Page 46 of Hate Mail

Before I know it, I’ve spent a couple of hours sitting on the floor and reading old letters. I have them scattered around me, grouped by different eras. There are the junior high letters, the high school and the college letters, and then there are the letters we wrote when my career was just starting and Luca was out of the military and going to college. I notice that his handwriting evolved from the first letter he sent. His first letter was hard to decipher, but after that, his handwriting gradually became neater and easier to read.

Dear Naomi,

Of all the people I’ve ever met, the ones in Georgia are the nicest. Anywhere else, when I’m walking into a store at the same time as someone else, the closest thing I get to a greeting is an impatient grunt as they’re forced by society’s expectations to hold the door open for me. But it’s not like that in Georgia. Out here, it’s always a friendly smile and a happy greeting, and sometimes they run ahead just to hold the door open. It’s like everyone you meet in Georgia is a friend by default.

I would invite you to come see for yourself, but I imagine even the friendly folks in Georgia have standards, and they’d know better than to smile at someone like you. In fact, you’d probably put the whole state in a bad mood, and no one out here would ever smile again.

Love,

Luca

Dear Luca,

I find it a little hard to believe that anyone would be so polite to you. You must be really good at faking your personality. Besides, you won’t know friendly until you’ve been to Oklahoma. The people out here are nicer than anyone else on earth.

Love,

Naomi

Dear Naomi,

Is that an invitation to come to Oklahoma? Because I kind of feel like it’s an invitation. Regardless, the people in Oklahoma are only nice to each other because they’re afraid of being shunned at the next family reunion. And I’m not really sure how you would know that they’re nicer than anyone else on earth when you’ve never been out of the state. I’ve been all over the country, and I can guarantee you, the people in Georgia are the nicest.

Love,

Luca

Dear Luca,

Why would I have a reason to leave Oklahoma when everyone is so nice here? You’ve never been to my state, so I don’t think you can make that guarantee. I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree.

Love,

Naomi

Dear Naomi,

I refuse to agree to disagree. In fact, I plan to argue with you about this until you at least leave your state. Maybe then I’ll agree that you have a valid argument. Next month, I’m going to Dallas for a few weeks, so I won’t be able to write for a little bit. You’re at the University of Oklahoma, right? I think Dallas is only three hours away.

Love,

Luca

I stare at his letter, trying to remember what I wrote back. I can’t figure out what was going through my head when I got that letter, because it’s not until now, years later, that I realize he was trying to open the door to us meeting while he was in Texas. I didn’t receive another letter from him until he was back in Georgia, and by then, the conversation had taken a different route.

Surrounded by his letters, I imagine how things might have turned out differently if I had suggested he come visit me, or if I had taken the plunge and went to Dallas for the weekend. I wonder if we would have gotten along in real life. Maybe it would have been awkward, and even though we had been writing to each other for years, we would have found that we had nothing to say to each other when we weren’t hiding behind a piece of paper and a pen.

Or maybe it would have been like I sometimes imagined it being. We might have said mean things to each other like we did in our letters, but I would know that he didn’t really mean it. There were times when I thought that meeting up with him would ruin what we shared with our letters. During the two years that I didn’t hear from him, the idea that what we had might change stopped mattering. If what we had was coming to an end regardless, then maybe meeting him in person could have saved it. Maybe it would have made it better.

There’s a knot in my throat as I think about what might have been. I feel silly for mourning something that never existed, but reading these letters again reminds me that itcould haveexisted, and my reluctance for change was the only thing standing in the way.

I gather up all of the Georgia letters that I set aside, and slide them back into the box. It doesn’t feel right to show these to Anne anymore.

My phone buzzes with a notification. A food order I forgot I placed was just dropped off at the security desk downstairs. I slip on my shoes and jog downstairs to get it. As I’m coming out of the stairwell, a family catches my eye outside the window. I have to do a double-take. No, not a family. It’s Caterpillar Kid and a woman who I assume must be her mother. Next to her is Jake. I stop and watch them for a minute. Caterpillar Kid is holding some kind of bug and showing it to Jake. I’m sure it’s another fuzzy caterpillar but from this distance I can’t see what it is. Jake is holding a plastic bag in one hand. The kid hands the bug to him and he takes it in his other hand and laughs. The sound of their voices and laughter is muffled through the window, but it still makes me smile. He says something that makes the kid laugh too. He turns and shows the bug to the woman. She backs away a step, squealing. He tells her something that I can’t hear from inside the building and then she laughs.

It strikes me how the three of them look like they could be a family, standing out there and laughing together. I know I shouldn’t feel jealous, but I do. I watch them for another minute. I wonder if he’s ever invited this woman out to dinner or taken her on a spontaneous breakfast date. I wonder if she’s been to the aquarium. She’s pretty. I wouldn’t blame him. But he’s not focusing on her. He’s talking to the kid, and every once in a while, the two of them exchange a few words. She smiles at him and moves her hair away from her eyes. I’m sure she has a huge crush on him. Maybe they’re not dating, but one thing is for sure: this guy could have any woman he wants.

He finally turns away from them and heads for the front door. Realizing that I’m about to be caught spying on him, I panic. I hit the button to open the elevator, then quickly duck inside and hit the ‘close doors’ button a few times until it cooperates. I’m lucky that Joel isn’t at his desk to witness me embarrassing myself. I wait, holding my breath, and then I realize my mistake. He’s not afraid to take the elevator like I am. I also haven’t hit the button for my floor, so the elevator is just sitting here on the first floor, waiting for the next person to open the door. Just as that realization dawns on me, the doors slide open. Jake’s eyebrows shoot up when he sees me.

---