Chapter 4 Memories from the Past

║Chicago, Illinois, US║

Today is my first day working with Maisie. We spent most of the time discussing the menu at the café. I also took her shopping for some things and made some cake samples for her to taste so she could quickly decide which items she wanted to serve in the café.

“Not many people believe this café will work under my management—except for my fiancé. Everyone who knows me knows how much of a mess I can be when I'm responsible for something. I like to live freely, and this idea suddenly came up while I was preparing for my wedding. So, here I am now.” Maisie shrugged.

“I like to live freely.”

I repeated that sentence in my heart—again and again.

It feels unfair knowing that someone can live their life freely—do whatever comes to their mind, and make their own decisions—while I always have to live according to the decisions of those who have power over me.

“You’re getting married?” I looked up while flashing a brief smile.

“Yes. I’m getting married in two weeks. It’s going to be a fun party, and I’ll make sure you’re invited because you’re my first coworker and your position is quite important for the future of this café.” Maisie laughed while raising her wine.

I laughed as well when I heard her words. Maisie is a friendly woman who easily connects with new people—she made me feel comfortable talking to her as if we were old friends who had known each other since senior high school.

“This will be the first wedding I attend since my divorce.”

“Oh,” Maisie looked at me apologetically, “I’m sorry to hear that. We shouldn’t be discussing weddings since it’s not really important.” This time she laughed again, but her laugh sounded awkward, and I nearly laughed along with her.

“No, that’s okay. I’m not sad at all about my divorce. In fact, I’m glad I got to leave him.”

The best thing about this job isn’t just that I get to spend my days making pastries but also that I have a boss who treats me like a friend. After bottling everything up alone for so long, now I have Maisie, who’s willing to listen to some parts of my past.

“Ah yeah, goodbye jerk!” Maisie responded, waving her hand, and this time I really couldn’t hold back my laughter. “So, that’s what brought you to Chicago and made you leave your career at the law firm?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “He was a famous lawyer in my town, and my father needed him to help save his nearly-ruined career. That’s why we got married. I worked at his firm for four years and am grateful that I’m finally free from him.”

“Oh shit, that’s terrible.” Maisie shook her head.

“Yeah, marriage can be really awful if you marry the wrong person. So, make sure you marry the right one.” I spoke calmly as I handed her my blueberry Danish pastry, which I had just finished making. “Sorry for giving you advice. I’m a bit emotional today, and I think I went overboard.”

“That’s okay. I’m happy to have a friend with whom to talk about anything. But I’m sure I chose the right one. I’ve been with him for 13 years and never found anything about him that hurt me. Well, I feel like I’m talking to my brother. My little brother just brought up something similar to me, even though he was the one who convinced me to accept my fiancé’s proposal a year ago. He’s so dramatic.” Maisie rolled her eyes.

Ah, how nice it must be to have siblings who can support each other when facing problems. All I’ve known so far is having to go through everything on my own.

“Well, I don’t think you need to make any more samples, Ann. I love everything you made, and I’m sure this café will run smoothly with your help,” said Maisie, shaking her head in disbelief while her mouth was still full of cream from the pastry I made.

***

I let my lips hum softly as my feet stepped cheerfully after unlocking the apartment door.

Well, now I live in an apartment that I bought in my own name, spending most of the savings I had and making me wonder if I could survive in Chicago with the remaining money I have. But it looks like I don’t need to worry anymore because I’ve landed a job. At least I know I won’t go hungry next month, and maybe I can still make it through the next few months with my money.

“Oh shit,” the hum on my lips immediately stopped when I looked at the pile of cardboard boxes I had purposely placed near the closet—the same thing that pushed me to buy a notebook last night.

Actually, I didn’t bring many things from my hometown to Chicago. Aside from running away from my ex-husband’s house and not getting a chance to pack all my things, I knew I had to choose a trustworthy shipping service so I wouldn’t leave any traces. So, among all the belongings I had, only these were left and brought to my new apartment.

“Do I really have to clean all this up?”

I realised I didn’t have anyone in the apartment to answer my question. In fact, I didn’t have anyone in this city. It looks like I really need to reconsider my idea of getting a dog so I won’t feel so lonely. Or maybe a cat isn’t a bad idea either. But a dog might be a better idea if I want to go for walks in the city park in the afternoon.

Aside from my idea of getting a pet, there’s something more important I need to do now.

The job arrangement with Maisie happened so quickly; I’m grateful for that. Maisie always asked me to accompany her when shopping for café supplies, and I didn’t mind.

The problem is, now I can’t seem to find the right time to tidy up my apartment, even though I know this place still needs a lot of work.

I’m not even sure what I’ve been doing since I arrived in Chicago, which made me neglect this apartment and choose to have fun every night. Now that I have a job, maybe I’ll start breaking that bad habit.

Having a job and new responsibilities seems like a positive thing that can put a stop to my bad habits over the last three months. After all, what can I be proud of from the reckless life I’ve been living? I’m an adult, and I do have the right to fulfil my personal needs, but having one-night stands with different men every night is not something I can be proud of.

All right, the first thing I need to do is make sure this apartment is clean and decent enough to live in.

It’s been a long and slightly tiring day, but if not now, then when will I do it?

So instead of lying on the bed and playing on my phone like I had planned, I walked toward the pile of boxes and started thinking about where I should put these things so my apartment wouldn’t look messy.

The first box contained important documents such as my birth certificate, divorce papers, diplomas, and a few other records. I would put them in my bedroom closet and keep them safe. As someone who worked in the legal field, I knew how important these papers were, and I’d be in big trouble if I lost any of them.

The second box held stacks of photo albums that I somehow managed to save in such a short time. I was almost amazed at myself for bringing these treasured photo albums—collections of photos I had deliberately printed and placed in an album so they would be easy to carry. I had owned that album since I was still living with my parents, and now I couldn't even remember the last time I printed a photo and added it to it.

Maybe I should start printing my photos again and filling the album with new memories from my time in Chicago.

The first album…

The second album…

And…

My old journal is still neatly kept, even though I abandoned it years ago.

I didn’t understand why I brought it to Chicago, but it was this item that made me want to start writing a new journal.

Without realizing it, I had let so much time pass and forgotten about this journal’s existence, even though I remembered how I used to spend hours sitting with a pen in my hand.

I was probably still a teenager then—it had been many years.

Absentmindedly, I let my hand pull on the journal’s ribbon bookmark, opening the book to the last page I had written.

It turned out to be the final entry in that journal—the one I never managed to finish because… because of a reason I still remembered clearly.

~~He’s not here. He’s not at his grandmother’s house, now buried deeper under the winter snow. He wasn’t there when I walked alone to the school bus on the last day before the Christmas break. He wasn’t there when I cried under the tree after Dad hit Mom in front of me. He wasn’t there when I snuck into his grandma’s house and burned the remaining firewood we had gathered to keep him warm. He wasn’t there. I’m even starting to forget what he smelled like when he used to hug me while I cried. He said he’d come for me when he turned 18, which meant he asked me to wait for him for a year. But can I really wait for him until next year? Is Chicago really that far that we can’t see each other anytime soon?~~

I wiped away the tears that had unknowingly streamed down my face.

I had only read the last sentence of the journal I wrote years ago. Yet I cried so easily as if I had just witnessed a heartbreaking play.

I was probably just 14 years old when I wrote that journal. And I had just experienced my first heartbreak.

Damn. I could still remember how devastated I was back then, and maybe I could laugh at myself now, knowing the answer to that final question I had written.

That boy—my first love, whom I cried for through that entire snowy winter—never came back to our town like he promised.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t wait. It was that he chose to break his promise, turning me into a foolish girl who postponed going to college in the hope that her first love would return and come get her.

Chicago really was far—very far. I only found that out recently after I made the trip here on my own.

I couldn’t imagine how a 17-year-old boy could’ve come here by himself.

I didn’t understand anything back then and blamed him when I realized he wasn’t coming back. But now I’m starting to understand a lot of things…

Returning to the town that raised you with so much cruelty is not an easy thing to do. And maybe… that 18-year-old boy didn’t have the courage to come back.

Oh, whatever. After all this time, I wasn’t in love with a man—he was just a boy.

He was just a boy.

The problem is, after all these years, why did I end up bringing myself to Chicago to restart my life after leaving my hometown?

That insane question made me feel uneasy. I had no clear answer as to why I chose to buy an apartment in Chicago after visiting several cities to find a place where my family and ex-husband couldn’t track me down.

But there was one other thing that made me even more uncomfortable—the fact that I was now sitting with my old journal that I had just found—the first and last series of journals I had written when I was 14.

The first page of the journal talked about ‘that boy’ because that day was my birthday, which meant I had just received a new journal as a gift from my mom. After this journal, I never wrote in another one. I chose to ignore my mom’s future journal gifts because I couldn’t bring myself to write anything.

~~Annalise. Female. 14 years old. Lives in Fremont, Sandusky County~~

Dear Notebook,

Today is my birthday, and I got a new journal from Mommy. But you probably won’t believe the first story I’m about to write.

But, here we go…

Today, I couldn’t take it anymore and ended up stealing soup from the fridge and taking the leftover cake from last night.

Was I guilty of that?

Well, I admit that I was guilty. But I would have felt even more guilty if I hadn’t done something.

You know what, Notebook? If I hadn't stolen that soup, I might’ve witnessed someone die of hunger.

Yes, that’s right.

You wouldn’t know. You don’t know what’s happened this past week because you’re my new notebook.

So, I’ll tell you everything.

Alright, where should I start?

Oh, how about when I first saw a boy walking down the path next to our fence toward the abandoned house behind ours?

That house was awful. Our neighbors said it should be torn down unless we wanted it to become a hangout spot for teens doing drugs. But Daddy was too lazy to deal with it and left the house as it was, and the other neighbors seemed just as uninterested.

The house used to be owned by an old woman who lived alone. I met her a few times, but sadly, she passed away two years ago, and now the house is abandoned.

It’s been empty for two years.

But then, I saw a boy walking slowly, wearing worn-out shoes, heading toward it. He went inside and closed the door, then just disappeared.

At first, I thought he was part of a drug gang looking to party there. But I was wrong.

How could a kid with beat-up shoes, messy hair, and a shirt covered in dust afford drugs?

I heard they’re really expensive, right?

So, after seeing him on the third day, I decided to follow his steps to that house, still wearing the same clothes.

Yes, he wore the same clothes to school for three days.

How do I know?

Well, we went to the same school. It looked like he was in high school because I always saw him on the same bus as me.

And something shocking happened…

He was in that house. Lying on the dusty floor without a mat or mattress. His body looked weak, and I saw through the window that he didn’t move for nearly four hours.

How do I know?

I checked on him every hour because I was curious.

And that’s when I found out he was starving.

He was starving to the point that it probably felt like he wanted to die.

Oh, Notebook, what exactly happened to my new neighbor?