Page 114 of More Than Pen Pals

“That makes sense,” Mom says, “considering your names can go either way. But from the way you said that, you figured it out at some point.”

“I didn’t, but she did.”

Mom’s eyebrows raise. “I see.”

“About six months after we started writing, I finally sent her a photo. It was a family photo.”

“I remember it.”

I nod. “And then she knew. The girls were way too young to have been me.”

“But how did you not know from her pictures?”

“She has a twin brother, Shannon. Both of them were in every picture she sent. I thought the boy was Les and the girl was Shannon.”

“Why did she decide to not tell you the truth?”

“She was afraid I’d stop writing to her if I knew she was a girl, and by then we were growing attached to each other.”

Mom gives me a probing look and I try not to squirm under her gaze. “Do you think you would’ve kept writing?” Her calm voice and demeanor are unsettling. I expected her to be livid by now.

“Maybe, but I can’t say for sure.”

“Believe it or not, I’m glad she didn’t tell you the truth. I’m certain ten-year-old Ashley wouldn’t have continued writing to a girl, at least not for long. You wouldn’t have been able to keep it from Randall, and he would’ve teased you mercilessly. But you needed that pen pal.” She reaches over and puts her hand on top of mine, which startles me.

“You’re not like your siblings, Ashley. You don’t wear your heart on your sleeve, yet you feel things more deeply than any of them. They’re impulsive, but you think everything through from every angle before you act. You needed someone to talk to that understood you. I was surprised you wrote to Les for as long as you did, but I wasn’t about to stop you, because I could see how much it meant to you.”

Tears prick my eyes. “You’re not mad at her?”

“Mad about something a ten-year-old did fifteen years ago that probably did you more good than harm? No.” She finally removes her hand, sits back in her chair, and takes a sip of her drink. “Tell me how you met up with her again.”

I describe our chance meeting at Sapori D’Italia but stop before telling her how I responded to discovering my pen pal was not a boy.

“You were angry, weren’t you?”

I look at the fireplace instead of at her. “I might have stormed out of the restaurant.”

“I see why you’d be upset with her,” Mom says, “but you’re obviously not anymore. How did that happen?”

“Her friend tricked us into meeting each other for dinner that night. Leslie explained the situation, I forgave her, and we started catching up on the past fifteen years of our lives. Things kind of went from there. We’ve had dinner a couple more times, and we’re partnered on a work project.” She doesn’t need to know all the highs and lows of the last ten days.

“You said earlier that it’s complicated. Is that because you work together?”

“Not really. It’s because her boyfriend of several years broke up with her a few weeks ago when she moved here. She needs to get over that before we can date. But I don’t want to date anyone else—not even fake date them.”

“I wish you had told me this last week.”

“I only ran into her the day before our lunch. I wouldn’t have known what to tell you.” Not that I would’ve told her. Who could’ve predicted she’d respond this way?

“So you really like her?”

I can’t stop the smile—nor the blush—from spreading across my face. “I do.”

Mom beams at me. “She makes you happy?”

“More than I’ve ever been.”

My mother, whom I’ve seen cry exactly once in my lifetime, wipes a tear from her cheek. Then she puts her hand on mine again. “I’m glad you’ve found someone, Ashley. I can tell from the look on your face that you truly care for this woman.”

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