“He sent her another charm in his first letter.” Dad asks me, “Did he send you another one in yesterday’s letter?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Did you do more than dance with him, Mattie?” The tone of Bobby’s voice deserves a punch in the throat. “Or did you promise him—”
“Do not finish that sentence you, you jerk.” I slam the pan onto the stove and drop the spatula into the sink. “Make your own breakfast, dickface.”
I stomp through the archway that leads to the living room as Bobby adds loudly, “See? You’re already in too deep with that guy. You’re all bent out of shape because I speak the truth and you don’t want to hear it.”
Stepping back into the kitchen, I can’t decide what to do with my hands—slap Bobby in the face or shove them into my sweatpants pockets. I choose the second one. “How would you feel if I told you someone was too good for you? Huh?” I stare at my brother, hoping he feels the tiniest bit bad about what he said. So far, he’s not giving anything away. “I know you liked one of the bridesmaids.” I’m pretty sure no one else noticed he was drooling over Callie. “Did I tell you she was too good for you? No. And do you want to know why?”
He shakes his head.
Clearing my throat, I continue. “I would never say something like that to you because I happen to think you’re a catch, Bobby. You’re sweet, kind—or at least I thought you were—and you work hard. If you ever decide to have kids, you’ll be a great dad.” I’m literally going to cry now. I turn and make a beeline for the stairs.
“I think you’re all those things too, Mattie.” I don’t look back. “It’s just that all of those things aren’t good enough for someone like Alec Marchesani.”
I take two steps up as he adds, “You’re a catch too, Mattie. Just catch someone in your own lane. You need to take my word for it. I’m not good enough for the likes of Callie McPherson; therefore, I’ll stay in my lane too.”
With my feet planted on the steps, I wait. I want to eavesdrop on my family members because I know them. Bobby isn’t done. “You think she told anyone else about the letters, Dad?”
I can’t make out what my father’s response is because my butt-head brother won’t shut his pie hole.
“Did she tell Aunt Annabelle? Because if she did, everyone will know. She can’t keep her mouth shut. Mattie doesn’t need to be humiliated at yet another family gathering, Dad.”
I don’t wait to hear what my father says in response. I race up the steps and into my bedroom, slamming the door as I go. The first thing I spot is the letter I spent several hours crafting on my desk. I reach for it, and before I can think, I’ve got it crumpled up into a ball. After shoving the thing into the trash can, I drop onto my bed face-first and let the tears go.
* * *
“Muffin?”
There’s a hand on my shoulder jostling me.
“Huh?” I wipe the drool from my mouth. I must have fallen asleep. I wonder what time it is. I’ve got to work at four tonight. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s just after one in the afternoon.
He sits on the edge of my bed, rubs his face with his hands, and sighs. I know what that means. It’s his tell. We’re about to have a heart-to-heart. “What’s wrong, Dad?”
“I want to talk about what your brother said earlier.”
Rolling over, I plant my face into my pillow. It’s still damp from my tears. “I’m fine.” It’s muffled from the pillow, but I’m sure he can figure it out.
“No, I had a long talk with him after you stomped up here.”
I didn’t stomp.
Much.
“He was wrong, and I told him so.”
No, Bobby wasn’t wrong. After my long cry, I concluded, while it hurt to hear from someone who’s supposed to love me, I’m never going to be good enough for the man of my dreams. Bobby spoke the truth. I was getting my hopes up. I mean, if you’d read the letter from Alec, you’d have gotten your hopes up too. Except, after rereading it again, I can see I was romanticizing his words.
Sue me.
Here, read it for yourself. You’ll see what I mean.
September 13th
Dear Matilda,
