Page 84 of Returned Mail

Chapter Twenty-Two

Mia

It’s insane the feeling I get every time a new letter arrives.

I can’t even wait to get to my room anymore, so this one I open right in the kitchen.

Mia,

You wrote “your turn” on the back of the picture. That was rude. Effective, but rude.

A laugh bursts out of me. I sink down against the door, smiling so hard my face hurts.

“Oh, you poor thing,” I whisper, and keep reading.

There is something about being seen after the place that nearly undoes me. Like he is still careful with the apartment. Careful with me. Careful with the life he lost and the one I stepped into. I stop breathing for a second mid-letter, wait, he carried my words around for four days? My throat tightens, but I keep reading.

The photo too.

It’s in my notebook.

“Oh.”

The sound is barely there.

I don’t know why that hits harder than it should. Maybe because his notebook is where he keeps things that matter. Maybe because I know he’s carrying me somewhere close, tucked between pages, hidden from everyone else. I keep reading until I see a sentence that is crossed out, not well enough, because I can still see it.

I think I shouldn’t read it, but if he left it there…

Maybe someday we fix that.

Everything in me goes still. I stare at the words until they blur. My eyes are watering, my heart is doing some weird shit in my chest…”Oh”

Write when you can.

And stop insulting your cooking. I’m sure the garlic had it coming.

—George

He wants to stand here with me, or he almost wanted to, or he wanted to and regretted admitting it. I don’t know which version is more dangerous. I sit at the kitchen table with his letter beside me and a blank page in front of me.

George,

For the record, I saw what you crossed out.

You are terrible at hiding things from a woman who has already committed mail crimes.

I grin before I can stop myself.

Also, “effective, but rude” is the nicest compliment I have ever received.

I keep thinking about the window too.

About you standing here before. About me standing here now. About the fact that you almost wrote ‘someday’.

I glance toward the window. The room is dark now, city lights scattered beyond the glass.

I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I’ve imagined it too.