Page 24 of The Christmas Letters
“No! We don’t appreciate this man. We hate him for not calling me.”
“You’re right. We do hate him. And his chocolate lab, too.”
I groan and slump into my couch cushions. “I’m totally pathetic.”
“Pathetic isnota word I would ever use to describe you,” Chloe says. “And I know you felt something real with this guy. It’s okay to be upset about it.”
“But?” I say because there’s totally abutcoming.
“But,” she continues, “it’s definitely time to move on. Deacon says there’s a new hire at the law firm that seems really great. We could do a double date, maybe.”
“Absolutely not,” I say. “I love you both, and I’m so glad you’re happy and having a baby and living in perfect wedded bliss. But I cannot, under any circumstances, allow Deacon Vanderhorst to set me up on double dates. Can you imagine the dinner conversation?”
“He would never do that to you, and you know it,” Chloe says.
“So how do you three know each other?” I ask in a deep voice. “Oh, we go way back. Friends since elementary school, and then there was that wedding that almost happened.’”
“It wouldn’t be that bad,” Chloe says.
I sigh into the phone. “I know. But anyone who knows Deacon from the firmalsoknows Preston. The potential for weirdness is too high.”
Plus, I’m absolutelynotcut out to be an attorney’s wife, even if I won’t admit this part out loud to Chloe.
“I get it,” Chloe concedes. “Okay, so what about the Santa letter guy? Did you ever respond to him?
“TheSanta letter guyis a ten-year-old boy who wrote a letter a billion years ago. It’s a dead end, Chlo. I’m not writing to a stranger.”
“He’s not a ten-year-old boy anymore. He’s a grown man the same age as you who Francie says is worth getting to know,” Chloe argues.
“You talk like Francie is a personal friend and not a complete stranger,” I say.
“She’s not a stranger. She’s been feeding me for years. And what would it truly hurt to write the guy a letter? If anything, it’ll get your mind off the paramedic-who-shall-not-be-named.”
“It just feels stupid,” I argue. “Writing actual letters by hand?”
“I think it’s romantic,” Chloe says emphatically. “And what do you have to lose? The worst thing that could happen is that he doesn’t write you back.”
“Oh, definitely. I would love to have another rejection to add to my collection. This most recent one has been so fun.”
Chloe chuckles. She’s not laughing at me—I know this—but it does feel like she’s making light of something that, in my head, feels a lot bigger. But then, maybe that’s part of the problem. I’m disappointed Drew didn’t reach out because somewhere deep inside, I expected that he would. For better or worse, rejection isn’t something I’m all that familiar with.
The thought makes me itchy. I can’t do anything about genetics. I’m aware that as far as modern standards of beauty go, I got pretty lucky. But it was just that. Luck. I didn’t do anything to earn my looks, and I don’t want to be the kind of person who relies on them. Whoexpectsthings because of them. Whoexpectspeople to always call. Which, come to think of it, might have something to do with why my connection with Drew felt so special. I felt a spark—a connection—before we saw each other face to face.
In that sense, maybe getting to know someone through letters is exactly what I need.
I reach over and grab the lost Santa letter out of my purse and stare at the address on the corner.
I have definitely done crazier things in my life.
“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” Chloe says, breaking the silence that has suddenly filled our phone call. “Your silence is very telling.”
“Itwouldbe a nice distraction. You’re right about that part.”
“Do it!” Chloe practically shouts. “Do it, do it, and then tell me all about it.”
Before I can tell her I’ll at leastthinkabout it, Chloe is ending the call.
“K, gotta go,” she says. “Deacon’s mom will be here any minute to take me to brunch at the club.”
