name on it. No stamp, no return address, just Ryan written in cursive letters, black ink. I swallowed. Was this Stella’s writing? When had she written this? Before she left?
With my pulse pounding in my ears, I tore open the envelope and pulled out two handwritten pages.
Dear Ryan,
I want to start by saying how deeply sorry I was to hear about the loss of your friend. And I want to apologize for making tonight about me when it shouldn’t have been. I should not have come at you like that, asking difficult questions and making demands.
Hold on a second … she was apologizing to me? After the shit I said to her, she was sorry? I felt so low, I wanted to sink into the ground. It would almost have been easier if she’d just torn me a new asshole.
But I am new to this. I’ve never fallen for anyone the way I fell for you. The whirlwind of it caught me off guard.
I won’t deny that I’m heartbroken. Your words outside the restaurant, true or not, hurt me.
My throat was dry and tight. I hated the thought that I’d caused her pain.
But I want to thank you for showing me what true passion feels like. For pushing my boundaries. For getting me to take a risk and follow my heart. Because even though it didn’t lead me to happy ever after, it was a journey worth taking.
Love always is.
You might disagree—in fact, a few weeks ago, I might have disagreed. But in the short time we spent together, I’ve learned something.
The bravest thing you can do is trust another person, and let them see the real you.
I showed you the real me. I saw the real you. And I am a stronger person for it.
You are a good man, Ryan. I will always believe that. And I’ll never stop wondering what might have been.
Love,
Stella
P.S. There is a bourbon pecan pie with your name on it in Grams’s fridge.
I finished the letter, then immediately read it again. And again. And again.
I dropped the pages to the counter and closed my eyes.
The words were still there—I could see them. Hear them in her voice. Feel the weight of them.
She was right. Trusting someone did take bravery—and I’d been a coward. I’d run from it.
And after everything, she still thought I was a good man. She was grateful to me, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t deserve her love or her gratitude or the kindness she’d shown me. Her heart was too big and soft—how could she go around with a heart like that? Someone like me was going to come along and crush it!
I wanted to protect it. I wanted to make her feel safe again. I wanted that pie.
More than anything, I wanted her back.
But how could I ask her to trust me when I didn’t even trust myself?
Torn and frustrated, I pulled out my phone and texted Mack.
Hey. You have time to meet me for a beer by any chance?
Sure. No kids this weekend. Time and place?
Hop Lot at 7?
See you there.
When I arrived Mack was already at the bar, nursing a beer and chomping on some wings.
“Hey,” I said, taking the stool next to his. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“Any excuse for wings. Help yourself.”
I ordered a beer but found my stomach in too many knots to eat.
“Not hungry?” Mack asked in surprise.
“Not really.”
“You okay?” Mack knew that nothing short of life-threatening illness would curb my appetite. Even after the worst days in Afghanistan, we’d go eat an MRE and find something to laugh about. Anything to avoid stopping to think.
“No.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I can’t get Stella out of my head.”
“Ah.” Mack sipped his beer.
“I swear to fucking God, Mack, all I’ve done is try to turn this shit off and forget about her. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, it’s like I’m sick or something. Or trapped. I can’t move.”
“They don’t call it falling for nothing,” Mack quipped.
“I’m serious.” I stared at the bottle of beer in front of me, but I didn’t even feel like drinking it. “Tell me what to do to make this go away.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it doesn’t matter what I say, Woods. You’re in love with her. Words don’t cure it.”
“What does?”
He thought for a second, his beer halfway to his mouth. “Marriage.”
I managed a grim smile. “Right.”
“Look, why don’t you give it another try? Maybe things will be different this time.”
“Only if I’m different. And I’m not. She wants all these things I can’t give her. She wants me to be someone else.”
“Are you sure about that?”
I wasn’t, but I felt like I needed to place the blame elsewhere. If I could pin my failure to be a better man on her unattainable expectations, it would be easier. “Yes. She wants a husband and family man, and that’s not me.”
“Says who?”
“Says my relationship with my father, because it was shit and I don’t know how to be a dad.”
“No one does. Next.”
“Says my ex. She flat out told me I was a shitty husband and incapable of love.”
“Christ, Woods. Do you want me to list all the names Carla has called me? All her grievances about what a horrible man I am? How callous and mean? How clueless and incapable? And you want to hear the latest?”
“What?”
“Now she says she’ll move back home without the kids. Says maybe I’ll appreciate her more if I know what it’s like to be a full-time parent on my own.”
“Fuck. Really?”
“Really.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her to go. Said I didn’t need her.”
I stared at him. “You did?”
“Yeah. Then I hung up and freaked the fuck out. I don’t want to be a full-time single dad. I probably won’t last a week.”
“Yes, you will. You’ll last as long as it takes to raise those girls. I know you.” I finally picked up my beer and took a long pull.
“What about you?”
“I don’t know. Half of me wants to try again, even if I fail, and the other half says leave her alone. Maybe she’s fine down there in Detroit. Maybe I’m the only one suffering.”
“Somehow I doubt that. I saw her face that night at Bayside. That girl is gone over you, for some reason.”
I shook my head. “Asshole.”
“We are. So if somebody like Stella thinks she can put up with us, we don’t fucking mess around.”
I took another drink and made up my mind. “Okay. I’ll try again.”
I fell asleep on the couch, missing her like I always did.
Thirty-Four
Grams
Well, this was just getting ridiculous. For God’s sake, my ninety-third birthday was coming up! How long did they think I wanted to wait to see them together?
I’d already observed Mr. Woods moping around in my yard, pretending he didn’t see me. I’d run into Daphne Sawyer again downtown and idly inquired about him. She said he was diligent and reliable as ever, but it did seem to her he’d been a bit melancholy. And I’d given Stella a call just this afternoon to see how she was feeling. I told myself I wouldn’t bring him up—but I’d bet anything she would. Then I’d know for sure if I should give it one more try.
I asked Mack if he knew anyone with good taste that might help me choose some materials and appliances, and he suggested I ask April Sawyer. I shot her a text on the first Friday in November.
She replied that she’d be happy to help and offered to drive with me down to the Home Depot in Traverse City on Saturday. I’d have preferred to meet her there, but I didn’t want to be an asshole, so I said okay and told her I’d pick her up at Cloverleigh around three.
My phone rang a minute later.
“Why don’t I drive to your house?” April suggested. “That way I can see the space.”
“Oh, right. Okay.” I gave her the address. “See you tomorrow. Thanks.”
We hung up, and I looked around the kitchen, thinking that I’d better clean up if April was going to come look at it tomorrow. I washed all the dishes in the sink and put them away. I cleaned out the fridge. I dragged a mop over the floor. I gathered all the mail that had been piling up on the counter and sorted through it.
That’s when I saw the envelope with my name on it. No stamp, no return address, just Ryan written in cursive letters, black ink. I swallowed. Was this Stella’s writing? When had she written this? Before she left?
With my pulse pounding in my ears, I tore open the envelope and pulled out two handwritten pages.
Dear Ryan,
I want to start by saying how deeply sorry I was to hear about the loss of your friend. And I want to apologize for making tonight about me when it shouldn’t have been. I should not have come at you like that, asking difficult questions and making demands.
Hold on a second … she was apologizing to me? After the shit I said to her, she was sorry? I felt so low, I wanted to sink into the ground. It would almost have been easier if she’d just torn me a new asshole.
But I am new to this. I’ve never fallen for anyone the way I fell for you. The whirlwind of it caught me off guard.
I won’t deny that I’m heartbroken. Your words outside the restaurant, true or not, hurt me.
My throat was dry and tight. I hated the thought that I’d caused her pain.
But I want to thank you for showing me what true passion feels like. For pushing my boundaries. For getting me to take a risk and follow my heart. Because even though it didn’t lead me to happy ever after, it was a journey worth taking.
Love always is.
You might disagree—in fact, a few weeks ago, I might have disagreed. But in the short time we spent together, I’ve learned something.
The bravest thing you can do is trust another person, and let them see the real you.
I showed you the real me. I saw the real you. And I am a stronger person for it.
You are a good man, Ryan. I will always believe that. And I’ll never stop wondering what might have been.
Love,
Stella
P.S. There is a bourbon pecan pie with your name on it in Grams’s fridge.
I finished the letter, then immediately read it again. And again. And again.
I dropped the pages to the counter and closed my eyes.
The words were still there—I could see them. Hear them in her voice. Feel the weight of them.
She was right. Trusting someone did take bravery—and I’d been a coward. I’d run from it.
And after everything, she still thought I was a good man. She was grateful to me, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t deserve her love or her gratitude or the kindness she’d shown me. Her heart was too big and soft—how could she go around with a heart like that? Someone like me was going to come along and crush it!
I wanted to protect it. I wanted to make her feel safe again. I wanted that pie.
More than anything, I wanted her back.
But how could I ask her to trust me when I didn’t even trust myself?
Torn and frustrated, I pulled out my phone and texted Mack.
Hey. You have time to meet me for a beer by any chance?
Sure. No kids this weekend. Time and place?
Hop Lot at 7?
See you there.
When I arrived Mack was already at the bar, nursing a beer and chomping on some wings.
“Hey,” I said, taking the stool next to his. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“Any excuse for wings. Help yourself.”
I ordered a beer but found my stomach in too many knots to eat.
“Not hungry?” Mack asked in surprise.
“Not really.”
“You okay?” Mack knew that nothing short of life-threatening illness would curb my appetite. Even after the worst days in Afghanistan, we’d go eat an MRE and find something to laugh about. Anything to avoid stopping to think.
“No.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I can’t get Stella out of my head.”
“Ah.” Mack sipped his beer.
“I swear to fucking God, Mack, all I’ve done is try to turn this shit off and forget about her. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, it’s like I’m sick or something. Or trapped. I can’t move.”
“They don’t call it falling for nothing,” Mack quipped.
“I’m serious.” I stared at the bottle of beer in front of me, but I didn’t even feel like drinking it. “Tell me what to do to make this go away.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it doesn’t matter what I say, Woods. You’re in love with her. Words don’t cure it.”
“What does?”
He thought for a second, his beer halfway to his mouth. “Marriage.”
I managed a grim smile. “Right.”
“Look, why don’t you give it another try? Maybe things will be different this time.”
“Only if I’m different. And I’m not. She wants all these things I can’t give her. She wants me to be someone else.”
“Are you sure about that?”
I wasn’t, but I felt like I needed to place the blame elsewhere. If I could pin my failure to be a better man on her unattainable expectations, it would be easier. “Yes. She wants a husband and family man, and that’s not me.”
“Says who?”
“Says my relationship with my father, because it was shit and I don’t know how to be a dad.”
“No one does. Next.”
“Says my ex. She flat out told me I was a shitty husband and incapable of love.”
“Christ, Woods. Do you want me to list all the names Carla has called me? All her grievances about what a horrible man I am? How callous and mean? How clueless and incapable? And you want to hear the latest?”
“What?”
“Now she says she’ll move back home without the kids. Says maybe I’ll appreciate her more if I know what it’s like to be a full-time parent on my own.”
“Fuck. Really?”
“Really.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her to go. Said I didn’t need her.”
I stared at him. “You did?”
“Yeah. Then I hung up and freaked the fuck out. I don’t want to be a full-time single dad. I probably won’t last a week.”
“Yes, you will. You’ll last as long as it takes to raise those girls. I know you.” I finally picked up my beer and took a long pull.
“What about you?”
“I don’t know. Half of me wants to try again, even if I fail, and the other half says leave her alone. Maybe she’s fine down there in Detroit. Maybe I’m the only one suffering.”
“Somehow I doubt that. I saw her face that night at Bayside. That girl is gone over you, for some reason.”
I shook my head. “Asshole.”
“We are. So if somebody like Stella thinks she can put up with us, we don’t fucking mess around.”
I took another drink and made up my mind. “Okay. I’ll try again.”
I fell asleep on the couch, missing her like I always did.
Thirty-Four
Grams
Well, this was just getting ridiculous. For God’s sake, my ninety-third birthday was coming up! How long did they think I wanted to wait to see them together?
I’d already observed Mr. Woods moping around in my yard, pretending he didn’t see me. I’d run into Daphne Sawyer again downtown and idly inquired about him. She said he was diligent and reliable as ever, but it did seem to her he’d been a bit melancholy. And I’d given Stella a call just this afternoon to see how she was feeling. I told myself I wouldn’t bring him up—but I’d bet anything she would. Then I’d know for sure if I should give it one more try.
