Back to Willow - [SAMPLE]

SIX

The thought itself makes me sigh in nostalgia. The word "Saudade" comes to mind again because it's not translatable and it conveys exactly what I have been feeling for so long. This huge dark gaping hole in my heart can only be soothed by my son.

Still, it's not healable. Not without him.

"Okay." He gives in, bummed, and—thankfully—takes me out of my dark thoughts.

"Dylan!" Nana calls him from the kitchen.

"Yes, Nana," he screams back.

Jesus Christ. It's like this every time. There's no use in scolding them about yelling around the house because they have gotten to the point where they ignore me. They probably do it on purpose just to get a rise out of me. The few times Nana hasn't ignored me, she waved me off by saying that she is old, almost deaf, and has every right to yell.

These two love to get on my nerves a little too much, that's for sure.

"The cookies are ready! I need my professional taster to certify the quality."

Dylan doesn't even answer; he simply runs to the kitchen like he's the Flash. The mention of food is enough to have him wherever. He'll fly if he needs to.

I chuckle before sighing. These two will be the death of me, but I love them. A lot.

Going back to my messy bedroom, I pick up my bag. The double bed is still unmade, with the rosewood-pink-coloured cover all twisted out from sleeping here with Dylan. Since he's been sick, I have been allowing him to sleep until late and getting lazy cuddles afterwards.

Looking into the full-body mirror, I remember Johanna's request. Last week, she begged me to not miss work today because it's her date, and she needs all the support she can get. I even received pictures wanting my opinion of which outfit she should wear.

How would I know what's appropriate? The only dates I've been on were with...him. Whenever I had issues with what to wear, he'd kiss my forehead and say I'd look beautiful in a trash bag. In the end, I tried my best, but as you can imagine, my sixteen-year-old closet was nothing like a twenty-two-year-old one. And obviously not like Johanna's.

"God, I miss him," I whisper to myself, my hand rubbing at the skin right over my heart.

People say the heart doesn't hurt, but it does. So much. In addition, my eyes sting from trying to keep the tears at bay. No way, they're not coming out.

I manage to blink them away after a few deep breaths. I've shed plenty in the past, and it has changed nothing. In the end, I made my bed, and now I have to lie in it.

I was broken long before I left—especially in the head—but leaving him destroyed me beyond repair. Not only my heart but my soul.

I just hope he has moved on with an amazing girlfriend.

Ugh, girlfriend?

The mere thought of him having one feels like someone is stomping on the shattered cracks of my heart. Still, I wish nothing but happiness for him.

"Enough with the pity party, Willow," I scold myself in a whisper.

As soon as I'm ready, I leave for work after kissing Dylan on the forehead. The sun's setting and the traffic is mostly gone, allowing me a light drive to work. The streets are still quite packed, though; Porto is the second biggest city in the country, and at the end of the day, it seems to fill with people from everywhere, eager to go out or go home.

As I drive, I notice more of the artificial lights and the buzz created by moving people and cars. I spent six years in my nana's small town, after leaving Lisbon, and it made me forget how soothing this controlled chaos is. Sure, it's not my home town, the capital, but it's close enough. And just as beautiful!