You’ve replied to a couple of my emails since I sent my first letter and I’m glad they haven’t started to annoy you yet. I wish I could send you pictures of the twins, but know that I still talk to them about you while you can’t FaceTime them. They’re as happy, healthy, and lovely as always, and I know they can’t wait to see you again.
Spero che tu faccia sogni d’oro, Anya.
Yours,
Matteo
Dear Matteo,
Horses are bigger than I thought. These ones are very well trained, though. No one’s hair has been eaten.
Speaking of eating, I don’t think I’ll have a strict meal plan anymore. Tiffany has been encouraging me to plan a menu with Grigory each week of different things I’d like to have for those seven days. That way I still don’t have to decide on the spot what to eat, there’s some structure that I’ll enjoy, but I also get more variety.
I don’t know what to say about you being willing to eat the same thing every week with me. I can’t read that part of your letter without tearing up. I don’t think you even realize how nice of a gesture that is. But hopefully we have many years of trying different food ahead of us. I can’t wait to have your/Martha’s chicken parm.
Also, I think I’ve made a friend. Her name is Rory, and she’s much braver than me. She talks to everyone and everyone seems to like her positive attitude. Very bad things happened to her not so long ago, and she hasn’t curled into herself.
Part of me is envious of her coping, and the other part of me knows she wouldn’t be here if she was okay. Everyone here has different personalities and dispositions. Some are more shy and solemn, some are depressed, some seem angry, and some use humor to hide behind pain. I’m not sure where I fit amongst the bunch, but I also don’t feel out of place.
I think I might miss some of the aspects of being here when it’s time for me to go, but I also can’t wait to be home. I know I shouldn’t miss my routines so much, but sometimes I do. Dr. Tiffany says that I’m an introvert, and that not all my longing for home has to do with my trauma. She says that I just like coziness, and that it isn’t wrong or bad to enjoy my home space.
We’re working on a balance for the future. Leaving the house more, but not being afraid to stay in on the weekend if I want. Recognizing that even a walk around the beach and then returning home after is still progress, and that I don’t need to make giant leaps to see progress. She knows I’m getting impatient with myself, and she says that’s okay too.
You said the twins are well, how about the rest of your family? Have you been spending time with them? Dad hasbeen writing to me, and his letters come faster since he’s so close. Aunt Irina, too. Her letters are nice. She’s so playful and funny, and I hope she never changes.
I don’t know what else to write today, but I’ve been enjoying your text-emails. My favorite were the three you sent about stubbing your toe. Some people may call that modern day poetry, you know?
Talk soon, thank you for writing.
Yours,
Anya
Dear Anya,
You never need to thank me for writing. Honestly, I should be thanking you for letting me. You’re the one putting up with emails about stubbed toes, after all. And what would that poem even look like?
“You have no idea how loud I just yelled?—
my pinky toe smashed into the coffee table.
Solid oak against flesh and bone, Anya.
Shhhhhoot, it hurts.
I’m not supposed to curse in these.”
Ahhh, yes. A modern masterpiece. You’re cheeky, you know that? You were messing with me with that comment, weren’t you? Did you think I would spend twenty minutes turning the emails into a little poem for you?
Well, it sucks, so you’re welcome.
I almost didn’t expect your sassier side to come out in these letters. I swear, every time you’ve made a clever comment or comeback, you seem surprised by yourself. I thought you’d been letting them slip out by accident, but written down? That means you could have taken the words back, but you chose not to. I will take any more sass you have to offer, meraviglia.
I love to see it.
I’m glad to hear you think you’ve made a friend. You probably have. I bet Rory is already calling you her bestie in her head, and is just giving you time to come around to the idea. She’d be lucky to have you. I can personally attest to the fact that you’re a great friend.
Also, I’m glad to hear you’re feeling up to branching out with food. Food is one of my favorite parts of life, and I eat far too much of it. Stealing pieces off of my family’s plates has become a large part of my personality, I’m afraid. Far warning, I might do it to you in the future. It’s a reflex. Simply jab me with your fork and I won’t do it again.
