Chapter 46
After delivering letters for a few years now, there are some missives that become so familiar that I don’t even need to read the address they’re going to. Some people like to use the same envelope. Or it’s a distinct style of handwriting.
My grandmother’s letters fall into these categories. I memorized the look, shape, and feel of them long before I got hired at the post office. She tries to send me at least one a month ever since I was old enough to read them. Half the time, they read more like journal entries or life summaries than letters. Recounting the events she deems important that happened between the correspondence. I credit these missives for why my visit to Chandigarh went so smoothly. I felt like I already knew everyone. Because I did. I’d had the stories of their lives sent to me throughout the years by a narrator they might not have known was transcribing their actions.
But Nani is not a sneaky woman. I bet she announced to the family that she was working on a letter for me and to have their accomplishments turned in by a certain date so they wouldn’t miss the Arthur correspondence.
I could make a book of them all. Maybe I will one day.
The Tales of the Anand Family.
Dad would read it at least. Especially because the letters hold tales of my mother when she was a young girl. Nani has no problem blending the present with the past, and through her recollections of Nimisha, I’ve gotten to know the adventurous woman who found her soulmate a world away.
Today, I have another entry. Just the corner of the envelope gives it away. A tan point with a cluster of orange flowers Nani once told me are called palash. Nani has a friend who owns a stationery shop, and she’s been buying these envelopes for the past four years. But even if they were to get discontinued, the sloping slant of her writing would give her away. And even though we have an Anand family group chat on WhatsApp that she regularly sends me GIFs through, I don’t think she’ll ever stop writing letters.
I hide a smile, anticipating tonight, when I’ll get home, settle in my chair, and read the next chapter of the Anand family tale.
Maybe Robin would like to hear what Nani has to say. The video chat didn’t scare her off, so I doubt this will. And I expect to read questions about Robin.
“You ready for the gauntlet?” Gwen calls out the question as she passes my station.
I turn in time to catch her rueful grin.
“Been training all year long,” I say back, and she snorts.
“My freezer is stocked with ice packs.” Lance examines his massive workload. “I couldn’t lift my arms above my shoulders for all of January.”
I know what he means. The time between Thanksgiving and Christmas is our busiest season of the year. Everyone getting presents shipped through the mail all month long, a lot at the last minute and plenty that are arguably items too heavy for one person to handle. And yet we’re expected to. Gwen looks like a slim woman, but ask her to flex those biceps, and you’re in for a treat. Curtis, the man who had my route before he retired, was sixty-five and impressively jacked for his age.
This is why I take my family trip pre-holidays. There’s no time to take off now, and when I get home at night, I’m going to be wiped.
Although I think Robin could bring out a hidden spark of energy in me with the right motivation.
The day passes in a blur of mailboxes and letters and packages on porches and waving at neighbors, but trying not to let them catch me in a conversation. Even if I enjoy hearing about their lives, there’s just no time.
My house is near the end of my route, and even as my endurance flags, the sight of the familiar envelope buoys me.
That is, until I’m slipping it into my mailbox and I notice something off about the address.
My name isn’t on it.
Robin’s is.
Why is Nani writing Robin?
And it’s not even Robin and me. It’s just her.
What does she have to say to Robin alone? Am I not allowed to see what’s written?
I’m not going to open it. For one, that’s illegal. And two, that’s a shitty invasion of privacy.
But I’m definitely going to ask the little mechanic about it.
The mystery buzzes through my mind, easily keeping me alert for the final few streets on my route. Then, I’m back to the post office, loading the outgoing mail on the truck.
Robin usually finishes at the shop around five. I glance at my phone and see it’s just after seven.
She should be home. Is she reading the letter already?
But when I get back to my house, I find the stack of mail I dropped off, including the weird letter, still in the box. Robin, it turns out, is passed out, asleep on the couch in the living room. Lying on her belly, textbook open on the floor, curls damp from a shower spilling over her shoulders.
She’s too adorable to wake up, so I leave the letter sitting on her books and head upstairs for my own shower. After I’m done washing, she’s still asleep, so I start on dinner.
I’m in the middle of defrosting a beef stew I made a few weeks ago when Robin wanders into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“What’s this?” She holds up the letter and blinks at me.
“Nani wrote you.”
“Okay. But why?”
I shrug. “Open it.”
“Did she write you?”
“Not this time.”
“What does this time mean?”
“She sends me letters most months.”
Robin settles at the kitchen table and slips her thumb under the corner of the flap to tear the envelope open.
“That’s pretty cute. That you write to your grandma,” she murmurs, and I try not to look like I’m watching her closely.
She slips the paper out, unfolds it, and starts reading. Silently, to herself.
I frown. “What’s it say?”
Her eyes flick up to mine. “I’m not done reading it.”
“I was going to read mine out loud to you.” I sound grumpy. I know I do. But my body aches from a hard day of deliveries, and my grandmother sent a secret missive to the woman I’m barely hanging on to.
“You said you didn’t get one.”
“I was going to read that one. When I thought it was mine.”
Robin narrows her eyes. “You said you get one every month. I’ve been here for four, and you’ve never read me a letter.”
Has she really been here for four months? Feels like fewer. Also more.
“If I feel like sharing, I will,” she taunts me before going back to reading.
Then, she chuckles.
And snorts.
And covers her mouth with her hand, though it does nothing to hide the wide grin.
“What?” I press as I aggressively poke the block of frozen food with a wooden spoon.
“This is your grandmother on your mom’s side, right? No relation to your father?”
Confusion dips my brows. “Correct.”
Robin’s eyes sparkle with evil mirth. “Do you think they coordinate? Have secret Arthur matchmaking meetings?”
What the hell?
I leave off the food and stalk over to Robin. She tries to jump up from her chair and hold the letter out of my reach, but the attempt is laughable when she’s so much shorter than me. I snatch it despite her giggling protests.
“Hey! That’s my private correspondence.” Robin tries to grab the letter back, but I clutch her tight to my chest and angle my arm away so I can see the words, but she can’t reach it.
Dear Robin Dunn,
I would like to formally introduce myself. My name is Dhruvi Anand. Arthur is my grandson, and he is a fine man. He would make a wonderful husband for the following reasons?—
“Fucking hell,”I mutter, and Robin cackles.
I scan the rest of the letter to discover Nani outlined every positive quality she thinks I possess and a handful I definitely don’t. Then, there’s a detailed history of our family and even...
I groan. “References?”
“I’m calling those.” Robin loops her arms around my waist and hugs me tight, and her laughter rubs her delicious body against mine.
Does my family really think I’m this hopeless? That I need them all to make my case for me?
Don’t get me wrong; if I thought it would work on Robin, I’d let them put on full PowerPoint presentations on the benefits of tying her life to Arthur Kraut.
But I can’t see how this makes me look anything other than pathetic and desperate.
“I didn’t ask her to do this.” I feel the need to assure her.
Robin sighs, the sound happy, and smiles up at me. “I know. But, God, she sounds just like your dad.” There’s a teasing against my lower back, and I realize Robin’s fingers are sneaking under my shirt to caress my bare skin. “I think it’s sweet. How you have family looking out for you. Here and across the world.” She sighs and lets her forehead rest on my chest. “It’s only ever been Mom and me.”
She doesn’t say anything else, and I’m content to wrap her in my arms. We stand that way for a while, hugging in the middle of my kitchen.
And I wonder if Robin would ever be willing to add me to that little list she just made.