Page 51 of Sexting His Son's Ex
He slaps the stack of mail against his other palm, placing the envelopes on the counter. “You know, I think there might be.”
My heart drops into my stomach and I forget how to breathe while I stand over a messy ground riddled with soil. My mouth hangs open. My hands are in the air. Soil is trapped under my nails. I don’t know what to do.
“Well!” He huffs. “I haven’t waited this long for you to freeze up now! Open it!” Jared demands, pushing the envelopes across the counter even though I’m in the back room. “Jovie!”
His booming voice snaps me out of my haze, and I swallow, looking around to see where my feet are.
Under me. Right.
Everything is fine. It’s only one of the biggest—or the biggest—moment of my life. Right now would be a good time for my legs to work.
Jared’s face softens when he finally understands why I’m not moving. He checks his watch for the time and takes off the big hat he wears to protect himself from the sun, then walks towards me, taking my dirty hands in his.
“It’s going to be okay, Kiddo. If it says no, then you apply again. And if that is a no, you apply again. You never stop applying. You never stop trying. It only takes one yes.” He boops my nose and he grins, his rosy plump cheeks nearly taking over his entire face.
“I don’t know if I’m brave enough to look. I’ve waited so long. I sent photos of my best work, and I’ve gotten better since last year, so what if…” I wipe the stray tear that has managed to crawl from my eye. “What if I wasn’t good enough then, but I am now, and it’s all too late?”
“Oh, Kiddo,” he pats my hand with his old, wrinkled one. “It’s never too late. I take that back.”
I frown, not liking the change of direction.
“It’s too late when you’re dead and in the ground. It’s too late if you’re on your death bed, wishing you could have done all the dreams you’ve set out to do. Then, it’s too late. You’re so young. Look what you’ve accomplished. I knew your mother and your grandmother, and they would have been so proud of you. You keep this business up and running. You’re successful. And you don’t need some uppity flower show to tell you anything about your worth. You’re already standing in your worth.”
I smile, giving my favorite mailman a hug. “Thanks, Jared. I really needed to hear that.” And I did. I can’t remember the last time someone who’s a parental figure said anything like that to me. Probably right around my parents died.
“Now, wipe your tears. Head up.” He tilts my chin up. “Shoulders back.” He fixes my posture. “Go open the letter and then we move on.”
“And then, we move on.” I agree with him, blowing out breath. I take a step forward, slow and steady, my legs carrying me to the front desk. “There’s always next year,” I tell myself, my heart slamming against my chest with nerves.
Jared comes around the desk, bouncing on his toes in excitement. “Open it. Go on. Open it.”
I toss the bills to the side, hating that they send me paper statements when I know I sign up for paperless. I’m starting to think the letter isn’t in here with how much slush I have to go through.
It’s the last envelope in the stack.
The bell dings again and Marlowe comes in with our usual coffee orders to have lunch together.
“Jared!” She smiles at him.
I hardly ever see her smile, but everyone loves Jared.
“How are you? How is the missus? I haven’t seen you delivering mail in a few weeks. I’ve been missing you. The other mailman isn’t not as fun.” She shoves a finger in her mouth, pretending to gag.
Jared chuckles. “Aw, my favorite goth missed me? I’m honored.”
“You should be.” She nudges him. “I’ll make your usual when you’re done here unless you don’t drink caffeine anymore.”
He pats his round stomach. “Of course. I need it to finish my route! But not yet. Ms. Morgan got the letter today.”
Marlowe gasps with more excitement than I have ever seen from her. She sets down the drinks. “Theletter?”
“Theletter,” I confirm, holding up the envelope.
“The letter that I wasn’t allowed to even ask about over the last year? The same one?”
I deadpan her with an incredulous look. “Obviously.”
“Well, open it! I’ve waited too long!” Marlowe practically shouts.
