Dad,
I messed up.
I really messed up.
I was so caught up in talking to her and seeing her in the moonlight that I called her Aura.
Thrice.
She completely, unapologetically called me out on it.
She told me, "Thrice now, you've called me 'Aura'."
I'm an idiot.
That's the only explanation.
I'm a complete and utter idiot.
Strange that it only seems to happen when she's around.
All I wanted was for the ground to swallow me up whole, but it didn't, which is why I'm sitting here, writing about it.
When I was sure that the earth wouldn't take me, I had to offer an explanation.
It wasn't a good one.
I told her, "I sort of, call you that in my head sometimes."
For a split second, her brow furrowed, but she smiled. "Aura?" she asked.
I nodded.
"That's new," she told me, "I've never gotten that before."
Then, I made some ridiculous claim about being a trendsetter and she completely shut that down by saying, "Not in that cable-knit sweater you're not."
She scrunches up her nose when she laughs, I've noticed.
It's completely distracting sometimes.
She didn't ask me why I call her Aura. If her bright red face and tapping fingers were anything to go by, she was a bit shy or nervous.
I'll confess something.
I took her up there for her to see the sky because she loves it.
I took her up there to speak to her, just to hear her voice.
I wanted to learn more about her, the way I've been learning for the past month that she's been here with me.
It didn't really go according to plan, though, Dad.
Because, for the first time in a long time, I was able to talk about you.
I realized that we talk about you at home – Mom, Jenna and I – and those are random things that we remember about you.
But other people know more stories.
I think Mom, Jenna and I try to keep some of our stories with you to ourselves because those are our special moments with you.
Aura let me talk about you.
She told me about meeting you as well.
She told me that she had never been bought an ice cream sundae so big as the one you bought her on the day of their graduation.
I've made a mental note to buy her one – or fifteen ... thousand – at some point.
She let me go on and on about you, laughing at the right moment, being quiet at the right moment, asking questions at the right moment.
That's how things are with her.
Everything with her is right, Dad.
Everything.
Even silence.
We've shared so much silence, her and I, and even those are just right.
Slipping into conversation is easy.
I think I released a huge breath when she opened the door earlier tonight.
It's all just so right, Dad.
And I really don't want to lose that feeling.
The feeling of ease.
Of comfort.
Of excitement.
Of calming happiness.
All good things.
She's all good things.
We spoke for so long – or at least I did, about you – that I need to get to bed.
Tomorrow is the big day, Dad.
Tomorrow I have to try and fill your shoes.
I hope you give me strength from wherever you are.
For everything that I will do tomorrow.
I miss you, Dad.
I always do.
I love you and I miss you.
One more chapter in this part, you guys!
Thank you so much for your patience as I took some time off writing.
I'm looking forward to bringing you guys the beginning of 'The Billionaire's Driver' as well as the rest of 'The Billionaire's One'.
Much love!
Note: Sometimes the days and the journal entries won't be the ones exactly following the previous. We might have journal entry three and the next one may be six. It just means that whatever Elliot wrote is for him to know and for us to...