17
“But do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?” —Pride I like Lettie. When she left me on the riverwalk, I thought that might be the last I saw of her. I cannot describe it. I’ve always considered the term broken heart—extreme hyperbole. I was stunned by the real physical pain I felt as she walked away. The dull ache that is now my constant companion. I’ve known Lettie for a few months. How is it possible that I miss her?
This has been a summer of uncomfortable self-reflection. I see myself more clearly, and it’s obvious I have room to improve. Lettie was wrong about some critical details, but she was also not wrong. I can be proud and self-absorbed. I can be smug and full of myself. I cringe whenever I think of how I flat out told Lettie she was wrong on our first date, followed by my little temper tantrum, leaving the party in a huff. And I do throw my money around to get my way. None of this is who I want to be.
I was too proud to let her believe the lies Whittaker told her. So, after talking it over with Georgie and getting her permission, I sent that email. I didn’t expect a reply, but I was secretly hoping. The day I received the chatty firefly email, I was so excited I wanted to book a flight to Iowa and see her. But before I did anything drastic, I called my sister.
“Chill! Liam. Chill.” Georgie chastised me. “Don’t visit her yet. Keep emailing. Take advantage of this time to get to know her.”
“I already know her. That’s why I like her.”
“Then give her the chance to get to know you. This is the time to take things slow. Won’t she be coming to Charlie’s wedding in December?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect, that gives you four months to charm her, to woo her.”
“But how?”
“Be yourself. And don’t try too hard.”
“I thought you said be myself.”
Georgie’s laugh rings through my phone. “That’s it exactly. Make fun of yourself; you weren’t always so serious.”
I sigh. I feel like I’ve become unbearably boring since my father’s death. “Okay, I’ll take your advice. Thanks for taking my call, Georgie.”
“Call me day or night. Especially for stuff like this. I can’t say how chuffed I am to have the wunderkind asking the screwup for advice.”
“Don’t call yourself a screwup, Georgie. Not even joking.”
My sister smiles, her eyes softening with affection. Georgie and I are Facetiming. It’s night for me and early morning for her. “Trust me, Liam, if you take it slow and be yourself, you’ll win her over.”
***
Georgie is completely team Lettie, which I don’t fully understand but appreciate. My mom has a grudge against Lettie. I tried to downplay what happened on the riverwalk. To protect Lettie, I didn’t tell my mom the whole story. I just said Lettie had to move because of a job. But it’s been hard to hide my dark mood. And I know my mom blames her.
“Any girl who doesn’t value you is not worth your time,” she has told me time and time again. I appreciate my mom’s blind loyalty, but I disagree, strongly. Lettie’s worth it.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Fitz Sends His Love
Lettie,
Fitz is feeling fabulous, especially since you remembered to ask after him. He saw three squirrels and a possum on his walk this morning and almost caught a rabbit. All in all, it has been a triumph of a day. However, he would like you to know that he has an itch behind his right ear that only you can scratch properly. He suggests you visit soon.
You might be interested to know that I attended a pool party at my aunt’s home. Your “ex” Colin was there. He asked about you. As well as what everything in the house costs.
I pause before typing the next line. I shake my head, recalling that party. Colin came up to me immediately, handing me a beer. He put his arm around me like we were old friends. “Dude, how are you? Word on the street is that things didn’t work out with that hot dish, Lettie.” Everything about this comment made me want to punch him. “Tough luck, bro. She played us both.” I couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
It’s scorching here. My mom has fled to Cornwall, where my sister has a cottage. The plan is to spend Christmas in England like we did last year. Yesterday, I went to a meeting to help plan the Pumpkin Hunt and Priscilla asked me for your vegan chili recipe.
Priscilla seemed to think Lettie and I were dating, and I didn’t feel the need to set her straight. She lamented losing her best employee and begged that I would use my influence to get her to move back to Sacramento. She even went so far as to suggest I ask Lettie to move in with me. Amusing as it was, Lettie would probably find that conversation insulting. I do not include it in my note, which is probably already too long. I write:
I wish you could be here for the pumpkin party.
Too much. I delete it. It’s a challenge being chill. I use Fitz to say all the things I don’t dare.
What do you do for fun in Ames? Fitz would like to visit. Are there squirrels to chase?
Yours with dreams of cornfields,
Liam and Fitz
We sometimes go a day or two between emails, but I definitely have my email alerts turned on.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Give my love to Fitz
Liam,
Going to England for Christmas sounds so very posh. All your efforts to convince me you are a normal guy were decimated with that one confession. Who am I kidding? After giving me your embroidered handkerchief, you can never convince me that you are one of us.
Still, Christmas in England sounds almost as fun as the Benson Family Christmas, which is basically a pajama party from Christmas Eve to the morning after Boxing Day. In the days leading up to Christmas, we bake and cook to have piles of food to sustain us. And then, for three days, we hole up in our house and don’t go anywhere. We play games and watch movies. It’s the absolute best!
You asked what we do for fun here? Yesterday, we drove out of the city to watch a thunderstorm. And when I say drive out of town, I mean just a few miles. Whenever we see a big storm coming in, we drive to a nearby cornfield—there are plenty of them around. We watch the clouds darken. I love a good thunderstorm. There’s this feeling of anticipation. The air feels electric, the stalks of corn sway in the wind, while the storm whips the golden corn tassels. The first crack of lightning splits the sky, followed by the low growl of thunder. We sit on the hood of the car and enjoy nature’s show. We count the seconds between the lightning and the thunder to measure our distance from the storm until the thunder draws too close. The rain usually starts as we drive home. There’s nothing like a good thunderstorm to make one grateful to be alive.
What do you do for fun in Sacramento?
Yours with rain-drenched hair,
Lettie
P.S. Tell Fitz he’s a good boy, and I’m sorry, it will be a few months before I can see him again.
I read the letter more than once and the subject line and postscript repeatedly. Is Lettie using Fitz in these emails the same way I am? Does she say to Fitz what she doesn’t say to me? Or is she just sending love to my dog? No matter, I live for her emails. People are noticing my improved mood.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Fun is not my middle name
Lettie,
After considering your question for several days, I came to a terrible conclusion. One I’m loathe to share with you because I really want to earn your good opinion. But the sad truth is:
Prepare yourself for the worst!
Drum roll!
I am not a fun person. To show you just how unfun I am, I’ve made a list of the top ten things I do for fun, complete with asterisks for footnotes. (Footnotes are definitely fun, right?)
Things I do for fun:
Walk with Fitz
Facetime my sister
Row in a pair with Charlie*
Lift weights
Run/hike
Hang out with my friends—even if this often leaves me feeling like a third wheel.**
Read history books***
Watch Netflix (so original)
Baking (my repertoire includes more than macarons)
Reading your emails
I’m embarrassed to share this list with you since you are the definition of fun. And I desperately want to impress you. But also, it would not be right to mislead you into thinking I live a fun and exciting life. But perhaps you could rehabilitate me.
Yours with only a little fun,
Liam
*I love rowing so much that I could devote a whole letter to this topic. But I tend to get carried away when talking about rowing and become a bit of a bore. I might not be fun, but I try not to be boring.
**This sounds more unfun than it is because Charlie and Jane are always a good time.
***I would much prefer to read one of your books if you would ever send me a manuscript. Hint Hint.
From: [email protected]
Subject: SOS!
Liam,
Unfortunately, I don’t have time to fully reply to your charming letter. For now, let me assure you that you might not be fun. But you’re definitely funny. Great letter.
Now to the urgent matter at hand, my mom fancies herself a matchmaker. The problem is the pool of men she has to choose from is limited to those she works with in the community theater. Tonight, I’m supposed to go out with Victor, a 40-year-old man who randomly quotes Shakespeare and prefers to wear a jabot* instead of a tie. Please send me your best excuses.
Yours with Desperation,
Lettie.
*A lacy collar like the one Captain Hook wears.**
**I think footnotes are fun too! Even my footnotes have footnotes ?
From: [email protected]
Subject: Reply to: SOS!
Easy Peasy. Say your boyfriend doesn’t approve. I’m happy to stand in as your boyfriend.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Reply to: SOS!
That is a brilliant idea until my mom Googles you. Her brain would explode with happiness and dollar signs. I can’t do that to you. She’d start harassing you with casual photos of me and a copy of my resume. Please send a practical solution ASAP.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Reply to: SOS!
I’m good with your mom knowing about me. Who does she think you’re emailing at 2 a.m.?
From: [email protected]
Subject: Reply to: SOS!
She thinks I’m writing a book.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Reply to: SOS!
That reminds me, you still haven’t let me read your book. I mean it when I say I want to read it. But seriously, is our correspondence taking away from your precious writing time?
Yours with deep regret for even asking because I’d be crushed if you stopped writing,
Liam
From: [email protected]
Subject: Reply to: SOS!
These emails are helping my career. They count as research.
With Deepest Gratitude,
Lettie
From: [email protected]
Subject: Reply to: SOS!
Sweet Lettie,
Hmm... let’s connect the dots. You say my emails qualify as research for your writing. And you happen to write romance. Please expand on this?
With high hopes,
Liam
From: [email protected]
Subject: Reply to: SOS!
I’ve already said too much. And I still don’t have an excuse to get out of this date. What, in your opinion, is the best method to scare a guy off?
From: [email protected]
Subject: Reply to: SOS!
You’re asking ME this? Haven’t you been using some playbook for this very purpose since we first met? The sad truth is: it’s a hopeless case. You did everything but slap my face, and you still haven’t scared me away.
I eagerly await your next email,
Liam
From: [email protected]
Subject: Reply to: SOS!
Not every guy is so charmingly obstinate.
She called me charming. There will be no sleep for me tonight!
From: [email protected]
Subject: What not to do
Lettie,
I realize I’ve failed you in your time of need by not coming up with a good excuse to get you out of this blind date. The offer still stands to say your boyfriend objects. I’d be happy to fly in and make an appearance. However, I suspect you would call that option too drastic. So, I’m going to tell you what not to do.
Don’t wear that red dress you wore to the engagement party.
Don’t laugh and spit cookie crumbs.
Don’t fiercely debate your opinion on anything.
Don’t make witty comebacks.
Try not to be sassy—ever.
Don’t sing “Crazy for You” and make eye contact.
Don’t step on his toes while dancing.
Don’t show him the heart you embroidered on the back pocket of your jean shorts.
Don’t wear your hair up or down or in a messy bun.
Absolutely, do NOT kiss him.
If you do any of the above, it’s highly likely that the guy will think about you all the time, day and night.
Yours,
Liam
P.S. Don’t ask about his dog.
P.P.S. Fitz misses you.