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My last words to Caiden Smith were that I hoped he choked to death, but I didn't mean it literally

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My last words to Caiden Smith were that I hoped he choked to death, but I didn't mean it literally.

We dated for a couple of months but it didn't work out. To be fair, I had stopped thinking about him after the first half of my Ben & Jerry's ice cream tub, and I hadn't heard from him for over a year. Until yesterday, when I got a call from his lawyer.

In his serious business-like tone, he informed me that Caiden had stomach cancer and that he passed away. He mentioned something about his will and how I needed to be there when he read it to the family, but my mind was still wrapping up on the fact that Caiden passed away. He might have been a douchebag, but I didn't wish him death. I always hoped he'd fall in love and his girlfriend would cheat on his lying ass, but I'd never wish something like cancer on him.

It was probably a mistake. I couldn't be in his will. We weren't even friends. Plus, Caiden didn't love me. Hell, I hadn't been in love with him either. I did like him too much for my own good, but I was glad I found out about him sleeping around before I actually fell in love. Granted, I wished I hadn't caught him in the act with my neighbor, but I always thought that it just wasn't meant to be.

Going to his funeral didn't seem right. I was just one of his ex-girlfriends, one of many, probably. Yet, Mr. Williams, Caiden's lawyer, stressed out that I needed to go, and that it was one of Caiden's last wishes. Man. He knew how to make people feel guilty. Despite Caiden being Caiden, I was intrigued by this whole scheme. Plus, I also felt bad for him. Cancer was a bitch. No one deserved to suffer through it.

I agreed reluctantly, and less than five minutes later I had a plane ticket on my email. The man was efficient. Not that I would have expected less from someone that worked with Caiden. The guy was a womanizer, but he was also a brilliant businessman and a great chef. He owned one of the most popular and ridiculously expensive restaurants in Los Angeles, the Mea Culpa. That's how we met.

After we broke up, my life changed radically. Not because of the breakup, but because my best friend passed away.

Losing Amy made me realize that life is short. The first thing I did was move closer to my parents in Missoula, Montana. Spending time with your loved ones was precious. I also quitted my job and started a cooking blog, something I've been wanting to do since forever. I could do it on my own time, under my own terms. Good thing I'd saved some money, enough to get me going, because while my blog wasn't doing bad,  I couldn't call it a success either. If things didn't change, I'll be broke in less than six months, and as much as I loved my parents, I didn't plan to move in with them again.

As I printed the ticket, I noticed that the flight back was scheduled for a week later. Ugh. That was probably a mistake too. I needed to talk to Mr. Williams about it. I couldn't afford an entire week's stay in a hotel.

The plane took almost three hours to arrive in Los Angeles. I dragged my luggage behind me as I walked out of the airport, and the warmth from the Californian sun caressed my cheeks.

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