Forget
Forget (Changing Colors, Part One)
Copyright © 2015, N.A. Alcorn
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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Disclaimer
This is a work of adult fiction. The author does not endorse or condone any of the behavior enclosed within. The subject matter is not appropriate for minors. Please note this novel contains profanity and explicit sexual situations.
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Table of Contents
Track 2: A Certain Shade Of Green-Acoustic Version (3:28 )
Track 4: Black Magic Woman (2:54 )
Track 5: Blue and Yellow (3:21 )
Track 6: La Vie En Rose (3:01)
Track 8: Crimson and Clover (5:32)
The Past: One Last Conversation
Track 9: Fields of Gold (3:38)
Track 10: Black Heart Inertia (4:24)
Track 11: Heart of Gold (3:10)
Track 14: Heart of Gold (3:10)
Track 15: Mellow Yellow (3:10)
Track 17: Shades of Cool (5:28)
Track 18: The Violet Hour (3:21)
Blur (Changing Colors, Part Two)
To Donut Sticks,
Husband of mine, you’re the best inspiration. Thank you for always supporting me. Thank you for believing in me, especially during the times when I had a hard time believing in myself.
And most of all, thank you for loving me.
Dear Brooke,
The first words are the hardest to write, so here goes nothing . . .
It’s taken weeks for me to find the strength to put pen to paper. I hate the idea of you reading this and feeling like I’m saying goodbye.
Because I’m not.
This is not goodbye, Brooke. This is just see you soon, okay?
I’m writing this letter on heart-shaped, pink construction paper because it makes me smile and smiling through these tears is the only way I’ll finish. Plus, it’s my secret way of reminding you to see . . . La vie en rose.
(I’ll give you a minute to roll your eyes.)
I even tried to use purple crayon, but who in the hell can write a letter in crayon? Once you pass the age of ten, writing legibly in crayon is impossible. So you’ll have to deal with purple pen instead.
I can still see you sitting in my kitchen, ten years old and focused on making fifteen construction paper hearts before dinner. “I want to make people’s hearts smile,” you said.
I never forgot that. How could I? Even after all of the horrible things you’d been through, your big heart was still intact. It proves you’re strong, Brooke. So very strong.
And now, I need you to find that strength because the day is coming soon, the day where we can’t be together anymore, at least not like we’re used to. I know it’s going to hurt like hell. And, believe me, I wish I could change it. I wish I could shoulder the pain for you, but we’re going to have to make the best of it. Instead of being sad, I want you to focus on keeping me in that big heart of yours. That way I can always be there when you need me.
Always
. No matter the time or place, I’ll be there forever.
And since I know how much you love lists, here are a few things I want you to know and remember.
Millie’s Do’s, Don’t’s, and Everything In Between:
- I wanted to re-name you Lilah Belle, a beautiful name for a beautiful girl with the biggest heart I’ve ever known. That heart of yours is your very best quality. Remember that. I know it will get you in trouble sometimes, but don’t ever lose that infinite kindness. The world needs all the love that Brooke Sawyer can give.
- Don’t marry anyone named Walter. It’s a long story, and the details are not important. Just trust me on this. Stay far away from men with that name.
- Never let a man take you on a date to a buffet dinner.
- If a woman seems like she’s trying too hard to be your new best friend, she probably is, and there’s probably ulterior motives behind it. (And she’s most likely a bitch.)
- Screw the never wear white after Labor Day rule. White is gorgeous, wear it whenever the hell you want.
- Diamonds are not a girl’s best friend. Mascara and lip gloss are. Always keep those two things in your purse.
- And if a man offers you diamonds, accept them, because diamonds are a girl’s really, really good friend, which isn’t too far off from a best friend.
- Stop wearing your gorgeous curls straight all the time. Believe me, if you had pin-straight hair like me, you’d understand.
- Find something to laugh about every day.
- And when your grandmother buys you a plane ticket to Paris . . . Get. On. The. Plane.
I will never regret the day I came back from Paris, for the second time, because I wanted you and Ember to live with me. I know this is news to you, but I have a feeling one day you’ll hear the whole story, and I don’t want you to feel like I missed out on something.
I didn’t miss out on anything
.
I loved every second of watching my adorable granddaughters grow up and change into the beautiful women that you’ve become. I savored every second that I got to see your smiling faces in the morning and sing you to sleep with French renditions of lullabies at night. Those were the highlights of my day. And I consider myself lucky that I had all of those mornings and nights with you.
By the time you read this, you’ll already know about the blue-ribbon box filled with treasures. And yes, I’m leaving my pretty necklace to you. I hope you wear it. I hope it brings you all of the magic you believed it held. Some days, I’d take that necklace off just so that I could watch you sneak into my bedroom and try it on in front of the mirror. It filled your eyes with daydreams, and I hope it’ll still give you those happy thoughts. That necklace meant the world to me, and I guess it’s time I finally give in and tell you why.
You were right all along, Lilah Belle—a beautiful French man gave me that necklace. He was the love of my life, and even though our love affair was short-lived, I have no regrets. We had the kind of love that stays inside of your heart for a lifetime. It was the kind of love, that even though it pains you to walk away, you know you’re lucky for being able to experience it, even if it’s just one day. And, believe me, I was one lucky bitch.
Our love affair began with a meet-cute.
Yes, a meet-cute.
(I’ll give you another minute for an eye roll.)
The only way to tell you this story is to give you all the little details.
Consider this a Millie Short.
An American Girl in Paris
I had only been in Paris for a few months, a young American girl who’d spend her days aimlessly walking the beautiful streets in her free time. There I stood, inside the gardens of Jardin Des Plantes, on an April spring day. The clouds became overcast and eventually opened up, letting the rain fall from the sky at a double-quick pace.
I was miles away from shelter. I fought the wind, desperately trying to open my umbrella, but it wouldn’t open. I stomped my feet in frustration, and probably mumbled a few curse words under my breath as the rain continued to drench my clothes. With my white blouse clinging to my skin and strands of wet hair sticking to my face, I was nothing short of wet and waterlogged.
The wind won that day. It swept the ratty pink umbrella out of my hands and carried it across a patch of blue forget-me-nots, slamming into a young man’s face. And when I say slammed, I mean SLAMMED . . . the cracking sound it made could have been heard in China. The tip of the umbrella left an open gash above his right eye.
His hands covered his face as he cursed, “Merde! Merde! Merde!”
I ran across the gardens like an idiot, through the flowers and past the sign that prohibited people from walking there. I was in a complete panic that my umbrella had just poked some guy’s eye out. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” I profusely apologized.
He looked up at me, his head tilting to the side.
“Shit . . . I mean . . . Je suis. . . . Je suis tellement désolé” My French pretty much sucked at that point in my life. When I look back, it’s ironic that I plotted and saved for my secret trip to Paris for all those years, but never really thought about learning the language.
“You’re American, yes?” he questioned but didn’t give me time to answer. “I should have known it was an American’s umbrella that nearly cracked my skull open.”
I had the urge to smack him, but that quickly turned to shock when his eyes raked over my face, then my blouse, and then my legs. (And just FYI I was one hot piece of ass back then.)
His eyes met mine, and he looked so damn playful. He had a mischievous smirk etched on his handsome face. It was like he wanted me to know his thoughts weren’t appropriate. I couldn’t believe his audacity. He was mocking me one minute, and then his eyes shamelessly flirted with my body the next.
