Waking up to an empty bed, Shawn's mind believed—for a quick, and hopeful millisecond—that when she rolled over, York would be laying beside her. And then her brain caught up with her body, and she realized that she was far from home.
And all courage seemed to disappear then. Every ounce of bravery that she had built yesterday was gone. Because yesterday, she didn't have to go out and find Hunter. Yesterday, she could envision her parents, but did not have to track them down and speak to them.
Yesterday was so much easier than today.
Shawn reminded herself that she was wasting time. Ignoring her nervous stomach, she pulled on her warmest sweater and jeans, followed by her coat, scarf, mittens, hat, and winter boots. And then she realized she had absolutely no idea where she was going.
Slipping off her mittens, she searched Hunter Murphy's name on her phone. Clicking on the first Chicago address, she briefly read through the directions. She knew exactly how to get there.
If this was her Hunter Murphy, she hadn't moved far from where she lived in high school. Shawn knew the way to her old house like the back of her hand. She knew how to sneak into her bedroom and out the back door. She knew every aspect of that house, and as she passed it, on her way to the new one, she felt a surging wave of nostalgia rush through her body.
For a moment, she saw her younger self pulling herself up the tree trunk, clinging onto the window sill for dear life; all while Hunter stood behind the glass with her index finger raised to her lips.
And then the memory was gone. Because this house no longer belonged to Hunter. The two cars that sat in the driveway were not the matching pair of SUV's that Hunter's fathers used to own.
The house that Hunter Murphy lived in was nothing like Shawn would have expected. Hunter was always the kind of person who dreamed of living in a small, tight knit house with a big family. But this house was enormous.
As Shawn ascended the driveway, noting that there was a car parked, meaning someone was home, she tried to distract herself by appreciating the scenery rather than of focusing on how scared she was.
With grey bricks, the house stood at three stories tall. Each window shutter was carefully painted a dark grey, with the front door to match. And then there was the doorbell.
Shawn's finger hovered over it for what must have been ten minutes. She did not contemplate abandoning the house. She just needed to somehow find a way to ensure herself that this was okay; even if Hunter was going to see her and slam the door in her face, she would find a way to explain. And once the explanation was out, and once Shawn felt at peace, she was free. Whether Hunter truly forgave her or not.
When the doorbell finally did ring, and Shawn took a step backwards—feeling pleased but still completely shaken—there was no answer for another minute. Shawn's heart sunk. She felt as if she came all this way for nothing.
And then the door opened, revealing a rush of warm air, and a woman who was clearly not Hunter Murphy. Instead, it was a much taller, black haired woman, with visible freckles along her cheeks and a wide, friendly grin.
"Can I help you with something?" She asked.
"Yeah, I—I'm looking for someone."
The woman raised her eyebrows, willing Shawn to continue.
"Hunter Murphy."
"Oh—can I ask why?" When she saw the confusion on Shawn's face, she explained, "Hunter is my girlfriend. I've met all of her friends and colleagues—but I've never met you. May I ask your name?"
"Oh, yeah, of course. I'm Shawn. Shawn Reyes."
Recognition flashed across the woman's face. She nodded her head. "I know who you are. I'm Bailey."
Shawn was surprised that, because Bailey knew who she was and most likely her history with Hunter, she didn't kick her out. In fact, she invited her inside, offering her something to eat or drink—though it was all in an effort to be polite. It was clear that Shawn had immediately lost Bailey's respect upon stating her name. Shawn declined, then explaining that she—obviously—came to see Hunter.
"Oh, she isn't home. She's at work."
"Where does she work?"
"Target."
Shawn's eyebrows raised. Target? And she can afford this house?
"She's taking another course in University, so she's just taken this part-time job. I'm a Nanny, but I fortunately have the day off." Bailey then asked, "Can I ask why you want to see Hunter?"
"I... Uh, I came to apologize. It's late, I know. And you don't have to worry, I'm not here to win her back. You're very lucky to have her."
Bailey nodded, her overall kindness deteriorating quickly. As if the fact that Hunter's ex-girlfriend who completely broke her heart was standing in her house finally registered with her. "You lost someone great."
"I did," Shawn confirmed. "That's my fault completely. And it still bothers me, so I really need to apologize to her for that. Could you give me the address of the Target she works at? Please?"
Bailey's lips pursed. "You shouldn't distract her while she's working."
"I can't stay long. I have other people I need to see."
"Ah, so Hunter wasn't the only person you left behind?"
Ignoring this comment, and how swiftly Bailey had become unpleasant, Shawn asked again for the address. Grudgingly, Bailey gave it to her, and didn't respond to Shawn's hundred cries of "thank you" as she once again entered the frigid air.
Fortunately for Shawn, the Target was within walking distance. Unfortunately for Shawn, she felt as though she was going to be sick on the side of the road. She should have already been speaking with Hunter, and her nerves should've been gone. But now, once again, bile was rising inside of her throat as her body began to tremble—which had nothing to do with the cold wind sweeping against her face as she marched along the sidewalk.
Somehow, though, she kept it together. And as soon as she entered Target, she pulled her winter hat and mittens off, keeping her eyes fixated on the checkout department of the store, searching for the girl. It then occurred to her that she hadn't seen her in years. She couldn't tell who she was from the back of her head. Just like her, Hunter had most likely changed immensely.
When Shawn rounded the store, now coming face to face with each cashier who hovered over the register with smiles plastered on their faces, she saw that Hunter had not changed at all.
Her hair remained the same mixture of brown and autumn, falling at the same length that Hunter always kept it since meeting Shawn. For a moment, her green eyes flickered towards Shawn—though only for a millisecond—and Shawn's breath caught in her throat. She was stupid for thinking she was ready to do this. But really, she wasn't sure if she would ever be ready.
Waiting until Hunter was finished with a customer, Shawn stepped forwards. And she had no words. What was she supposed to say? Everything she did seven years ago seemed to catch up to her within that moment between hiding from view, and presenting herself to Hunter.
"Hey, can I help you?"
Shawn's mouth fell open. "Hunter?"
That was when Hunter recognized who was standing in front of her. She could've recognized Shawn's voice from a kilometre away. Even now.
"Shawn?"
At the same moment that Shawn studied Hunter's features, confirming that she had not, in fact, changed one bit, she realized that she felt nothing.
Nothing. No nostalgia. No memories flashed before her eyes. Looking at the girl that she had loved for years—that she had mourned for years—she felt nothing. Because she felt all of that for someone else.
"What are you doing here?" Hunter asked. That familiar expression overpowered what had been a friendly, welcoming grin—an expression that Shawn knew all too well. Hunter then turned towards another cashier, announcing that she was taking her break.
Shawn thought that she was running away from her, just as York did. But she wasn't. Instead, she appeared outside of the checkout, leading Shawn towards a vacant aisle. Her arms were crossed. She stood firmly in front of Shawn.
"What are you doing here, Shawn? I have a girlfriend."
"I know," Shawn said, "I do, too. Kind of—I think—anyway, that's not why I'm here."
Hunter shook her head before turning away from Shawn. Her body revolved, now facing the other direction. Shawn stared at her back.
"It breaks my heart to see you," Hunter whispered.
Head dropping, Shawn toyed with her hands, wishing she could say the same.
"I'm sorry."
"For coming here?"
"Yes," Shawn admitted. She realized now that this was not just about her. This wasn't only about mending her own strings. It meant mending others. She was beginning to think that maybe, some strings were meant to be left untied. "It's selfish, I know."
"You are not selfish, Shawn," Hunter corrected her, turning towards her with bloodshot eyes. "You are reckless."
Shawn sighed. "I need to be reckless now to prevent from being reckless again in the future."
Hunter nodded, as if this made any sense to her. And then she asked why Shawn came.
"I needed to see you. I needed to say everything that I should have when I left you. And I never should have left you. I should have just ended it. It would've been easier that way."
Hunter smiled sadly as she replied, "It was never going to be easy."
"I didn't want to leave you."
"I bet you're glad you did now, though," Hunter breathed.
Shawn considered this. What would have happened if Hunter had come with her to Boston? Everything would've been different. She probably wouldn't know York.
"Everything has changed because of it, and some things have been good. But I've been living with this for seven years. And again, it's selfish, because I left you—you should be the one who's heartbroken. I've carried this guilt with me for so long, pretending it didn't exist."
"You said I should be the one who's heartbroken," Hunter said. "What if I told you that I am?"
Shawn grimaced, as if this physically hurt her. "You are the biggest mistake I have ever made."
"So you came all this way to tell me you regret leaving me? Shawn, I'm not going to drop everything and run to you again. This isn't high school anymore, I—"
"That's not what I want," Shawn interjected sharply. Taking a moment to recompose herself, she ran a hand through her hair, and took a long, deep breath. "I just—I wanted to say I'm sorry. I wanted you to know that I regret it. I wanted you to know why I left."
"I understand why you left, Shawn. I understand why you left Chicago, and your parents. But I have never understood why you left me."
"I wanted to start over. I thought I'd be okay, I thought I'd move on, and then I got to Boston. You were all I talked about for the first year."
Hunter bit on her lip. "And what happened second year?"
Shawn shook her head, laughing quietly. "I don't know."
"And what's happening now?"
"I have a girlfriend. Well, she sort of just broke up with me. I haven't dated anyone since dating you," Shawn explained.
"She's scared you'll do what you did to me?" Hunter asked.
"By coming here, I think I'm proving to her that I'm not the same person as I used to be."
"That person is always going to be a part of you. But you're right, Shawn. You're different. You're here. You came back. That's never happened before." Hunter paused, staring directly at Shawn. "I'm proud of you."
"And I'm happy for you. You deserve better. You found better."
"And apparently you did too. You're better now, Shawn. And this girl, your girlfriend— whatever she happens to be—she's lucky to have you. But promise me one thing."
"What?"
"Treat her better than you treated me." Hunter bit her lip harshly once again before saying, "You treated me well when we dated, Shawn. But after... I know you said you aren't going to do that to her, but seriously, Shawn. Don't. You hurt me in the worst way, and I cannot imagine someone else enduring that pain."
Shawn felt as though someone had pierced a knife in the centre of her chest. This was hard. She'd faced what she'd done, but she had never heard these words before. Perhaps she should have prepared herself for it. But, like always, she was too blinded by something else to fully realize what she was getting herself into.
"But," Hunter continued, "I cannot imagine you inflicting that pain again. You've learned your lesson, Shawn—clearly, you have. Thank you for coming. It was nice to see you again, but I think that this will be the last time."
That was it. Hunter understood why she left. Anyone who was close with her—really, though, that was only Thomas and Hunter—could understand why she left. And she wasn't sure if she'd been granted Hunter's forgiveness, but she had certainly made her peace. And that was all that she could ask for.
"Take care of yourself, and that girl. Okay?"
Shawn nodded. "You too, Hunter."
As she walked away, Shawn once again felt nothing. But this was lighter. This was much more noticeable. She felt nothing because there was nothing to feel. She had turned a wrong into a right. There was no more guilt.
-
It was like a race. A 'how fast can you make it up to everyone you left behind' race. And Shawn felt like she was completing it in record time.
High with adrenaline, and feeling better than she had in ages, Shawn dialled Thomas's cell phone, asking politely for their parents address. She hadn't told Thomas she was doing this. And his shock was clear—he was the one of the only people Shawn knew who actually gasped when they heard something surprising.
"Okay, it's not that big of a deal. Please don't make it into a big deal." Shawn groaned.
"No, it's not... It's good, Shawn. That's good. Uh, may I ask why, though?"
Shawn sighed. "It's a long story. York broke up with me."
"Oh—I'm sorry to hear that. Are you alright?"
Chuckling lightly, Shawn replied, "No, I'm not alright. I'm back in Chicago on my way to see mom and dad, whom I haven't talked to in seven years. I think I'm going insane."
"Well... It's still good, no matter the reason. I'm proud of you, Shawn. I'm truly proud of you."
"Okay, thanks, but could I have the address now, please?"
"Uh, yes, but Shawn—"
Shawn didn't understand why Thomas was so flustered. Yes, he was surprised, but he was stuttering, and his voice seemed to shake. Irritably, she voiced her impatience.
"Okay, I'll text it to you now." Thomas resigned.
Shawn felt the familiar sense of knowing that he was leaving something out—that there was something resting on the tip of his tongue and he was holding back on it.
Nonetheless, as soon as he hung up the phone, a message was received. With two addresses.
Confused for a moment, Shawn assumed that Thomas had sent her the current address, as well as a past one. They must have moved twice in the past seven years.
Much to Shawn's demise, she had to take a city bus to reach the first address. She was tired of handling change and hearing it dancing around inside of her pockets, and was exhausted by sitting next to sweaty, sleeping people, who without a doubt would miss their stop due to their slumber.
The ride was far, meaning that her parents had moved completely out of the same neighbourhood that Shawn and Thomas grew up in.
The first address was a small townhouse. Each house was painted a different colour: green, grey, white, yellow. This one happened to be painted blue, and its sign displaying it was the fourth house in the lot was crooked, and dangerously close to falling off.
This was much more nerve-wracking than approaching Hunter had been, and Shawn wasn't sure how that was possible. She had never experienced such severe anxiety. Apart from feeling as though she was going to be sick on the sidewalk again, she felt light headed, on the verge of passing out. What would happen if she did, in fact, collapse, and her parents found their daughter whom they hadn't seen in seven years laying limply on their driveway?
Shawn could not let that happen. Mustering up every ounce of courage she had, she approached the front door with caution. She was careful, not rushing herself, but not letting herself stall, either. There was no doorbell, or none that was visible, so she knocked. And then there was that painful moment again: thirty seconds in between knocking and the door being answered, where Shawn suspected no one was home.
And then the door swung open.
Her father—a much older version of her father—stood before her. Cecil Reyes was now on the verge of fifty five years old, and it was showing. Half of his head was bald, while the other accompanied greying blonde hair. His stomach sagged, much like the wrinkles on his cheeks and above each eyebrow.
Unlike Hunter, Cecil recognized Shawn immediately. How could he not recognize his own daughter?
"Shawn."
"Dad..." Now that she was here, she wasn't sure what to say. "I—I came to see you—where's mom?"
His eyes widened in response. For a moment, he hesitated, like his words had caught in his throat. Shawn remembered him always doing this when she was a child.
And then, without further hesitation, he said, "Your mother and I divorced four years ago."