Page 54 of The Christmas Letters
Drew:You wouldn’t believe the stories.
Drew:What are you up to today?
Tess:Absolutely nothing, and it’s driving me nuts.
Drew:You just have to make it through the holidays. Then you’ll be so busy, you won’t be able to lay around and text me.
Tess:That sounds horrible, actually. I shouldn’t complain.
Drew:Being busy? Or not texting me?
Tess:Are you flirting with me, Drew McKay?
Drew:Nope. Not unless you want me to be, and then my answer is YES, YES I AM.
I’m fully reclined on the couch now, my head propped on the armrest, and I drop my phone face down onto my chest, not even trying to contain my smile.
Idowant Drew to be flirting. Is that terrible? I’m checking the mailbox every single day for my next letter from Max. Shouldn’t I wanthimto be flirting instead?
Tess:What if I said Ipossiblywant you to be flirting?
Drew:Tell me more.
Tess:There are just a few things that are…up in the air?
Drew:The other guy you’re talking to?
Tess:It’s complicated. But hopefully I’ll know more in a week or so.
Drew:I understand complicated. Take your time. But if it matters, I’m here. And I’m still interested. I’ll keep my flirting on standby until further notice.
Drew’s last message carries me through Tuesday (no mail) and Wednesday (still no mail!) until I’m standing at my mailbox Thursday morning, waiting while my mailman ambles his way up the sidewalk whistlingJingle Bells.
He reaches the bank of mailboxes, shifting around to the back so he can unlock the entire thing and file in the mail.
It takes approximately twenty-seven years for him to finish, and I am ready to crawl out of my skin by the time he steps away. I lunge forward and unlock my box.
Finally.
The letter is thicker than normal, which sends a weird fluttering through me. Does that mean it’s longer? Or maybe he included a photo?
That thought makes me pause. What if itisa photo? What if I’m about to learn that Max has a bad comb-over and likes to take selfies with his cat?
I scold myself for the judgmental thought because there are probably a lot of handsome men who are both baldingandcat owners. Plus, that’s the whole point of this letter exchange. IlikeMax. I feel a connection, even attraction, that doesn’t have anything to do with his physical appearance.
I cling to that as I hurry back to my apartment, just barely keeping myself from tearing into the letter like some sort of crazed animal. By the time I’m sitting in my living room, letter on my lap, my hands are shaking like leaves in the wind.
I gently tear the seal and pull out a single sheet of stationery. When I unfold it, a second sheet of heavy cardstock falls onto my lap. It’s not a photo of Max at all. It’s a ticket to the Southern Society’s Christmas Eve Gala. I quickly turn my attention to the letter.
Dear Christmas Pen Pal,
I’m sorry if this letter took a little longer than normal to reach you. I had a couple of personal matters that prevented me from writing as quickly as I normally do. All is well now, and I hope you can say the same. Is it weird to say I miss you? Even though I know I won’t get a letter from you until I mail this one and you’ve had time to respond, I still find myself hopeful every time I check the mail. That’s how much your letters mean to me.
I wait for them, watch for them, look forward to them.
But that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about what it might mean to text you and have you text me right back.
I’m so glad you suggested that we meet in person. I’ve been hoping for the same thing.
