***
When I pulled up to the address, I froze.
It was a building I recognized.
At my age, love felt borrowed.
My old school. The one where Walter and I had met all those years ago. Except it wasn’t a school anymore. It had been turned into a restaurant. A beautiful one with big windows and string lights.
I sat in my car, confused.
Why would she send me here?
I got out slowly and walked to the entrance. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. For a moment, I stood alone in front of the door. Taking a breath. Preparing myself.
Then I pushed it open.
I got out slowly and walked to the entrance.
The moment I did, confetti rained down on me.
Streamers popped. Balloons floated everywhere. Music filled the air. Not just any music. Jazz. The kind I used to love when I was a teenager. Everyone was clapping.
My daughter was there.
My son. Friends I hadn’t seen in years.
The crowd parted.
And there was Walter. His arms spread wide open. A huge smile on his face.
Confetti rained down on me.
“Walter? What is this?”
He walked toward me, tears in his eyes. “Do you remember the night I had to leave town? The night my father got transferred?”
“Of course I do. You were supposed to take me to prom.”
“But I never got the chance.”
“No. You left two days before.”
Wziął mnie za ręce. „Żałowałem tego przez 54 lata, Debbie. Kiedy powiedziałaś mi w zeszłym roku, że nigdy nie poszłaś na bal maturalny, że zawsze tego żałowałaś, wiedziałem, co muszę zrobić”.
„Nie. Wyjechałeś dwa dni wcześniej.”
Moje oczy napełniły się łzami. „Walter…”
„Nie mogłem ci dać balu maturalnego, kiedy byliśmy nastolatkami. Ale teraz mogę ci go dać”.
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