Shawn Mendes Imagines

You Tell Your Daughter Your Love Story

"Mom? Are you in here?" your daughter steps down into the attic, smoothing her dress that hugs her body. She was still wearing her outfit, including her black leather heels, from work, even though she got off hours ago and hasn't been home yet. 

"Mom, come downstairs, you can't be up here with your asthma. It's too stuffy," she says upon spotting you, sitting on a heavy box full of Christmas lights as you hold a dark purple velvet book to your chest.

"I don't want to leave yet," you say, clutching the book to your chest.

Your daughter has been coming over every day to "take care of you", even though you can take care of yourself perfectly well. Everyone assumes that once you get older, you go crazy. But you knew you weren't crazy, you were just fine.

"Mom, come on," she steps closer to you, taking the book from your hands and throwing it on top of a box.

"Wait!" you shout, springing up and grabbing it right back, hugging it to your chest with your shaky hands.

Your daughter stares at you, most likely thinking you've lost it. Her gaze narrows on the book in your hands, curious.

"What is that?" she finally asks.

You smile. "Your Grandma Mendes made it for me and your dad when we were dating, back in high school," you murmur softly, grinning as you remember.

"Really? Can I see?" your daughter eagerly walks around beside you, leaning over your shoulder as you open up the book to the first page.

"It's a photo album," you explain. "Or a scrapbook, something you guys don't have anymore because you can just make a collage on your cell phone."

"Is that you?" your daughter points to a picture of you and Shawn together on his couch, asleep while you were anchored to each other, your fingers entwined with each other's above the blanket you shared.

"Yeah," you say. "That was the first time I ever went over to his house since we started dating. We watched a movie and then fell asleep together. Your Grandma Mendes came home and found us that way and she took a picture of it."

She laughs, raising the book closer to her eyes and smiling at the photo. "I look just like you," she acknowledges in amazement.

You nod, taking the book back and looking at the page on the right.

"This is a picture we took together at one of your dad's hockey games," you say, pointing to a snap of you and Shawn on separate sides of the glass, Shawn wearing his jersey and holding his helmet and hockey stick in his hands and posing for the picture.

There was a second one under it taken a few seconds after, of the two of you pretending to touch hands and kiss, even with the huge barrier between you.

It was strange seeing yourself so young after looking in the mirror everyday and seeing a face that looks entirely different. But she was you, and he was Shawn.

The page was decorated with white scribbles to demonstrate the ice and red maple leaves, symbolism of Canada.

"You guys look really cute," your daughter says through her smile. "What was it like, being in love?"

You sigh, a million different answers to that single questions racing through your mind at high speed. "I didn't like him at first, but eventually he won me over. He really knew how to treat me, without even trying."

"How did you guys meet?" she asks as she crouches down to your level where you were back to seated on the box, crossing her legs, attentive eyes trained on you.

You think back, surprisingly not struggling to remember-- as if the events were bright fresh in your mind. Sometimes it seems like just yesterday.

"We were neighbors for years," you raise your eyebrows, "and our parents were good friends. As a kid we used to play together sometimes, but he was a boy and I was a girl, so I didn't really enjoy it as much."

"But when we got to high school," you continue, "We began to talk a lot more than usual. He was actually nice to me, all the time, unlike most people-- who were only nice when they wanted to be."

She nods, wanting you to go on.

"We talked all the time. Sometimes he would pick me up at midnight and help me climb out my window, and we would drive around town and stop to get ice cream and stuff like that. But I didn't like him as anything more than a friend, I guess because I was too blind to understand that he was perfect for me."

"So when he asked me to be his girlfriend junior year, I was really confused. I didn't want us to break up and lose each other. We were never serious friends, our relationship with each other was always so sarcastic and funny and something that could make me forget that bad things exist, so I said no. But your dad was so stubborn, he practically forced me to fall in love with him really fast, I don't know how he did it, but he did."

"Did he tell you he loved you?" She asks, smirking.

"Absolutely," you say. "Every day. He wanted to make sure I knew, in case anything happened to us or to him or me. When I had you, and he was playing shows while I stayed at home, he always called and told me he loved me and then made me hand the phone to you so that he could tell you. It was just who he was."

There was a moment of silence where the two of you just sit in the dusty attic, thinking about all the happy times your family shared. You try not to cry when you look up at her, her wavy hair falling over her eyes and hiding the tears brimming in her eyes.

"I miss him," she admits quietly, her voice hushed.

You struggle to smile, reaching for her hand.

"Me too."

***

Awwwww I'm crying why did I write this did it make you smile at least

I'm at a Mexican restaurant lol enchiladas baybay