Dearest Josephine

walked into English class our thirteenth year, tattooed, pierced—a total cliché. And my dumb heart was like, “You need that anarchist energy in your life, Josie.” Gah, was I lonely and desperate? Why did I think Rashad was a good idea?
It’s not like he was bursting with decent traits. You said he had the personality of a rock, and you were right. Also, he treated me like a pet hamster. I’m serious. He fed me, gave me basic affection, and showed me off to his friends.
They called me Jo because Josie seemed too cute.
Dad’s cancer altered my appearance, mood—everything. I didn’t realize how much had changed until after he was gone. People told me what to expect regarding his illness. I went to the support groups and doctor’s appointments. I knew early on how the process would go, but no one explained what that process would do to me.
When I met Rashad, I was angry at the world. I didn’t want to cry anymore or be around people who cared. That’s why I stopped talking to you. I knew you would empathize with me, and I couldn’t handle it. Maybe that’s why I dated Rashad. His indifference made all the bad stuff—the reasons for pity—disappear. He let me feel numb.
Rashad didn’t love me, but he attended my school events. He distracted me while Dad went to chemo and radiation. That’s all I wanted—to be angry with someone who liked me angry, to be broken and not feel obligated to heal. I relished being Jo . . .
Until I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw.
Until I returned to an empty house and realized everything I’d lost, including myself.
The past few days forced me to feel all the yucky stuff I’ve avoided for months. I pulled up shag carpet, painted walls, and phoned contractors. I was alone with Dad’s project and Elias’s letters, and I broke down because . . . they loved Josephine De Clare. They really loved her. And I decided I wanted to be loved again, like that.
From now on, I choose to let people care. I want to be Josie, not the girl who mocked teachers and cut her own fringe. (That might’ve been a worse mistake than Rashad.) I want to be a better friend to you. We promised to stay pals for the long haul, so I’m here. All in.
By the way, I have a crush on Elias. It’s small and nothing. I mean, the guy lived two hundred years ago. Not like we can go out for coffee.
Remember when we made that checklist and profile of our dream guy? I don’t know about you, but I spent hours analysing, strategizing, and searching for him. That’s how my mind works, anyway. It tries to make sense of complex things like emotions, it puts the heart in a box and bosses it around. But what if logic cannot determine whether two people are right for each other? What if love is the simple realization: I was made for you, and you were made for me?
That’s my argument for why crushing on a dead man isn’t weird.
You’re the most patient and level-headed person I know. Throughout secondary school, you put up with my clutter—the Dairy Milk bar wrappers, piles of clothes in my designated messy chair. You didn’t request a new roommate when you found me attempting to tie-dye my uniform blouse. Despite all my antics and emotional roller coasters, you stayed. You loved me even when I was hard to love. So, I know you and Noah didn’t break up on a whim.
I know you would’ve stayed if staying was possible.
Relationships are complicated because people don’t stop evolving. They change over time due to circumstances, new dreams, whatever. And if they don’t pursue each other, they drift apart. That’s why Mum and Dad got a divorce.
Noah might not be a part of your future, and that’s okay. Your relationship with him mattered. It was real even if it doesn’t continue.
Make sure this is what you both want, though. I think people who drift apart can drift back together (with a lot of paddling, of course). I think some loves are worth fighting to keep because love—the real kind—doesn’t come around that often.
That said, I support you no matter what happens. But if you love Noah and he loves you, please attempt to paddle back to each other.
Dad used to say if you love someone, let them go. I don’t agree with him. If you really love someone, I think you have to take them back.
I remember those awkward phone calls, Faith. I heard your and Noah’s conversations, all the you hang up firsts and other mushy stuff. You both survived puberty and years of long-distance dating. Some good-byes are inevitable, but if you and Noah can’t last . . .
None of the romantics have a chance. ;)
Keep me updated! Your life seems like a proper romcom. I imagine you prancing through New York City, wind in your hair, Frank Sinatra blaring in the background. Granted, I learned about N.Y.C. from all ten seasons of Friends, so my knowledge is limited.
Holding out for your happily ever after.
A rainstorm keeps me indoors today. I plan to finish painting the entrance hall and bake an almond tart—Martha’s scrummy recipe. (Blimey, I mentioned the weather.)
Josie
P.S. I downloaded that messaging app you recommended so we can text like normal people. I already have a series of gifs and memes ready to send your way.
From: Faith Moretti <Kardashian_4Life@mailbox.com>
Sent: Monday, June 27, 3:40 PM
To: Josie De Clare <JDeClare@mailbox.com>
Subject: Re: Let’s Talk About Boys
Gotta keep this email short, Josie. My digital marketing class starts in a few minutes.
The fight with Noah was stupid. He wanted to go back to IKEA, and I exploded. Think apocalyptic proportions. I told him I felt suffocated—I wasn’t ready to do boring adult stuff.