Page 166 - It Ends with Us

And the n the ab solute worst.

It ha d been exac tly for ty-two day s since Atlas left for Bo ston. I counted ever y
day like it would he lp someho w. I was so de pressed, Ellen. I still am . People say
that teenag ers do n’t know ho w to love like an adu lt. Par t of me believes that ,
but I’m not an adu lt an d so I hav e nothi ng to compare it to. Bu t I do believe
it’s probab ly di f ferent. I’m sure there’s more substan ce in the love between two
adu lts than the re is between two teenag ers. The re’s probab ly more mat urity,

more respect, more responsibility. But no mat ter ho w di f ferent the substan ce of a
love might be at di f ferent ag es in a person’s life, I know that love still has to
weigh the sam e. You feel that weight on your sho ulde rs an d in your stomac h
an d on your he ar t no mat ter ho w old you are. And my feelings for Atlas are
ver y he av y. Ever y night I cr y myself to sleep an d I whi sper, “Just keep
swimming.” Bu t it gets real ly har d to swim whe n you feel like you’re an cho red
in the wat er.

No w tha t I thi nk ab out it, I’ve probab ly been experiencing the stag es of grief
in a sense. Denial, an ger, bar gai ning, de pression, an d ac ceptan ce. I was de ep
in the de pression stag e the night of my sixteenth bir thday . My mothe r had tried
to mak e the day a good one. She bought me garde ning supplies, made my
fav orite cak e, an d the two of us went to di nner togethe r. Bu t by the time I had
craw led into bed that night , I couldn ’t shak e the sadn ess.

I was cr ying whe n I he ard the tap on my windo w. At first, I tho ught it had
star ted rai ning. Bu t the n I he ard hi s voice. I jumped up an d ran to the
windo w, my he ar t in hy sterics. He was stan di ng the re in the dar k, smiling at
me. I rai sed the windo w an d he lped hi m inside an d he took me in hi s ar ms an d
he ld me the re for so long whi le I cried.
He smelled so good. I could tell whe n I hu gged hi m that he ’d put on some
much- neede d weight in just the six weeks since I’d las t seen hi m. He pulled

bac k an d wiped the tear s of f my che eks. “Why are you cr ying, Li ly?”
I was embar ras sed that I was cr ying. I cried a lot that month—p robab ly
more tha n an y othe r month of my life. It was probab ly just the ho rmones of
being a teenag e girl, mixed with the stress of ho w my fat he r treat ed my mothe r,
an d the n hav ing to say goodb ye to Atlas .
I grab bed a shi r t from the floor an d dr ied my eyes, the n we sat do wn on the

bed. He pulled me ag ai nst hi s che st an d lean ed ag ai nst my he adb oard.
“What are you do ing he re?” I as ked hi m.
“It’s your bir thda y,” he sai d. “And you’re still my fav orite person. And I’ve
missed you.”