Page 122 of Last Letters to Ara
Opening my eyes, now filled with moisture, I read his letter.
Dear Ara,
There’s no way to get to know yourself better than becoming responsible for another. Being the person that something or someone depends on to keep them alive. It can be slightly terrifying at times, but extremely rewarding.
I realize that because I’d never gotten you a puppy or a pony, and all your plants are very much fake after killing all the real ones, I’ve never assisted you in experiencing that feeling.
So, your task for this month is to keep something (and I mean literally anything) alive.
I was thinking you could try again at a cactus. I know you managed to kill two of them already, but third time’s the charm, right?
Anyway, whether it’s a cactus or a lucky bamboo or a peace lily (I google searched and that one came up as something that’s easy to keep alive) or you decided to run before you can walk and get a puppy, I want you to love it. Really love it.
It’s time you learned that feeling and the joy you will have from taking care of something. The joy when that something starts to love you in the case of a pet, or when that something grows in the case of a plant.
I believe in you. I know you can do it.
And remember, choose with your heart.
Love,
Dad
I know just what to do, but I’m going to need some help. Running into my room with the intention to gracelessly belly flop onto my bed, I pause when I see Theo still peacefully asleep on his back.
My chest squeezes as I take in his sleep-mussed hair, his beautiful features, and the delicate shadows his long lashes cast on his face. The way the sheets tangle around his waist have my thoughts going to less artistic places. It should be criminal, looking like that first thing in the morning. One arm is tucked behind his head, with his face tilted toward me, his other arm extended to where I had slept, as if it had been in search of my warmth.
I’ve had the pleasure of waking up to him every morning for the past month, whether we’re at his place or my much smaller, less glamorous one. Sometimes he wakes me with his head between my legs, or his hands running down my body, and I’ve decided there is never a bad wake up when it’s with him.
Theo was up late writing last night, which is why Dave’s knocks didn’t rouse him. I guess I should take this as my turn to wake him, seeing as though I haveneverbeen up before him.
I kneel onto my cheap mattress, trying my very best not to jostle him, and bring my fingers to his hair, running them through the thick curls. He makes a pleased, sleepy grunt, and I can’t help but capture it with my lips. Theo’s arm circles around my waist as I kiss my way down his neck. I’m rewarded with another sleepy grumble as I make my way over his chest.
“We need to get up soon,” I say as I reach his navel.
“Why?”
I smile at the protest in his voice. “We have somewhere very important to be.”
“Where–” His sentence breaks off as I pull the sheet away and take him into my hand, pleased to find he is more than ready.
“We have a date with the Humane Society.”
“I–” Before he can get another word out, he moans as I take him into my mouth, relishing in how lost in the sensation he becomes. I take my time, making sure he knows just how much I love waking up to him every morning.
• • •
“You don’t want to start with a plant?”
I pour milk over both of our bowls, full of my favorite cereal, and also the only food in my apartment.
“Go hard or go home.” He doesn’t look convinced. “If I can get over my fears and make something for a stranger to wear to their influencer-filled birthday party, I can do this.”
I’d accepted the commission from the girl, Ivy, whom we’d met at Connor’s concert to create a design for her birthday party. Knowing I had to please a specific person and let them wear it in front of probably fifty people was a big enough move for me to accept. Good thing I’d already accepted her deposit for material before I found out it was going to be a party with a guest list in thethousands.
See, if I was any sort of an actual person who knew how to work social media, I would have seen that she had over three-hundred-thousand followers on her page. I would have known that this party would be attended by people whose job it is to wear interesting things that garner attention, and I may have shied away.
I was a mess until Ivy sent me a text to say that everything went off without a hitch, everyone obsessing over her outfit, along with a few snaps from the night. Ivy offered to share my number with the “tons” of people who were asking where they could find something like it for themselves.
