Quandary | Noah Sebastian |

twenty-three

I've been miserable ever since Noah left for the make-up shows from when they had to cancel due to his illness. Sleeping was hard without him, having been using him as a body pillow—we didn't think to grab an actual body pillow, not realizing how reliant I was of Noah for sleeping purposes.

Which is exactly why I was currently dragging one through the front door of our home all while simultaneously grabbing the mail. And grabbing my phone from my back pocket now that Noah was calling.

"Hey," I huffed into the receiver once through the door and threw the pillow onto the couch.
"How are we doing?" he asks, a smile evident in his voice.
"Good," I smiled lightly to myself; I loved hearing him say 'we' instead of just 'you', knowing he was not only asking about me, but the baby, too. "Tired, but good."
"Still not sleeping well?"
"Nope, so I bought a body pillow. Hopefully it helps."
"Hopefully. But hopefully not too well that you won't snuggle me anymore," he laughs.

I put my phone on speaker and chuckled, shaking my head as I sat down on the couch with the mail in my hands, and flipped through it. There were mostly pre-approvals for credit cards amongst other junk, but one piece in particular caught my attention. It was addressed to me, the returning address of my childhood home back in Virginia, but the name made my heart skip a beat.

Warren Foster

"What the fuck?" I questioned under my breath, immediately tearing it open to read the letter and coming face-to-face with my name written in an all-too familiar script. The first few lines had tears pooling in my eyes and my hands trembling.

My dearest Heather Olivia,

If you are reading this, then I am no longer on this earth, but I am still watching over you. I had Mom keep this so she could give this to you when you needed it most.

My lips quivered and I squeezed my eyes shut, tears now rolling down my cheeks. I couldn't bear to read the rest of it right now and put it back in its envelope, tossing it on the coffee table. I brought a hand to my mouth and tried to stifle the cry I let out, but it was of no use. I couldn't hold my emotions back.

"Liv, why are you crying?" Noah asks calmly before his panic-stricken voice cuts through my hysterics. "Oh my God—are you in labor?" I shake my head 'No', though he can't see it. "Do I need to book a flight back home?" I choke out a 'No'. "Answer me, please, you're freaking me out."
I suck in a choppy breath and let out one last sob before trying to answer him. "I-I got a letter from...from my dad."
"What the fuck?" He sounded just as shocked as I was. "But your dad is—"
"I know," I cut him off. He didn't need to say it.

Dead. My dad is dead, and I never got to see him before he went. Each time that thought crossed my mind, it was like a sucker punch to my chest. I'm back to hysterics in no time.

"Fuck, Olivia, I'm sorry. What did the letter say?"
"I-I couldn't read it," I whimpered. "I read the first two lines and put it down. Said he gave it to Mom for her to give me when I needed it most." In a sense, it was comforting. Dad was thinking of future me before he passed, Mom was thinking of me during my pregnancy. She knows the doubt that I sometimes feel, and I'm assuming there was something in that letter that would be uplifting. But I couldn't read it. Not alone.

"What can I do for you?" Noah's voice is soft.
"Bring my dad back, just for a minute," I mumbled, fresh tears welling in my eyes.
He sighs deeply. I can picture him combing the front of his hair back with his hand. "You know I can't do that, love. I wish I could."
"I know," I whisper dejectedly. "I can't wait for you to come home."
"I'll be home to you two in no time, I promise."
I sniffle, wiping the back of my hand under my nose. "Okay. I'm gonna try to relax some," I huffed.
"Are you sure you're alright?" he asks warily.
"Yeah, I'll be okay. I love you."
"I love you, too. I'll call you later, alright?"