“I got carried away.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Can we say nothing happened?”
“I think that would be for the best.”
“Thank you, Elinor—I’m sorry. It’s really all my fault.”
“No, it’s mine.”
“How’s that?”
Because I parted my lips... because I wanted—really wanted you to kiss me.If I were Annie, I would say this aloud. And judging from the conflicted look in Edward’s eyes, I am ninety-seven percent sure he would pull me close and kiss me asI have never been kissed before.
But I am Elinor, the responsible one. So I shrug and say,“Maybe we don’t need to assign blame here. Forgive me, but all things considered, I’m just going to end this tour right now. It’s been a pleasure.” I give him a polite smile.
I don’t offer my hand for him to shake. I can’t risk any physical contact, not with the way he’s looking at me. Instead, I give him a brisk head nod and trot away as fast as possible while crossing a sandy beach of sunbathing tourists. I’m headed straight to my office, where I am going to lock the door, eat a gingersnap, and possibly cry my heart out for the second time in twenty-four hours.
***
I hide in my office until I’mabsolutely certain Edward has left the premises. I leave through the lobby in the late afternoon. Annie’s on the piano playing Debussy. Brandon and Pepper play checkers. I wave to them as I walk through, pretending I am in a big rush. I don’t want to talk to anyone right now—except maybe Edward, which makes no sense.
It’s really a good thing that we didn’t kiss. The smart thing—the wise thing. It would have been a better thing if he had never come to visit. I take long strides as I cut across the dining area and then turn up the lane leading home. I still have Bumble Cottage, I remind myself. I have no business feeling sad or confused or wanting anything else. For the past decade, all my efforts, all my plans were devoted to the impossible dream of keeping our home—and at least for now, we won’t be kicked out. I’m annoyed with myself for being so upset by an almost kiss. It was nothing. Literally, nothing happened.
Except it doesn’t feel like nothing.
When I reach my driveway, I notice that someone has pulled back the morning glory from the old mailbox. The sightof the rusty mailbox with the red flag up is salt on my wound. That wasourmailbox.
I can’t explain why I never looked inside to see if Edward got the note. As the weeks passed and I still hadn’t heard from him, I took comfort in not knowing. It became Schroedinger’s mailbox. As long as I never peeked inside, I dwelt in possibility. I couldn’t expect a reply or be disappointed that he didn’t get my letter. The longer I went without looking, the more I didn’t dare. By the next summer, the morning glory had reclaimed the old mailbox.
Now, nearly twenty years later, somebody has purposely cleared the vines away. Was it Edward? I can’t look away. And the cheery red flag is definitely up
I open the flap and gasp with delight. There’s an envelope withEllieon it, and I pull it out. I’m glad he wrote Ellie. The name belongs to these childhood mailbox notes; it feels just right.
I tear it open.
Dear Ellie,
I’d be honored to be your pen pal. I wish I had found this note years ago. But I will do my best to make up for lost time.
The sight of Edward’s tidy print makes my heart trill. I feel giddy–I can’t decide if this emotion comes from the grown up me who almost kissed Edward by the beach or the girl with a crush on The Boy—the one who placed the last letter in the mailbox with her heart in her throat. I read as fast as I can. And then read it again.
It took some getting used to our new home in San Francisco. My mom had purchased a Victorian townhouse in the city center. It’s a beautiful home, but that first summer I found it hard to adjust to San Francisco. I missed thesunshine and my grandpa. It was so foggy and cold that the summer felt more like winter. I love the fog now, but I was used to the dry heat of Sacramento.
My mom changed her mind about the dog she had promised. She claimed there wasn’t room for one in our new home which she was happily decorating. But not long after our move, I found a couple of kittens in a box under a bush at the park. I brought them home with me and asked my mom if she wanted one or two kittens.
She was so impressed with how I pitched it (she often tells this story at dinner parties) that she let me keep both kittens. She named the orange one Col. Mustard and I named the black and white one Jeeves because I thought he looked like a Butler. When I came home after a long day of school, he always greeted me with his outsized purring. I’m not sure how a cat so tiny could purr so loud, but he always did.
By the nameJeeveswas a stick drawing of a kitten with big eyes wearing a tux. Edward wasnotan artist.
Jeeves was the best cat. I hated leaving him behind when I went to college. But I couldn’t separate him from Col. Mustard, and despite her constant complaints about the cats, my mom really was attached to them.
She’s the one who insisted we get Mrs. Peacock a few months after Jeeves died. She is a fluffy gray Persian and an absolute snob.
Jeeves helped me through some lonely months. About the same time we moved away, my grandpa met someone new. Once again he was swept away with his newest romance. He didn’t have the time to visit. Which I get now, but at the time I felt abandoned.
The next year I joined the lacrosse team at school. Ibegan to make friends, and everything became easier. After Grandpa married wife number four, he visited me more often. At least once a month he took me to Sunday brunch. Every once in a while he would check me out of school to play hooky, and we would explore the city together. I have such fond memories of those outings.
What about you? Do you have any pets other than Virgil? Where did you go to school? Did you play any sports? Or were you in the band? What did you want to be when you grew up?
Your Friend,
