Forty Three
Noah
“Hey.” Isa bounces on her toes, handing me a letter with a dramatic bow. “This is for you, good sir.”
“What?” I take the letter, looking at it.
“I’m not sure. Lia asked me to give it to you.” I eye her through the glass wall of her office. Looking at me softly, she smiles with a wave.
Isa bids me farewell. She must be reading a medieval book or something. I turn toward Lia’s office, knocking as I enter. Things have felt awkward since dinner. While we’d never said it to anyone, it’s no secret I was dating her son. “Hey, sweetie.”
“Uh, hi.” She tidies up her work space, getting ready to leave for the day. “What’s this?” I ask.
“Are you heading out soon?” she says instead.
“Uh, I can stay if you need help.”
“No. I’ll see you Monday, okay?” I back away, feeling dismissed, but Lia’s voice catches my attention. “We have dinner on the third Sunday of every month. You’re welcome to come anytime, no matter what.”
Even if you don’t take him back.
“Uh, thank you.” I go to clock out and gather my things. Opening the letter, I immediately recognize the handwriting and my stomach twists. I don’t have to do this. I could throw this away and pretend I never got it. I could live my life and start over.
I could do any number of things besides the one thing I know I’m going to do.
Hi Little Fox,
When I planned to write this letter I had so much to say, but I’ve been staring at this blank piece of paper for like hours, and nothing has come to mind. Word vomit it’s going to have to be. I am so sorry. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say because I have tons and I think that’s the problem. I have too much. Some points are the same. Different variations of I love you, I miss you, I am so fucking sorry for how I acted and treated you, the lies I told you, and the awful things I said to you.
I will never be able to say sorry enough.
I’m so tired. Tired of letting grief and pain rule my life. It’s too late now, maybe, but I have to try. There are things I need to work on. I know that. I’ve been putting in that work. Therapy is not kind. It doesn’t let me hide the way I want to. My doctor has a way of digging at a wound and letting it bleed until I learn to survive without stopping the blood flow.
I’m learning.
If you’re reading this it means that either my mom gave you this note after your shift and you opened it immediately—because my little fox is curious by nature, and between being curious or pissed at me I’m really betting on curiosity to win—or you’re home with your husband and thirteen kids and you’re like, oh shit, that letter I got twenty years ago, maybe I should read it. And now you’re reading it like, who the fuck was Jamie?
I hope it’s not that option, but in case it is I’ll just say hi, I’m Jamie. You are the love of my life and I hope you got everything you ever wanted in yours because you deserve only the best of everything.
Even if it’s been twenty years, I’d like to play a little game. I know how much you love games. I don’t think there’ll be a winner or a loser with this one, though. Like you said, you don’t have to have a winner to play a game, but I’m hoping at the end of this, we’ll both win.
Go to the place I rescued you from that awful date with that awful non-cop who fumbled so damn bad I hope he’s miserable for the rest of his life.
Go there.
Please.
I love you.
Setting the letter down, I take a breath and look out the window. I want to resist, to throw it away, to forget I even got it. Instead, I turn my car on because Jamie is right—I’m curious and I love games.
Walking into the restaurant this time of day is weird. They’re just opening, and while the place is reservation only, it’s basically dead. “Excuse me,” a man says. “We don’t have reservations until five. We’ve just opened.”
“Noah.” A woman’s voice floats through the space. It’s the hostess from the night Jamie crashed my terrible date. She glares at her coworker before reaching into her apron and pulling out another white envelope. “Just wait here one moment.”
Disappearing toward the double doors, she leaves us in awkward silence. “Do these pants make my butt look good?” That makes his scowl deepen. “I thought so too.”
After a moment she returns with a bag. “Here you go. Enjoy.” I take the bag and thank her, walking out to find a bench to sit on. It’s quiet out here right now. Being raised in the city there was always constant chaos around me. I really do like this small-town life.
I settle in, opening the envelope as a stupid smile spreads on my face.
Hi,
This one is going to be long so I thought you could use some food. I know you’re probably starving after work. It’s not as good as mine, jarred sauce and all, and even though you probably hate me I would appreciate you still not telling my mother about that. I really fucking would. I’m already in the worst pain of my life, missing you. I don’t need that on top of it. Go ahead and eat. I’m not going anywhere.
Setting down the letter, I open the container, seeing stuffed shells. The memories of the night we made them make my chest ache. Taking the plastic fork, I dig in. It’s not ideal, actually kind of awkward on this bench, but I manage to eat a few before setting it down and grabbing the letter.
Jamie’s right. His is better.
I remember being really little the first time my birth mother told me she hated me. I don’t remember why she said it or even if it was the only time, only that she was screaming about something I’d done. I don’t know. I just remember her saying that and it broke me. I was used to beatings. I was used to the screaming and punishments. That, though, I don’t know. That stuck with me. I could believe that the beatings and punishments were her teaching me. That she was just disciplining me because she wanted me to behave. Hearing she hated me confirmed every fear I’d had.
I was eight when I went into foster care, and for the next eight years I bounced from home to home. Until I met Luci and Xavier. Earlier that day my foster mother broke my wrist. I know she didn’t mean to break it and I didn’t tell her it was. It was so weird because she was violent but even that day she knew she’d gone too far. She grabbed for me and I left the house and ran. I lived a town over so I took the bus here. I ran to the library—it was my safe place. Every day, if I could, I’d escaped and gone there until they closed, and I didn’t know this but Lia had been keeping an eye on me for a while.
On that day, I ran. My wrist was throbbing and I came inside and went straight to the bathroom because, well, I’d peed myself while she was beating me. Didn’t even realize it until I walked into the library. I was also calculating how long it would take to walk home because I was not about to go back on that bus and face that kind of shame. So I stood there, embarrassed as fuck, not knowing what to do. What sixteen-year-old pees their pants? I just wanted to go to my corner and draw until someone kicked me out.
Then the door opened and Xavier walked in with a bag. I was really confused. I’d seen him with his sister, Luci. Oh, I noticed her. It was hard not to. She was beautiful. Curly dark hair that she kept in a messy bun or braids and shimmering brown eyes. She loved art too. She was a way better artist than I am. She loved to paint. Sometimes she would sit at a table across from me and paint. Sometimes she’d catch me staring.
I was in love, or at least ...
I thought I was.
Xavier came into the bathroom and gave me the bag, and I looked inside and found clothes. Lia eventually told me she’d noticed my clothes were dirty whenever I’d come in. She tried to guess my size and kept clothes for me just in case I needed them.
I took them. Back then they had these community showers for anyone to use discreetly. They got rid of them a few years back for safety reasons, but I showered, then changed and walked out. With the adrenaline gone just the pain was left. I walked to my corner, wrist swollen as fuck, and sat down. I tried to draw. Tried harder not to cry.
Finally Lia came over and talked with me.
The rest is history.
I don’t really know why I’m telling you all of that other than to say this. I’ve felt safe and at home with two people in my life.
Lia and you.
You are my safe place. Simple as that. Yet while you’ve been my safe place, I haven’t been yours. That guts me, and I can’t believe I treated you that way. I want to be your safe place too. I don’t want you to feel like you’re walking on eggshells or afraid to tell me things. I need to get better, and since starting online therapy I’ve been putting the work in. I’m not there yet, but I’m going to be. I have to be. For you I will do absolutely anything I have to, to be worthy. I want to give you a soft place to land too.
When you’re done eating shells that are not as good as mine—and even if they are, lie to me because I’m at my breaking point and cannot take any more, and I honestly need this win—when you’re done, go to that heathen you call a best friend.
He has something for you.
I hope.
He could be a dick and not give it to you.
I don’t remember the drive over here or how fast it took my feet to walk up Mark’s driveway. All I want is what Jamie’s left here for me. All I want to know is what it could be and how Mark played a role in this. I knock on the door and Mark opens it, rolling his eyes. “You’re so damn predictable. Really?”
“Give it.” Mark stares at me a moment before turning back inside his home.
“I just want to state for the record how much I hate this.”
Hunter walks into the room, smiling. “He’s here for the letter, isn’t he?”
“No, he’s here to hang out.”
“Give me the letter.”
Mark doesn’t move until Hunter turns and runs back to the kitchen. “Traitor!”
Mark lunges after his boyfriend, grabbing the envelope and trying to wrestle it out of his hands. While Mark is taller, Hunter’s stronger and faster, keeping it out of his reach. Faking him out, he dodges, running around him to give me the letter. “Thank yew.”
“For the record, I’m against anything that happens going forward.”
“Stop making me want to do it more! That’s how we got into this mess.”
Opening the letter, I sit down.
I really hope Mark gives you this. Honestly, everything I have planned hereafter is ruined if he acts like a dick and doesn’t give this to you. That was one of the stipulations in winning you back. Grovel. I had to grovel, Noah. If nothing else tells you how much I love you, know that Mark made me get down on my hands and knees and beg him to let me do this. I may have kissed his shoes. I blacked out, though, so I don’t remember. I only ever want to be on my knees for one person for the rest of my life.
Once I gathered what little dignity I had left, I told him my plan to get you back. Plan sounds calculated but that’s what this is. A plan. A plan to show you just how much I love you, and if me groveling on my hands and knees before Mark doesn’t do the trick, how about this.
The first time I saw you I was already gone. Not love at first sight exactly, but I did recognize something in you. Something that felt so right. Something in your soul that mine needed. I didn’t want that party to happen, but I’m so glad it did.
That first night with you was the first night I started to draw again since Luci died. After she passed, I couldn’t. Art was our thing and it was hard to pick up a pen, pencil, whatever. Even when I wanted to, my mind was blank and I couldn’t draw anything. Once I met you, I couldn’t stop, actually. I just kept picturing your face. Your eyes. The smiles and mischief in your eyes as you looked around my room. I was gone then.
Doomed, actually.
When you called me from Hunter’s phone I’d been lying awake for a while, unable to sleep. Then I heard your voice and it was like everything was okay again. I fell asleep after we hung up. After that I waited every night to be able to talk to you. I’d nap during the day, I wouldn’t smoke, I’d hold off on my pain medicine. Anything so I could be lucid and coherent, so I could talk to you.
The pain was worth it when the reward was you.
Okay, I’m back. I mean, you didn’t know I left but I had to take a break. I’ve cried so much it’s actually embarrassing. My therapist says crying is therapeutic but I don’t know, it feels like ass. My eyes have been permanently swollen. I haven’t slept. I’m tired all the time. I know I’m getting better, but better doesn’t feel better yet. Also, my wrist hurts from writing so much, but I’m almost done. There’s just one more.
Whenever you can.
Come home.
Please.
Even if it’s just one last time.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“This is a bad idea.”
“I know.”
“You’ve already made up your mind.” Looking up, I nod. “If he hurts you again, I’m going to hurt him worse, Noah. I mean that.”
I get up, grabbing Mark in a hug. From beyond him, Hunter watches me. “Thank you for letting me stay here, despite really not wanting to.” That makes Hunter laugh and he joins us. “I’m really sorry, and going forward I will be better about just dropping in.”
“Now, let’s not go too far.” Hunter gives me a hug, and when Mark joins us we stand like that, hugging each other tight. I really do have the best friends, but I meant what I said. We’re all growing up, and I have to give Mark and Hunter space. It’s quiet for a moment while I soak in their warmth.
“I think I’m getting a boner.” They both step back. “What, no threesome?! This is the last time I’m going to be single. Better shoot your shot now. Although, if we can get Jamie in the mix I think that’ll be a very therapeutic bonding orgy. Maybe all that anger between you and Jamie is just sexual frustration.”
“Oh my god, get out.” Mark pushes me toward the door.
“What? What better group activity could we do? It’s a bonding experience!”
“Get the fuck out, Noah.” Hunter pushes me toward the door. “Tell Jamie I said hi.” Shutting the door, I smile and rush to my car.