Chapter One #3
I narrowed my eyes. Her acquiescence was more than a little suspicious.
“I know you don’t want to explain what happened today, but Principal Chambers said it was self-defense,” I said, taking note of the lack of reaction.
Normally, she would’ve tensed up or shrugged this off.
“You don’t have to tell me what happened, and I’m not mad.
I always want you to defend yourself. I’ll punch the little prick myself, if you want. ”
“No, yeah,” she repeated, eyes on the paper. “I won’t do it again. Promise.”
“That’s not—” I scowled. “Phoebe.”
She glanced up. “Huh? Sorry. I was maybe not totally listening,” she said, and to her credit, she sounded genuine. “But, uh, I’ll be on my best behavior from now on.”
Okay, now I really was suspicious. “What’s going on, Phoebe?”
She sprang to her feet, sliding across the wood floor in her socks, and thrust the paper into my hands. “This came.”
A neatly written letter, along with a torn envelope addressed to someone named Catalina Arroyo in Hartford. RETURN TO SENDER was stamped across it in bright red ink. My eyes flicked to the return address.
Our address. As in this apartment.
I double-checked to make sure one of us hadn’t sent the letter. Instead, the name Benji Dexter was scrawled in blocky handwriting.
“What is this?” I asked, turning the envelope over to inspect the back, as if it might hold the answer. Phoebe bounced on her heels, showcasing more life than I’d seen since last year.
“It was written by the dude who lived here before us,” she told me. I lifted my eyes to hers, raising my eyebrows.
“You opened it?”
“Yeah. It was sent to us.”
“It was sent to him.”
“And where is he, Vi? Not here. Fair game.”
The teenage mind was truly a wonder to behold. “Phoebe,” I said slowly, lifting the torn envelope. “This is a felony.”
“Barely,” she replied. I shot an imploring look to the ceiling, wishing my dad would take a break from the afterlife to knock some sense into his youngest daughter. “Vi, you have to read it.”
“What?” I blinked at her. “I’m not reading it.”
“It’s so good, Vi—you have to!”
“It’s not for me! It’s for Catalina!”
“Well, she clearly never got it! Or if she did, she wasn’t interested in whatever this Benji guy had to say,” she said, hopping over to stand at my side. “Read it. Seriously. Read it.”
Despite myself, curiosity burned. Months and months of apathy, of bad moods and rolled eyes, of sitting on the couch when she once would’ve been doing something, everything, anything to fend off boredom—here, suddenly, a spark. All because of a misaddressed letter.
Seeing Phoebe come alive awoke something in me. I would’ve done anything to help that spark ignite into something real.
“Fine,” I relented. Her eyes lit up. “Since you already opened it.”
Unfolding the letter revealed a single page of neat, tightly scrawled handwriting.
Cat,
I’m sorry. I need that said before everything else because I love you and you were right and I will regret letting you walk away for the rest of my life.
I knew I was fucking it up as I was fucking it up.
I remember every second. I’ve been going over it again and again, hating myself for the things I said.
You were right. I pushed you away on purpose.
I’m used to working shit out on my own and not having to explain myself to anyone else, and my issues not affecting anyone but me.
But we were partners. And in hurting myself, I hurt you, and I couldn’t stand it.
I didn’t want to hurt you anymore, so I told you to go instead of asking how you felt about it. I think I was afraid of the answer.
I regretted it during the fight. I regretted it when I told you to go. I regretted it when you walked out the door. And that goddamn message stared back at me, mocking me. At least tomorrow… nothing. Tomorrow wasn’t worth waking up to if you weren’t beside me.
I’m sleepwalking through these days, Cat.
I miss you so much, I’m sick. I can feel my sadness poisoning everyone around me.
I thought leaving you would save us both from the hurt, but this is so much worse.
I can’t imagine a worse life than this. Me without you.
It doesn’t make sense, and I can’t believe I ever thought it would.
I’m so sorry, Cat. I will do anything to make up for what I’ve done. I love you. I love you. I love you. Please come home.
Maybe it’s not fair for me to send this.
Maybe I should leave well enough alone. I hurt you, I hurt me, the end.
I should let things heal. But I want to lay my cards on the table.
I want you to have a beautiful life, Cat.
You deserve it, with or without me. I want you to keep dancing.
I want you to sing while loading the dishwasher.
I want you to pet every dog you pass on the street and cry during happy movies.
Be with someone who will treasure all that you are.
I do. I would. I want to be that person for you, if you’d have me. I’ll do my best to make sure I don’t spiral like that again. I made an appointment with my old therapist. I called my mom. I want to be okay. I won’t make you carry me. I just want to walk beside you.
You’re everything, Cat. I’ll love you forever.
Love,
Benji
“Wow,” I said, scanning the words a second time. “We just read something we weren’t ever supposed to read.”
“I know, right?” Phoebe shuffled her feet, as if physically unable to contain the excitement.
She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face, and despite the federal crime we’d just committed, anger wasn’t an option.
Watching her, a pulse of joy radiated through my chest, so reminiscent of the day she was born that I nearly lost my breath.
Hi, Bumble Bee, I’d whispered to the tiny pink face snuffling against a cocoon of blankets. I can’t believe you’re real.
She was perfect then, and perfect now.
“What do we do with it?” I asked, turning the letter over in my hands. “Take it to the post office? Throw it away?”
“No!” Phoebe moved to snatch the letter, but I whipped it out of her reach. “It’s not our letter to throw away.”
“It’s not our letter to read. This was a mistake.”
Her smile wobbled. Every nerve in my body clenched, desperate to put it back in its place.
“We’ll take it to the post office tomorrow,” I said swiftly. I take it back, I wanted to say. We can do whatever you want, forever. “They must have a current address for Benji or Catalina.”
“If they had a current address,” she replied, unsmiling, “why would they send it here?”
“Good point.” I brushed my thumb over Catalina’s address, noting how Benji wrote it with so much more precision than his own. “Noah knows everyone. And if he used to live across from this guy, he might know where he is now.”
Phoebe perked up. “Can we go ask?”
“Noah’s at work,” I said. “Kind of like I should be.”
She smiled sheepishly. “Oh. Right.”
“You might get to skate through the year, but my boss isn’t so bereavement-friendly. I can’t keep leaving early.”
“Your boss sounds like a bitch.”
“Not the point.”
Phoebe shifted her weight between her feet. “I know. You can go back to work, if you want.”
Her contrition pinched somewhere beneath my ribs. “Also not the point. Today doesn’t count. But this was the twelfth time I’ve had to talk to the principal. That’s a problem, Bee.”
She scrunched up her face. “It’s so not twelve.” She reached for the letter again. This time, I let her take it. “I get it, okay? I’ll be better.”
“I’m not asking you to be better,” I replied. “I’m asking you not to break anyone’s nose on school property.”
She offered a salute and returned to the couch, tossing herself over the side to land with a soft flump, scanning the letter again.
I exhaled, feeling like I’d finished dead last in a marathon.
Maybe somewhere my dad was beaming with pride and giving me a corny thumbs-up—You’re a star, Vi, I knew you could do it!
The glittering fragments of my heart jostled inside my chest as I made my way to my nearly empty bedroom and plopped face down on the mattress.