Page 83 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me

Maybe I’ll just read a page or two.

Twenty pages in, I cursed my curiosity for ever starting down this road. My mom and Nicky were only thirteen and fourteen when they met. They were young and wild with big dreams but neither of them was starry-eyed.

They’d both had turbulent childhoods and recognized themselves in each other.

Fifty pages in, I was curled up on the couch bawling my eyes out. It wasn’t even a sad part. It was sweet and endearing. I think that’s what made it so hard to read. You already knew the good times wouldn’t last. His addiction was stronger than everything, including love. No matter how many times he’d gotten clean, he always went straight back to his mistress. Heroin.

By the time my mom walked through the front door, I was trying to punch my way out of a glass case of emotions.

Nicky wasn’t a villain. He wasn’t a saint either. He was human, flawed, a careless man who had never cleaned up hisown messes, and while I’d always resented him for not showing up for us in the way I would have wanted him to, I think he loved us as much as he was capable of loving anyone.

Not all love stories are pretty or wrapped up in a neat bow. My mother’s was messy and real and filled with heartache and uncertainty. But there were moments that shone so bright, filled with more joy than one heart could contain. Moments that hit so deep to the bone that I recognized some of myself and of Gabriel in their story.

Gabriel wasn’t Nicky but I saw some similarities in the way they talked, their shared views on music and what it meant to them, their sensitivity and vulnerabilities, and their quest to find something true and meaningful. In music. In life. In love.

“Well?” My mom sat on the edge of the sofa and gnawed on her lip like she was nervous to hear my verdict.

“I…” I shook my head and stared into space, trying to find the right words to convey my mixed-up emotions. “You told the truth.”

“Why would I lie?”

There were a lot of reasons to lie. To make yourself look better. To paint him in a better light. To smooth out the bumps in the road and gloss over the toxicity in their relationship.

But the story was perfect just as it was. Perfectly imperfect, like their love. I wouldn’t want this to be my love story, but this was hers to tell, not mine to question or judge.

And I got it now. I understood why my mom loved him, and while reading her words, I’d finally given myself permission to mourn his loss.

I scooted closer and wrapped my arms around her. “I love you, Mom.”

She released a heavy breath and held me tight. “I love you, Baby Blue.”

I pulled away and wiped my eyes. “You’re still sticking to that story, huh?”

My mom pursed her lips. “I was there. I know what happened.”

“You were high on drugs,” I countered.

She laughed and swatted my arm. “I was not.”

The following day, my mom drove me back to the city with the rest of my birthday cake in a Tupperware container, her suitcases packed in the trunk, and my dad’s guitars in the back seat. A gift for Gabriel.

One week later, she moved into a light-filled apartment in Greenwich Village.

She’d found the closure she was looking for and now she was ready to move on. So was I.

Nicky’s ghost didn’t haunt me anymore.

I had my own love story to live, with all its ups and downs, its trials and separations, the heartache and longing and joy. The weeks when he was just a voice on the other end of the line, exhausted and spent. The days when he would retreat into our dark bedroom, attempting to hide the headaches that continued to plague him.

But through it all, there was love. So much love.

Relationships, I’d learned, were not always easy, but I’d take the rainy days with him over a thousand sunny days with someone who wasn’t Gabriel.

A love like ours only comes around once in a lifetime.

If you’re lucky.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR