Page 265 of ClickBack

“For today.”

Dear Diary,

I found this while packing for our honeymoon. The sticker is still lifting at the corner, so apparently some things remain unresolved.

Jarrett reads over my shoulder and reaches around me to press down the tape.

“Handled.”

“It won’t hold.”

“Let me have a minute.”

I smile and put the pen back to the paper.

I thought I would fill this notebook while I worked through whatever I had left to work through. Then I wore the outfit, went to Zi’s party, and met a man who took losing to me very personally.

“I asked you to dinner,” Jarrett says.

“I’m getting there.”

He still disputes the details. He also puts my glasses where I can find them and leaves his recovery boots where I can trip over them. We are working on one of those things.

I guess you could say the notebook stopped mattering after that party. The adjustment wasn’t learning how to be on my own anymore. I knew how to run a business, keep a house, make decisions without needing anyone’s permission, and leave a table when staying asked too much of me. What I had not practiced was letting somebody take up room without treating every inch he occupied as something I had surrendered. There was also a part of me I had put away so carefully that I forgot it was in the house at all, and he never went looking for it. He just kept leaving the door open until I went and got it myself. These days, sleeping across the middle of the bed means draping myself over my husband’s beautiful body while he holds me close.

Jarrett kisses my shoulder. I stop writing until he lifts his head.

“I liked that part.”

“I had a feeling you would.”

I married him in February. Rae and Zion walked me down the aisle. Today they left our house arguing about a wooden sloth, and my husband put it beside our wedding picture because my grandson asked him to.

I could fill a notebook with what happens in this house. For now, I’m going on my honeymoon.

Giselle Simmons

Jarrett touches the signature with one finger. I look at the name, then at his hand beside mine on the page.

“I like it,” I tell him.

“Looks good on you.”

I close the notebook and set it on the nightstand. He gets up to weigh my largest case, lifts it, and looks at me over the handle.

“Zel.”

“We’re flying charter.”

“The plane still has to get off the ground.”

I look at his luggage. “How many shoes did you pack?”

“Different shoes.”

“That wasn’t a number.”

He lowers the case, crouches beside his own, and unzips it. After moving two things, he holds out his hand for one of my packing cubes.