Page 145 of Holidating
Only one thing could make it better. He gathers the edges of the candy-filled plastic bag and carefully lifts it out of the box, looking for a letter. And sure enough—he finds an entire second layer beneath. There’s another plastic bag. But first, there’s a white envelope withDAMIENprinted carefully on its face. He snatches it out of the box and hastily slits it open. It’s a letter, dated January ninth, which means the box took more than a month to reach him. That’s not surprising.
For a second, he just holds it in his hands, stunned that a piece ofpaper touched by Nicolette made it all the way across the world to find him in this hellhole.
He reads.
Hi Damien?—
Happy holidays from Vermont! I live near Boston now, though. I graduated from Duke in May. Seems like a minute ago you were dropping off my freaked-out teenage self at the airport.
Anyway, after all this time I’m sure you weren’t expecting to hear from me. Rose gave me your letter two years ago, but there was no return address.
Then, right before Christmas this year, a friend and I went out to a bar near Tuxbury called The Mountain Goat. There was a young woman waiting tables, and her name tag said “Zara.”
And I thought—Damien has a sister named Zara! And she looked like you, only prettier. So of course, I asked her if you two were family.
She said: “I don’t always admit being related to Damien. But I miss his grumpy ass, so what do you want to know?” And then, in between serving beers to the entire bar, she told me that you’re doing okay, and that you already signed up for a second tour.
I guess that’s a good sign? You wouldn’t do that if it was horrible and dangerous, right? I have to say that I’m a little obsessed with reading about Afghanistan now that I know you’re there. I realize they only write articles about the worst stuff that happens. So could you do me a favor and stay out of the New York Times? I’d really appreciate it.
You’re getting this box because I talked Zara into giving me yourmailing address. She said you can receive packages, and that she sent you a chocolate bar for Christmas. So I hope this box finds you. Bear in mind that I have never been to an Afghan army base. So if you find this stuff weird or unhelpful, please blame the internet. I googled “what to put in an army care package” and this is what Google suggested.
Oh—the one weird item is my lucky marble. It’s a marble from Rutland. I got it on a summer camp trip when I was eleven. But I decided you needed luck more than I do right now.
With love from Vermont,
Nicolette
P.S. I know I pushed you to apply for art school, and I feel weird about that now.
P.P.S. Forgot to tell you—this year I applied to five top law schools and got rejected by all of them, including my father’s. He’s barely speaking to me right now. So that’s extra fun.
In other words, don’t take advice from me. I clearly don’t know what I’m doing. :-)
With his heart bubbling over with joy, Damien reads the note two more times in a row.
“Damien?” Jarvis says.
When he looks up, Jarvis snatches the letter out of his hands. “Who’sNicolette?” He whistles. “Nice name. Got a picture?”
“She’s a client. And a friend,” Damien says. The way he snatches the letter back makes Jarvis grin.
“Buddy,friendsdon’t mail friends a pile of chocolate all the way to the sandbox. What else you got in there?”
He tucks the letter under his pillow and looks into the box again. The second plastic bag is from the Onion River Co-op in Montpelier.Even the familiar logo on the bag gives him a homesick lump in his throat.
It’s a damn plastic bag. He needs to get a grip.
He unknots the top, and inside there’s a lip balm, a tube of toothpaste, a travel-sized shampoo, some dental floss and a bar of goat's milk soap from a Vermont farm.
“Fancy soap?” Jarvis asks, tickled. “Please tell me this chick is hot. You’re gettingverylaid when you go home for leave this summer.”
If only. Although Jarvis has a point. Who takes this much trouble to send a present to her taxi driver if she doesn’t also have feelings for him?
It’s fun to wonder.
In the corner of the bag, as advertised, he finds a single round marble, made from white Vermont marble. It’s beautiful, and he tucks it into his pocket immediately.
Then there’s a pair of Darn Tough wool socks, which every Vermonter is programmed to appreciate, even in Afghanistan. No—especiallyin Afghanistan.
