Page 37 of The Christmas Letters
Chloe:I even found the Barbie with curly hair.
Tess:You are amazing. Send me your receipts, and I’ll get Mrs. Greenly to cut you a check.
I haven’t loved the soliciting for donations part of running the toy drive, but I’ve managed well enough. It helped that my dad made a substantial donation from his law firm. And Deacon did the same.
Tess:Can you still come on Friday night?
Chloe:We will be there. Should we eat first?
Tess:I’m ordering pizza for everyone. Come hungry but bring your own olives. You know I’ll never ruin a pizza for you, no matter how much I love you.
Chloe:Even for your very pregnant friend?
There are half a dozen smiley faces at the end of Chloe’s text.
Tess:Man, you sure do like to use that baby as a bargaining chip.
Chloe:A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
Tess:ONE pizza with olives. But I’m not fighting firefighters off to protect it for you, so you better come early.
Chloe:Right. Got it. Are we coming to the actual fire station?
Tess:Yes—to the big pavilion at the back of the parking lot. The fire chief promised he would send out lots of volunteers.
Chloe:Firemen wrapping Christmas gifts. You may have your work cut out for you. But at least the scenery will be nice.
Tess:Haha. That’s one bonus. Mrs. Greenly has purchased gift bags in abundance. I think they’ll be able to handle it.
I close out my phone and pick up the letter I abandoned when Chloe texted. I fold it and shove it inside the envelope I already addressed, determined not to overthink it. It normally only takes three or four days after sending a letter to get one back, so I shouldn’t have to wait long.
But this is big.
I asked Max to meet me in person.
And I have no idea how I’m going to feel if he says no.
Chapter Twelve
Drew
Bendropsontothebench in front of the station, a wide grin on his face, and nudges me with his shoulder. “Hey, so you remember when you told me you have the whole weekend off?”
I stare at Ben blandly. “I’m not going on another blind date, man. I’ve been a good sport the past two weekends, but enough is enough.”
“They weren’t that bad,” Ben says. “The last one wasn’t, at least.”
A mostly true statement. The date hadn’t been horrible. But I can’t tell Ben the reason I don’t want to go on a second date is because I’m too busy thinking about some mystery woman I’ve been exchanging letters with—a woman I’ve never even seen in person.
Ben would laugh me out of the station. I’d probably do the same thing if our roles were reversed.
But I can’t help it. I feel a connection to the woman—whoever she is—and she takes up a lot of my headspace. Enough that I’m not really in the mood to think about other women. It’s bad enough that after our run-in on the beach, I still have Tess on my mind. That’s complicated enough.
I’m hoping that once I respond to my most recent letter, I’ll be able to put Tess out of my mind once and for all. Because my pen pal asked if I want to meet her in person.
The answer is yes. Absolutely yes.
“Ididsign you up for something,” Ben says, “but it isn’t a date. And the chief thinks it’s a good idea, and I already told him you would do it with me.”
