The Romantic Pact

by Quinn, Meghan

“Okay.”

  I follow Crew through the archway and we slip into a small courtyard. When we look up, the castle comes into better view. The ground is made of stone, making it uneven in spots, and all I can think about is how heels would not be the shoe of choice here. There’s a stone staircase to the right that leads up to an austere door, and to the left is a covered balcony that looks over the courtyard.

  I point to the balcony and say, “Do you think that was made so the owner could speak to his servants from above? Maybe his knights.”

  “Possibly. It looks lavish enough to be something so ostentatious.”

  “Do you think all the rulers were assholes, or do you think there were some good ones out there? Ones that appreciated the people around them, and the people beneath them?”

  “I think there were good people. You always have to trust that there are good people out there in the world, and even if the bad people have louder mouths, the good people have bigger hearts. And those hearts will outweigh the mouths.”

  I snuggle in closer to Crew. “That was really profound. I’ve never thought about it like that.”

  “I have my moments.” He points to the staircase. “Want to take a seat and read the last letter?”

  “I’m not sure I’m ready for it,” I answer.

  “I don’t think I am either, but we have to bring this to an end at some point.”

  “I know.”

  We head over to the stairs and we both take a seat. The chill of the stair breaks right through my leggings and turns my butt cold. But I don’t say anything, because when I look up, I realize this is the perfect view. The mountains and snow-covered pines as a backdrop, the sun highlighting the opulent stone, spreading warmth over the rather cold surface. This is where our trip ends.

  Right here.

  In this moment.

  Crew pulls out the letter from his coat pocket and he opens it up.

  “Do you think we can read it to ourselves?” I ask, looking at the people around us. It’s not crowded, but we’re not alone. either.

  “Yeah, we can.” Crew circles my shoulders with his arm, pulling me close, and then he holds the letter out in front of us so we can both read.

  Hey kiddos,

  You probably know at this point that this is the end of the trip and, like I said, I saved the best for last. Besides the beauty of the backdrop and the contrasting colors of the limestone and tall pines that surround the grandiose architecture, there’s something peaceful about this castle. When Gloria and I went to Neuschwanstein Castle, we were in the midst of a fight. It was a stupid fight, and I can’t quite remember what it was about, but we didn’t drive to Füssen as a happy couple. We didn’t speak a word to each other in the car. And as we made the trek up the driveway, she walked two feet ahead of me the entire time, on a warpath to prove the point that she could experience this moment without me.

  I remember keeping a steady pace to keep up with her, and making sure I was always only two steps behind because I wanted her to know that even though she was mad at me, I was always there for her. But the moment we reached the base of the castle, it was as if something washed over the both of us, helping us realize that in that peaceful moment, there was no room for anger, no room for petty fights. Gloria turned toward me, looked me in the eyes, and at the same time, we apologized.

  You must be wondering why I am telling you this almost inconsequential story. It’s because you two need to hear it.

  When I met you, Hazel, I knew you were special. I knew in that moment, this little girl with the pigtails was going to have a huge impact in my life, and you have. I’ve always considered you my very own granddaughter; even if we don’t share the same blood, I share you in my heart. And I knew the moment you met Crew, you two were going to hit it off.

  From the very first time you two played together, there was a special connection. I’m not sure if my Gloria had something to do with it, but bringing you two together, watching you grow up together over the summers, it put me at ease.

  You each brought something to the table in your friendship. Hazel, you grounded Crew. My brilliant, athletic, and goal-oriented grandson. You brought him back down to reality every summer and showed him he could have fun in pursuit of his goals. And Crew, you gave Hazel Girl a foundation. In her rocky, unstable upbringing, you gave her stability.

  And as you both grew up, I noticed your friendship only growing stronger. I can vividly remember one day washing the dishes and catching a glimpse of you two out the window. You were under the oak tree, reading a book together. Hazel, your head was resting on Crew’s leg as he read out loud. There was comfort there. Familiarity. And I spoke to my Gloria that day. I said they’re meant to be together. Their souls are connected. And it’s true, no matter what you might think. Your souls are connected for life.

  These past few years, missing Crew during the summer, I saw the toll it took on you, Hazel. I saw the toll it took on you, Crew. I wanted to do something, I wanted to say something, but I was reminded by your very smart Mom (Crew) that you two will always find each other someway, somehow.

  Knowing my time is coming to an end on this Earth, I want to leave with the knowledge that I did my best to make sure your connection remained strong. That you didn’t forget about each other.

  Did I have ulterior motives by sending you on a trip that was decorated with romanticism? Yes. And as I write this, do I wish that you two can finally see through the thin veil that’s been separating love and friendship? Yes. As I write this, knowing where you’ve been and where you are, I hope that you’re holding hands, a new chapter just a step ahead when you return. But even if you’re not in that frame of mind, I would at least hope that the friendship you share is intact, and when you depart Germany tomorrow, you carry your newfound appreciation for each other and hold it closely to your hearts.

  You get one life. Don’t waste it on mindless, tedious fights, hurt feelings, or pride. Celebrate each breath you take. Wake up every morning knowing it’s the start of a new day. A new day where you can accomplish anything. And spend your life loving.

  The greatest gift I ever was given was an open heart for the people around me. I loved tenderly, I loved emotionally, and I loved with passion. That love brought me the greatest people in my life, and I know, sitting in my bed, blankets covering my legs, that I will leave this Earth with a legacy. A legacy that doesn’t speak of the work I put into my career, but a legacy in the people I loved.

  Don’t take for granted what’s right in front of you.

  Spend the rest of this day reflecting. What will make you happy in this life? What will bring you joy? Who will help you make the most of this precious life you’ve been given? My heart knows you’re connected at the soul. What are you going to do about it?

  I love you both.

  Pops

  Tears are streaming down my face, my chest is heavy with sorrow, and as Crew finishes reading, all I can wonder is how I got so lucky to have a man like Bernie McMann in my life. A man, who from the first day he met me, wanted me to experience genuine happiness. A man who saw my “rocky, unstable upbringing,” and took it upon himself to provide stability and unconditional love. Even from the grave, he’s making me feel cherished.

  And I love that he saw me. That he gave me Crew. He recognized that our souls connected so much more deeply than was comprehensible at our ages. He’s also so right about the legacy he left behind. Such enviable love.

  His letter also brings questions. So many questions that are unanswerable . . . for now.

  What will make you happy in this life? What will bring you joy? Who will help you make the most of this precious life you’ve been given?

  I know in my heart of hearts that that person is Crew for me, and I think he sees me as his soulmate too. And I guess time will tell what we do about that.

  I just hope we make Pops proud.

  * * *

  The rest of the day has been pretty quiet.

  After crying together, we s
at on the steps of the castle for what seemed like hours. It wasn’t until I started shivering from the cold that we ended up leaving. Hand in hand, we walked down the curvy driveway to our car, and we drove to the hotel in silence.

  We shared an early dinner together since we have a morning flight to catch and want to get some good sleep beforehand, and even that dinner was quiet. We didn’t talk about the letter. We didn’t talk about Pops or what the plan is for when we get home.

  Instead, we spoke about the food, the decorations in the restaurant, and how we plan on packing our suitcases. Menial, fluffy topics.

  Now that we’re back at the hotel, in our bed, and the lights are turned off, I half expect Crew to strip me out of his borrowed shirt. The shirt he loves seeing me in.

  But instead, my back is curled against his chest and he’s holding me tightly.

  A world of questions float around inside my head. A world of unease aches deep inside me.

  What’s he thinking?

  Does he agree with Pops? Does he think our souls are connected?

  Did Pops’s letter freak him out?

  Why is he so quiet?

  Why isn’t he kissing me right now like every other night?

  Why isn’t he teasing me, roaming his hands over me?

  Is he pulling away?

  The last question has tears pricking at my eyes, and before I can stop myself, I quietly ask, “Is everything okay?”

  My voice breaks the silent night, and for a second, I wonder if he’s sleeping since he doesn’t answer right away, but then his arm grows tighter around my waist.

  “Yeah. Are you okay?”

  I have an opportunity to talk to him, to tell him how I feel. My worries and concerns. I consider Pops’s letter and how he spoke about solidifying that connection, but as my mind races with the truth, my mouth can’t seem to speak it.

  My heart weighs too heavy and my answer comes out flat. “Yeah, I am.”

  “Good.” He kisses my shoulder. “I did want to talk to you about something, and I don’t know how to address it.”

  Oh God.

  My heart twists in my chest from the unknown, from the thought of him telling me he’s not interested, that he doesn’t want to pursue this.

  “What about?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral.

  “When we get home, I was thinking, maybe . . . uh, maybe we do keep this secret for a little bit.”

  As if a tidal wave of sorrow roars over me, my heart plummets, and I can feel the first initial tug of him putting distance between us.

  “I’m not ashamed of what we have or what we built here,” he says quickly. “But I don’t want there being any complications when we get there. I want the focus to be on family, on Pops, and on figuring out what’s going to happen next. And I know if we go home showing us off, it’s going to distract from all of that.”

  I nod, swallowing down my pain. “I understand.”

  “Do you? Because you sound upset.”

  I can’t respond, not unless I want him to hear me cry, so I keep quiet. But Crew knows me too well at this point and he rolls me to my back, hovering over me. The tears I was trying to hold back fall down my cheeks. I attempt to wipe them away but more keep falling.

  “This doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you, Hazel.” He helps me clear my face. “I just want to be able to figure everything out with a clear mind.”

  “I get it.” I suck in a sharp breath and try to calm myself down.

  “Hazel, talk to me. Please. I don’t want you being upset.”

  My lip trembles, my heart races, and I try to come up with the words I need to say to him to help him understand my aching soul, but I can’t find them. I don’t know how to express the tumultuous feelings plaguing me.

  Finally, I say, “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You won’t.”

  “But I feel like I already am. We haven’t spoken much tonight. I feel you pulling away. You didn’t even kiss me goodnight. You might not think you’re pulling away, but you are.”

  “A lot is on my mind, Hazel,” he says, his tone of voice threaded with a hint of edge. “I’m not pulling away. I’m thinking.”

  “Okay,” I answer, not wanting to get in a fight with him.

  His eyes search mine. His hand reaches up to my face and his thumb gently strokes my cheek. There’s something he wants to say, I can see it. It’s resting on the tip of his tongue, but instead of saying it, he leans down, presses a gentle kiss on my mouth, and whispers, “Goodnight, Haze.”

  We don’t have sex.

  The next morning, we take separate showers.

  On the way to the airport, he drives with both hands on the steering wheel.

  On the flight back to New York, he sleeps and watches movies.

  The entire time I mourn another crippling loss. First Pops, now Crew, and when we return, in the desperate, quiet solitude, possibly my home and livelihood. Because for someone like me, despite how much Pops has said he loved me as one of his own grandchildren, I’ll be irrelevant.

  Hidden.

  Alone.

  * * *

  Hazel: Landed. Should be picked up by Crew’s parents at the airport.

  Mia: OMG you’re home! I can’t wait to hear all about your trip and meet Crew.

  Hazel: About that. Please don’t say anything about me and Crew.

  Mia: What do you mean? Did something happen?

  Hazel: I think so, but I’m not sure what. I don’t think we’ll be together after he leaves New York.

  Mia: What? I thought . . .

  Hazel: You and me both. We can talk about it later, but please don’t bring it up. Okay?

  Mia: Okay. Just know, I’m here for you. Anything you need.

  Hazel: Thank you, Mia. Love you.

  Mia: Love you, girl.

  Chapter Sixteen

  CREW

  We round a familiar set of trees, and my heart pounds harder and harder as we near the farm. My parents greeted us at the airport with signs and a blow-up picture of my face, along with obnoxious cheering. You’d think they were welcoming home someone from a year-long trip. I gave them hugs, held on to a smile, and then mindlessly chatted about German food for most of the drive to the farm, Hazel chiming in on the conversation.

  But I didn’t feel present.

  I haven’t been present since the castle.

  My heart, my soul, is still attached to those stairs, processing Pops’s letter.

  His words, they dug deep under my skin.

  And it has nothing to do with what he said about Hazel. He couldn’t have been more correct about that. About our connection, about needing her in my life. It’s what else he said that dug a hole in my brain and has been circulating over and over again.

  What will make you happy in this life? What will bring you joy?

  I know who makes me happy, that will never change. I’ve come to terms with that while in Germany. Hazel is my person, my girl. She’s who makes me happy.

  But what will make me happy—that’s the question that’s churning my gut and making me second-guess everything I thought about my future.

  Growing up, Pops and I talked endlessly about playing football professionally, how if I put my mind to it, I’d go the distance.

  In high school, I was named “Most Likely to Succeed.”

  I received a full-ride scholarship for football.

  I was named All-American.

  Going into my senior year, I had the best stats in our conference.

  Everything was leading up to the combine, to me moving on to the next level.

  I ticked off the checkboxes. I made the right choices. I put in the hours.

  So why does it feel so empty?

  “Here we are,” Dad says, pulling the rental car into the long driveway. The farmhouse is lit up on the inside, and the porch lights, as well. Uncle Paul’s car is in the driveway, as well as another car I don’t recognize.

  Dad parks, and Uncle Paul comes racing o
ut of the house and stumbles down the porch stairs, biffing it into the grass.

  Mom laughs at her brother while Dad says, “The man has never been graceful.”

  Uncle Paul stands proudly, brushes off his pants and shoulders, and then limps toward the car as Dad parks. He opens my door and greets me with a big hug. “Look at you, you handsome piece of meat.”

  “Don’t call my son meat,” Mom says.

  “Hey, Uncle Paul. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, just some old floorboard trying to make a fool out of me.”

  From the front, Mom says, “You make a fool of yourself just fine without the floorboard.”

  Uncle Paul snaps his attention to Mom. “The tension is already high, Marley. We don’t need your jabs.”

  My brow furls. “Why is the tension high?”

  “We haven’t told them yet,” Mom says in an annoyed tone.

  “Told us what?” Hazel asks, looking concerned.

  “Let’s all get in the house and then we can talk,” Dad says, exiting the vehicle and checking on Uncle Paul.

  Just like me and Hazel, Dad and Uncle Paul were childhood friends, but neighbors. Dad was and still is best friends with Uncle Paul, and Mom had a crush on him—as Dad likes to say—for a very long time. But Mom will tell you differently. From the way Mom looks at Dad, I’m going to take Dad’s word for it. They reunited on a road trip across Route 66—the Mother Road, to be exact. It was supposed to be one last road trip before Uncle Paul got married to Aunt Savannah, and Dad tagged along. They didn’t get into the details, but what I do know is that Pops, Dad, and Uncle Paul did not make the trip easy for Mom, the only girl on the trip, and in the end, Mom and Dad ended up together, and they built Dad’s soap brand into the multi-million-dollar business that it is now.

  And that’s one of the things I’ve wrestled with during the flight home. Hazel and I reunited on our road trip, but what can we do that invests together in our future?

  Many years ago, we made a romantic pact to never fall in love with each other, and now I’m beginning to see why. Our lives no longer naturally converge. We’re not neighbors. We don’t have a fledgling business to build together. So, although it’s easy to love Hazel, to want her forever, is it really possible? Or was that pact wise beyond our years?