Page 40 of Familiar Things New

Dear Andrew,

Every hour of every day, I find myself thinking of you. I think of the care and concern you showed for the poor blue orchid in the conservatory. I think of the kindness and patience you showed toward me when teaching me how to work your camera. I think of the secret looks we shared, each one sending my heart aflutter, not only because I found you captivating, but because with each clandestine smile, you were proving to me that I was not alone. Until we met, Andrew, I thought that I’d never meet another man like me. And so, I had taken my inclinations and had buried them so that I couldn’t be tortured by my wanting anymore. But then, when our fingers brushed back in the conservatory, that light touch coupled with the pink hue that had spread across your cheeks unearthed them. And I have not managed to rebury them since.

I like you, Andrew. I like you, and I miss you. And I know you like me, too. But even so, even if we like each other, we cannot be together, for if you were to ever learn the type of man I am, I fear you wouldn’t want me anymore. I can scarcely stand the fact that I have finally become the man I’ve always wanted to be, the man I always knew myself to be, and yet, it might not be enough. I cannot seem to force myself to take a chance to start something with you, something I know we both want, because I cannot shake the worry that it would be too great of a risk.

Am I being prudent? Or foolish?

Or perhaps I am simply being a coward.

Your friend,

Edwin

Edwin set his pen aside and buried his head in his hands. He’d hoped (stupidly, it seemed) that writing such a painfully honest letter would help him feel better. But he was still left with the same lingering melancholy, the same longing he felt for Andrew sitting heavy on his chest and shoulders and every Goddamned part of his body, making him feel tired and weak.

Heaving a weary sigh, Edwin folded the letter and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his olive-colored suit jacket. Then, he took a second sheet of paper from the small stack on the upper right-hand corner of the desk and prepared to write again, this time set on penning a letter he could actually stand to send.

Before Edwin could begin, Agnes entered the room.

“A letter came for you,” she said, walking over to him.

Edwin turned around to face her, and a smile stretched across his face the moment he saw her outfit. Agnes was wearing a pretty champagne-colored tea gown, the train of which had lovely pink flowers printed on the silky fabric. Edwin had seen her working on the piece over the last few weeks; she’d said that she wanted to make it so that she might have something a little more beautiful to wear around the house on occasion, especially when “unexpected visitors” came by. Edwin knew she must have meant William, though of course she’d never admit it. Still, how nice it was that she had finally finished her newest creation, made with leftover material from some of her orders. Edwin would have to invite William to come by sometime soon so that she could wear it for him.

Agnes must have realized what Edwin was smiling about because she stopped halfway across the room and spun in a full circle, her smile becoming even more exaggerated as she completed her rotation.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“Impressive work,” Edwin commended, purposefully holding back on his compliment a little.

Agnes pursed her lips and leveled a look. Holding up the envelope, she raised her eyebrows and said, “You’ll have to do better than that if you want your letter.”

Edwin let out a fast breath through his nose. “Fine. You look radiant,” he said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. With a smirk, he added, “William will love it.”

Wrinkling her nose, Agnes walked over to him and rapped him on the head with the letter. He snatched it from her, chuckling.

“Impertinent brat, that’s what you are,” she scolded in a playful tone.

Edwin pretended to ignore her as he adjusted in his chair and turned back to face the desk. Agnes let out a sigh and walked over to the sofa while Edwin found the letter opener. With one fast swipe, he cut the wax seal on the back without even bothering to first check the return address. But the moment the seal was broken, his eyes wandered to the name of the sender.

Andrew Thompson.

Edwin’s breath caught. He tried to maintain a neutral expression as he took the letter in his hand and prepared to unfold it, though he could feel every ounce of blood leaving his face, equal parts excitement and fear coming over him.

Andrew had written him first.

Edwin began to read. Within the first four words, he had to purse his lips slightly, pressing his tongue against his teeth and biting the tip to try to conceal his sudden elation, which was threatening to burst out of him in the form of a small, happy scream.

My Dearest Friend Edwin,

I hope this letter finds you. I’m writing to you firstly because I have been missing your company and conversation, and secondly because I have some wonderful news to share. Our mutual friend William has recently found an opportunity for me to provide my photography services for a large event in New York City. His extended family (whose surname is also Whitney) is hosting a winter party for some of the city’s socialites, and William kindly suggested my services to them. Miraculously, they were interested in hiring me. William has even offered to pay for my train fare. I believe he will be traveling for the event as well. I find myself feeling almost overwhelmingly honored and excited. Admittedly, though, I cannot help but worry that I might find an event so extravagant to be too intimidating, and, consequently, that my clumsiness might lead me to make some sort of mistake, socially or professionally.

If only I had some help.

Write soon. I long to hear about how things have progressed at the conservatory. I am particularly interested in learning about the status of the lovely blue orchid.

With Kindest Regards,

Andrew