Love Letter Duet: The Encore Edition

by Callie Anderson

  Love, Weston

  31

  EMILIA

  Every day when I looked in the mirror, I pulled my shirt up and admired my skin, looking for a small bump that was growing inside of me. But my stomach was still flat since only three weeks had passed.

  Today, I wanted to ignore the pull in my heart that ached for the little life Weston and I created.

  Today, I wanted to pretend there was nothing there. A soft tap on my bedroom door had me pulling my gaze away from the mirror. “Ready?” Leslie asked. Her voice was low, and there was a small frown on her face. She looked as though she hadn’t slept at all the night before. I swallowed back. “Yeah.” My voice was hoarse. I'd spent most of the night tossing and turning. Leslie nodded and walked down the hallway. I glanced in the mirror once last time before I followed behind her. This was it. Walking out of our apartment, my legs began to shake. My stomach turned in knots, and breathing became harder with each passing second. Tears welled in my eyes, and the realization of what I was about to do began to sink in. Never in a million years would I have thought I'd abort a baby. I reached for the car door handle and stopped. Sobbing, I pressed my head on the roof of my car. “Em?” Leslie asked from the other side of the car. I shook my head unable to answer her. “Emmy?” I heard her footfalls near me. “I can't do this,” I cried out. “This isn't right.” Leslie's hand pressed on my shoulder, and she pulled me toward her. “I can't kill it,” I wept. Leslie's hands rubbed up and down my back. “It's okay, honey. Whatever you choose I'll be right here.” I pulled away and ran my fingers under my eyes. “I don't want to do this.” I sniffled back. Leslie shook her head and reached for my hand. “It's okay, Emmy. It will all be okay.” Leslie guided me back inside to bed. I crawled underneath the covers and sobbed. Tugging on the pillow, I let the tears drip until my body was exhausted and sleep took over. I woke up a few hours later and found a bowl of cold soup sitting next to me. I glanced at the clock and realized it was past seven in the evening. The notebook I’d started to write Weston's letter in caught my attention. My fingertips ran across the blue ink as I inhaled all the air my lungs could take, preparing to pour my heart out, needing to purge my soul.

  My dearest Weston,

  I'm pregnant with our child. The child that, before today, I didn't know I could love this much. The day you decided to leave for London was the day I found out.

  You see, I was told I couldn’t have children, and so I never thought the possibility of being a mom was in the cards for me. I never had to think about abortions or what it would be like to take prenatal vitamins because, realistically speaking, I shouldn’t have been able to conceive a child.

  But we did.

  And I know deep in my heart that if you had known about this child, you would have stayed. So instead, I let you go. It was the biggest mistake I've ever made, and I have to live with that, but God only knows how much success I'm praying comes your way.

  Today, I was going to do something that I never imagined. I was going to abort this child. I can’t be a single mom. I don’t know the first thing about raising a child. But I couldn't do it. This baby isn't a mistake. Nothing between us has ever been a mistake. This baby is a miracle. This child was created from our love. A love that I never knew could exist. And no, we’re no longer together, and you’re thousands of miles away, but anytime I miss you, I can reach down and touch my belly and feel our love.

  I don't know what tomorrow might bring. As of right now, the only thing I know is that I can't get rid of our little miracle.

  With all my love,

  Emmy

  I closed the notebook and pressed it to my chest, sighing as the relief poured out of my body. Placing the notebook on the bed, I reached down and rubbed my hand across my belly. “I don't know what the world holds for us, little one.” My eyes began to swell with unshed tears. “I don't know if I'm fit to be a mom, but I promise I’ll try to do whatever is best for you.” My stomach growled, and I giggled. “I guess you're hungry.”

  Feeling like the weight of the world was finally lifted off my shoulders, I made my way to the kitchen. Leslie was sitting on the couch the TV volume was on low.

  “Hey,” I said in a hoarse voice.

  Leslie looked back at me, a small smile on her face. “How are you feeling?”

  I shrugged and opened the refrigerator. Pulling out some leftover Chinese, I shut the door and looked at her. “I can't abort it, but I don't know if I can keep it.” I poured the contents from the container onto a plate before placing it in a microwave. “My life is just starting, and I would be all alone.”

  “You can tell him, you know.” Leslie appeared in the kitchen. She had a Snuggie draped over her body. “I'm more than positive Weston would want to be part of this child's life.”

  “But his life is just starting. He's halfway around the world living his dream. You really think a child is what he wants right now?” I avoided her gaze and coiled my fork around the noodles I’d pulled out of the microwave.

  “You won't know unless you ask him.”

  “I can't do that to him. I can’t ask him to choose between me and his career.” I took another bite, savoring the salty and greasy noodles as my mind made a mental note to start eating better. ”And I have dreams of my own. I can't abort it, but maybe I can put it up for adoption. Maybe I can find a sweet loving couple that can't have children of their own and are willing to adopt my little miracle baby.”

  “Are you sure that's what you want, babe?”

  “I don't know what I want except that, right now, I really want to eat this Chinese food.” The intensity of our conversation was diminished by my joke. ”I'm gonna take it one day at a time and see where the world leads us.”

  “I'll be here if you need me. You know that, right?”

  With my plate in hand, I walked over to the kitchen table. “I know. But enough about me. How are you feeling? I lost Weston, but you lost Harry.”

  Leslie pulled out a chair and joined me. “I feel like a train ran through my heart. I feel like I’ve never been good enough for any guy.”

  I put my fork down and reached for her hand. “Don’t say that.” I shook my head. “It's not that you're not good enough for them, babe. It’s that you're too good and they don’t know how to appreciate you.”

  “I really love Harry,” she whispered. “I really fell for that asshole.”

  My fingers gripped tighter. “We’ll get through this together.”

  I had to believe that.

  32

  WESTON

  We sat on the long couch in the studio as the track played. The red carpet was stained from years of musicians living in the small room day and night, and the stench of cigarettes wafted through the air.

  The first two demos we submitted to the record label were rejected. We’d been here for three months, and this was the first time the music exec was listening to our track. Rich’s eyes squinted, and his lips were pressed in a fine line as he listened to Axel’s drum solo. I couldn't gauge his reaction, so each second that passed felt like an hour.

  “Well?” Paulie asked when the song finished.

  Rich leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankle over his knee. He sucked on his teeth before he spoke. “It's not what the studio envisioned for you, guys. It doesn't seem mainstream.”

  “We're not alternative pop,” Harry interjected.

  This had become a constant argument. They threw different tracks at us that were produced by someone other than myself with words that never matched our style of music. They had gone as far as to prerecord the guitar and drum solos. All we had to do was the vocals. That wasn’t how we made our music. It was fucking bullshit. But Rich was holding us by our balls—paying for our studio time and apartment. We had to do what they wanted.

  I lowered my head and picked at my fingernail as Paulie and Rich discussed what he wanted us to work on. This wasn’t how I’d pictured London. I ignored the screaming voice in my head that said to catch the n
ext flight to LA. This was the dream we’d worked so hard for. This was the reason I’d walked out of Emilia’s apartment. And for what?

  Fucking nothing.

  We had been here three months and nothing we did was good enough. To them, our music sucked, and the songs we’d written were garbage. We’d envisioned being here a few weeks, recording our music, and then heading home. A few weeks and I would go back to her and follow her dreams.

  A few fucking weeks.

  It was now three months.

  Paulie scratched the back of his head and looked over at me. “The good thing is, you guys still have music to make.” He threw his hands up in defeat as Rich pushed off the table, said good–bye, and walked out of the studio.

  “Not our music,” Axel grunted.

  “Listen, you guys do it their way with the first album, see how things go, and by the second album you’ll be recording all original songs,” Paulie said.

  “That's bullshit!” Harry stood and kicked his chair.

  I stood and walked over to the soundboard. “We’ve got to play the game.” Scratching the back of my head, I exhaled. I hated that we agreed to their songs, but we had to do it their way first before they trusted us to do it our way.

  Six months.

  That was all they were getting.

  I would have the guys in the studio every single day, and we’d record their songs. I’d master each track in, and on our downtime, we would write our own songs.

  Six months.

  And we’d have two complete albums and enough material for me to go back home and find her.

  Six months.

  And I would make her fall in love with me all over again.

  Nine months later.

  I’d always considered myself to be a smart man. I believed that when opportunity knocked, one answered. The contract we had with North Records seemed like an opportunity at the time.

  But it wasn’t.

  We had been in London for a year, and we only had six tracks recorded for the first album.

  Six fucking tracks.

  They had hired some producer who said he knew what he was doing, but he didn’t have a clue. In reality, London had turned into a shit show. I’d had it with this hellhole and I was planning to catch the first flight home.

  I was in the bedroom I shared with Axel packing my shit when Paulie pushed open the door. “My man, you have to come see these bitches Harry brought home,” he said.

  I could hear the music and the girls Harry had in the other room. He was always fucking anything willing. I didn't respond as I continued to shove clothes in my duffle bag.

  “What's the matter, West?”

  “I'm done with this shit,” I said through gritted teeth. “I came here to write music and record my songs, not this bullshit excuse for music.”

  He stood tall. “Dude, you can't pack up and leave like this.”

  “Watch me.” I ground my teeth.

  “You're in a contract,” Paulie reminded me.

  “I don't give a fuck. I left my life behind for this.” I waved my hand around the shit hole flat we lived in. “Nah, man.” I shook my head in disgust. “Fuck that. I had what I wanted back home.”

  “Oh, I see.” Paulie paused, his voice dropped an octave. “You're still heartbroken. It's been almost a year since you left. You think she'll be there waiting for you?”

  “Go fuck yourself, Paulie. I won't know until I try.”

  “Listen, man, leaving right now would be detrimental to your career and the guys’ careers, too.”

  I threw my duffel bag against the wall. “Fuck!” The guilt pressed on my chest making it hard to breathe.

  “Just a few more months and then you guys can do shit your way.”

  I scrubbed my hands through my hair. “I don't know if I have a few months left in me to give.”

  “If it's about pussy, we can find you that. Hell, Harry has a handful in the living room.”

  I shook my head. It wasn't about getting laid. Emilia was my muse, and not having her near me made it impossible to write anything worth singing.

  Paulie walked over to the door and closed it. “Okay, I wanted you to find out on your own, but since you look like a lovesick puppy, it might be best if I tell you now.”

  “Where you going with this?”

  “She's moved on, man.”

  “What?” I blinked quickly as I attempted to process what he was saying.

  “Emilia.”

  “How would you even know?” I shook my head, doubting everything he was saying.

  “One of my boys lives around the corner from her. He joked that she must've been easy since someone had already taken your spot.” Paulie shrugged.

  I inhaled my annoyance and ran my hands through my hair, massaging my scalp. “Where the fuck are you going with this?” My anger boiled. Who the fuck did Paulie think he was? “Really?” I pushed against his chest. “We've gotten to the point that we make up shit?”

  “Listen, West.” Paulie threw his hands up in the air. “You're about to throw your entire career away for pussy. If that's what you want, you make sure it’s fucking worth it. Call someone over there to confirm what I’m telling you.”

  “I’m not doing this shit with you. I’m recording this fucking music, and then I’m gone.” There was no point in talking to Paulie. He had always seen Emilia as a distraction. Right now I had to put my music first and then find a way back home to get her back.

  I didn’t want to know the truth. It would have destroyed me to know that there was someone else in her life. Deep down, I knew she would eventually move on, but I continued to bank on winning her back.

  I just didn't know that it would be four years before I got to go home.

  33

  WESTON

  Dear Emilia.

  I think I've written you this letter a few times. Most of the time I end up tossing it out and hating what happened to us. Every once in a while, I sit back and relive our love story. It's been nine months since I saw you. I don't know what you're up to or what you're doing, but know that I'm on the other side of the world dreaming about you. Nine months is one too many. I want to come home to you. I need to have you wrapped in my arms.

  I love you, Emilia, and I will never stop loving you

  Weston

  34

  WESTON

  Dear Emilia,

  At this point, I feel like I'm writing in a journal. I never sent you these letters because I said there wasn't anything great to tell you.

  I heard through the grapevine that you've met someone new. I hope he makes you happy. You deserve nothing but happiness. When Paulie told me that there was a new car parked in your driveway, I didn't want to believe him. I figured you wouldn't move on so quickly. But when I had a friend confirm it, I was devastated.

  Broken.

  You see, not only did I lose my love, but I lost my muse. The two things that I need most.

  But it's time that I give up on hope. Give up on us.

  Goodbye, Emilia

  With all my love,

  Weston

  My eyes glanced over the last letter I’d written to Emilia. I hadn't touched the notebook in three years. It haunted me every time I looked at it. But I couldn't throw it out, so instead, it just sat in my room collecting dust.

  For three years, I forced myself not to think of her. I forced myself to ignore and forget what we had, but as I walked down the stairs to get in a cab that was headed to the airport, she was the only person I wanted to see.

  The cab ride to the airport was short. I checked in my bag and walked through the long airport until I found my terminal. My head was low because I didn't want anyone to look at me. Not that they would recognize me. I was still a nobody. When I arrived at my gate, I found an empty seat away from most of the other waiting passengers, and pulled out the notebook again.

  Dear Emilia,

  It has been longer than I can count since I last wrote you a letter. Not because I stopped lovin
g you, but because it was too painful to remind myself of what we shared. But today I need you. I need my best friend.

  My brother died two days ago. He was overseas when his tank was hit with an IED while transferring a prisoner. My mother called me crying a few hours ago with this horrible news.

  Here I am trying to make music while my brother died saving our country. How am I supposed to live with myself? I'm not ready to say goodbye to him. We drifted apart over the past few years because we had different career paths, but he's my brother, and I'm never going to get to talk to him again.

  Which is why I decided to write to you. I want to know what you're doing. How’s life? How much have you changed? Do you still go to Max’s and get tacos to eat by the beach?

  What I'm trying to say is that even though all this time has passed, I still love you and I will always love you. And no matter how hard I’ve tried, I’ve never been able to forget about you.

  Weston

  They say when it rains, it fucking pours. It was fucking pouring down on me, and I was fucking drowning. My mother was a mess when she had to put Trent to rest. Not only did I have to hold her as they lowered his body into the ground, but I received a phone call from Axel that Harry had overdosed the night I left. Guilt. An unbearable guilt consumed me.

  At that moment, I wanted to quit more than anything. I wanted to give up on life. What was the point of chasing your dream if you could never attain it? What was the point of living so far away from the people you love the most if you were constantly being dicked around? I didn’t want to bury any more of my friends. I didn't want to chase a dream that was never going to happen for me. Not when I had lost so much already.

  North Records had Elephant Room in the most absurd contract. If I hadn't been so mad at Emilia for leaving me, I would have read through the contract more carefully. I would have read the clause that said we would be their bitch and there was nothing we could do about it.