Adelaide

A week passes and I don't see Justin. That's mainly because of family Christmas parties, Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day, but there are still those days in between where I have nothing to do but think.

Today is an example.

I can't stop thinking about how Justin hasn't bothered to text or call me. I'm so desperate that I even tried calling Helene to get through to him. We talked for five minutes, but Helene told me that Justin couldn't talk at that specific moment. When I said thanks and hung up, I chucked my phone against a pillow and began to cry all over again.

It's hard to think something so good between us is gone within the blink of an eye. He clearly doesn't want to speak to me, and every time I think about this, I replay that day in the hospital over and over again.

It's the twenty-ninth of December and all the snow has melted, so I've decided I'm going to distract myself by going for a hike on one of the trails behind my house.

After changing into leggings, runners, and a warm sweater, and collecting my headphones and iPhone, I head downstairs.

"Where are you going, Addie?"

I freeze, my hand inches from the handle of the front door. Crap. I had been planning on going alone. I turn around, shoulders slumping in defeat, and see Dad leaning against the wall.

I shrug. "Going for a hike. I...I need to get out and do something."

That something may have included attempting to call Justin again. I need to know how he's doing. If he misses me like I miss him. I need to ask him if we can talk.

Dad grabs his sporty winter jacket from a nearby hook. "I'll come with you."

"And so will I," Mom says, stepping out of the kitchen with a thermos full of...I don't know what's in there, but she must catch me staring at it because she tells me it's hot chocolate.

"I don't know," I say, trying to sound casual. I hold up my phone and headphones. "I kind of wanted to listen to music."

Dad walks over and takes both electronics from me, setting them down on the bench adjacent to the front door. "Why listen to music when you can listen to the outdoors?"

I want to stomp my foot like a three-year-old. Can he not clue in? I want to be alone with my thoughts. Even if it isn't a good thing for me to be doing. Every time I do, my heart hurts. I miss Justin so much and the fact that he has epilepsy doesn't change what I think about him. I know Justin for who he is. I refuse to judge him for having to battle something like that. I mean, what the heck is the difference between someone who has cancer and someone who has epilepsy? I get that one is more severe than the other. But why do people push away the people who have epilepsy and pull the ones who have cancer closer? It's ridiculous.

I almost ask about leaving Jake and Alex behind, but they're fourteen. Also, they slept over at Uncle Hart and Aunty Elle's house last night so they could hang out with Jaymes. That option is quickly pulled from my grasp.

"Okay," I sigh, zipping up my jacket. "Let's go, then."

It takes my parents only a couple minutes to pull on their shoes and jackets, and within the next hour, we're at the top of the mountain overlooking Rose Valley Lake. I come to this spot a lot. I prefer it during late spring, when the buttercups are most abundant and the grass is green, but the winter also has its beauty, too. Not to mention this is my parents' favourite spot of the trail system. It's where they managed to talk out their feelings after their relationship hit a roadblock.

I guess I was hoping for some sort of inspiration.

"Here," Dad says, holding out the thermos. "Take a sip. It'll warm you up."

After taking the thermos from him, I glance at both my parents just in time to catch them exchanging a concerned glance.

Mentally sighing, I take a sip of the hot chocolate. I can understand why they're concerned – it's so out of character for me to be quiet and upset. But I can't help it. Christmas was as awesome as usual – the dinner, spending time with my family, and simply having fun – but the distant ache never left; a part of my mind was always wondering about Justin.

Looking at my parents, I once again sigh. "Just say whatever you want to say to me."

"We're sorry," they say in unison.

Withholding a smile, I shake my head. "For the last time," I say, "I'm not mad at you guys for not telling me about Justin. It wasn't your story to tell, and Helene only told you because she was worried about him."

When I look at them, I do smile. They look so guilty that it makes me feel like I'm the parent and they're the kids.

Dad gives me a weak smile. "How're you holding up, Ads?"

I shrug. "Okay, I guess." I look down at the thermos in my gloved hands. "Still sad – I miss him." Shaking my head, I pass the thermos to Mom. Saying I miss Justin doesn't do what I really feel any justice. It's so much more than simply missing him. We used to text each other every day, see each other at school, and then there's the romance side of things. All those times we kissed. It feels like I'm missing a piece of myself. I wish he was here with me.

"I just don't know what to do," I continue, tugging at a dead weed that's sticking up through the mud and slush. "I tried to explain my motives to him but he kept shutting me down. I mean, what else was I supposed to do? I had no idea he had epilepsy. I had no idea how to properly handle it. And," I add, "it hurts like heck that he didn't trust me enough to tell me." I reach up and rub my temples. "I know I'm young, but I love him for who he is. I wish he didn't have to go through something like this, but I know Justin for who he is on the inside and some condition isn't going to change that."

I stop talking and catch my breath, looking at my parents.

"You're not too young," Dad says softly. "Do you know how old I was when I fell in love?"

Feeling the pain spike back up again, I look out at the lake. Now I understand why my parents wanted to come with me. They wanted to discuss what's happened, not just to apologize.

"Fifteen," Dad continues, a sentimental tone to his voice. "I was fifteen when this girl stopped to help me get my dirt bike out of the mud puddle I was too immature to think about going around instead of through. She pulled over, stopped the engine, and when she pulled off that helmet..." Dad makes a low whistle and I roll my eyes. I've heard this story a million times. But I do love it. I love knowing the history of my parents. Besides, it's also a little funny that Mom was able to make Dad, who can be seriously cocky sometimes, forget how to speak English.

I smile and pull my jacket tightly around me. It's gotten colder now that we're no longer hiking up a hill.

"And, well, you know what happened next between me and your mom." Glancing at Mom, I see that she's taken her gloves off and is playing with her wedding ring, tracing the diamond with her pointer finger and smiling. "Things got hard, Ads. Harder than we ever would have expected. So here's the thing: When things get tough, you don't give up. Especially when it involves someone you love."

While I understand what he's saying, I'm still confused. Even though Mom forgot about Dad, she didn't push him away and shut him down. Sure, she was wary of him at first, but she gave him a chance. My situation with Justin is entirely different. There are no memory complications and he just kept shutting me down. "But he doesn't want to talk to me, Dad. He told me to leave. He told me that I would never understand."

Dad laughs, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Since when does my daughter let someone dictate her choice of words and actions?"

I contemplate his words. I know I lean on people for support, sometimes depend on them a little too much, but I have never let someone make decisions for me or tell me what to think. Any decisions I've made have been based on my own observations and beliefs.

So why should I let Justin tell me what to do? Maybe I'll never completely understand what it's like to have epilepsy, but I can try. Just like I said I wanted to in the hospital.

Yet, doubt still clouds my mind. What if I go to Justin's house and try to talk to him, only to have him reject me again? I don't know if I can stomach it.

"Never," Mom answers for me. "You never do because you, Adelaide Levesque are a strong young woman."

I exhale deeply, looking back at the view and trying to imagine it during the spring, when the grass is green, the sun is warm on my cheeks, the sky is a brilliant blue, and the buttercups are intertwined with the grass.

I want to see Justin. Make things right. With everything he's been through, he doesn't owe me or anyone else anything, the world owes him something. Someone. Someone that will listen and try to understand and treat him like he should be treated.

And I want to be that person.

Turning back to my parents, I ask, "What do I do?"

"You talk to him," Dad replies. "You've given him a week to sort his shit out, Ads. Now it's time to talk. You tell him that letting emotions fester only makes things worse and that you're not backing down until this is dealt with." He pauses, smiling at me. "And though I hate to see you grow up and stop being my little girl, I know love when I see it. What you and Justin have is special. Don't let it go."

Tears begin to pool in my eyes. "But what if he pushes me away? What if I can't get through to him."

"You're making excuses, Addie," Mom says. "Listen to what you're saying – if. You're never going to know unless you try. While I personally think Justin should be the one trying to contact you and apologize, I also know, from what Helene told me, is that he's not used to this, having someone care. So all we can tell you is that you need to try."

A tear slips down my cheek. I'm scared, and I'm a little confused. But I can't give up what we have. This is a bump in life that we're going to get over. Together.

Wiping my cheeks, I nod and stand up. "I need to go to Justin's house."

And when I look at my parents, I don't think I've ever seen them looking so proud.

Dad stands up and wraps an arm around my shoulders, hugging me. "Then let's get you to Justin's house."