Page 71 of Returned Mail

There's a huge difference in that.

His next reply comes thirteen days later. Which is not quickly enough for my sanity. I tell myself many things, but none of them stop me from waiting and wanting…

When the envelope finally appears, I stand in the lobby and smile so hard I immediately look around to make sure no one saw me. Then I take the stairs two at a time.

Inside the loft, I open it at the kitchen counter and start reading it. He's glad we're writing back and forth, which is nice.

Sergeant Barkley appreciates your endorsement, but I refuse to tell him. His ego is bad enough.

The window sticking is not user error. It's structural stubbornness. Lift first, then pull. If that fails, threaten it. That worked for me twice.

I lean against the counter, smiling, right until the letter shifts…

I know I don't know anything about you.

That's probably for the best.

A line is crossed out beneath it, so I can't read the whole thing, but I can manage at least one word: “not”.

It makes my pulse trip a little…

I mean, it's strange. You're in that apartment. You've read things I wrote when I thought no one was listening. You know pieces of me I didn't hand to you directly.

And I know almost nothing about you except that you kept the letters when someone else told you to throw them away.

That says something.

I press the letter flat against the counter.

My throat tightens a little. “This is— I don’t—”, I try to say something to myself, but there’s nothing. He sees what I did wrong, and yet somehow he also sees something good inside it.

So tell me one thing. Something small.

Nothing heavy.

Favorite bad dinner when you're too tired to cook.

That pulls a laugh out of me… Okay, this is getting good now.

I answer that night.

George,

Crackers while standing in the kitchen.

Yep, that’s it, only crackers… The fancy ones you put in a charcuterie board. Well, sometimes with cheese or cream cheese if I’m feeling like a woman with actual life goals.

Please don't judge me. I already judge myself enough for both of us.

Your turn. Favorite bad dinner.

His reply arrives almost two weeks later.

Peanut butter on a spoon.

Not proud of it, but not ashamed either.

I laugh so hard I have to sit down. I obviously reply immediately, because I know it will take a long time to hear back from him.