Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
I got to see him two nights ago. We lay in his bed and ate fudge ripple ice cream and laughed until the sun came up. Was that our last night together?
Suddenly, a voice interrupts my thoughts.
“Honey? How you doing in there?” my dad calls.
A single tear has fallen down my face; I hastily wipe it away as my dad pokes his head into my room. Rick’s smiling broadly, and I’m reminded again just how excited and proud he is for me to be going to college. I muster half a grin to present to him.
“Doing fine, Dad,” I assure him, reinforcing the statement with two thumbs up.
“Yeah? You sure you don’t need my help in here?”
“Super sure,” I say. “Unless you really want to help me pack my bras and underwear.”
“Definitely not,” my dad says, pulling a face at that information. “I’ll leave that to you. But let me know if you need anything.”
He leaves, and I rub at a suddenly tense muscle between my shoulders. Rick still has no idea that I’ve spent so many nights this summer with his best friend. I would probably be disowned if he found out.
At least he’s not likely to find out now that it’s over…
I can’t help it: I allow myself to cry for just a minute, permitting a few silent tears to roll down my face. I grab Annabelle back out of the box and clutch her to my chest, trying to find a modicum of comfort in these soon-to-be unknown circumstances.
I’ve always known that I had a crush on Christopher. But I never expected to fall in love with him.
It’s not just the physical intimacy. It’s the way he looks at me while we’re in bed together, as if he’s never seen someone so beautiful. It’s the way he simultaneously is always in charge and also makes me feel like his equal, not just his friend’s kid. It’s the way he watches my dumb movies, laughs at my dumb jokes, and holds my hand while we’re just sitting on the couch together. All of these things and so many more combine to make Christopher the man of my dreams.
I gingerly place Annabelle back in the box, wiping my tears away with my sleeve. I don’t have time to mourn. My new life is beginning, and I need to face it bravely. For my dad’s sake, if not my own.
Grabbing my phone, I turn up some feel-good music, trying to elevate my mood along with it. I continue slowly packing up the remaining odds and ends, willing my thoughts into silence. Despite my efforts, my inner monologue periodically pipes up. Christopher loves this top. Christopher likes this painting. Christopher read this book, too.
“Shut up, brain,” I mutter to myself, stuffing some papers on my desk into a folder. I open the top drawer to empty its contents and stop cold.
I wrote the letter a few days ago, put it in an unsealed envelope, and forgot about it. Now, I withdraw it from the drawer with trembling fingers. Swallowing hard, I remove the letter from the envelope and read the first few lines before I can stop myself.
Dear Christopher, it reads. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you this in person, and texting or emailing felt too impersonal. I just had to let you know that over the course of the summer, I have fallen deeply, unmistakably in love with you. I…
I hurriedly stuff it back into the envelope, confident that if I read anymore, I’d get tear stains on the paper. I take a deep breath, in through my nose and out through my mouth, to steady myself. This letter may be the most important thing I’ve ever written, or the stupidest. I can’t decide which.
All I know is that I have to send it, no matter the consequences.
I place the envelope in a folder and carefully pack it away. I can’t send it now and risk my dad seeing it in the mailbox. It’ll be safer to send as soon as I get to school.
I will myself to continue packing, but my mind remains firmly on the letter. What will Christopher’s reaction be? There are several different possible outcomes, I muse as I fold sweaters and push them into a box. He could be delighted and confess his mutual feelings for me. He could feel sorry for me, still regarding me only as a summer fling, his friend’s bratty daughter who needed babysitting while her dad was at work. He could be embarrassed for me because I developed these feelings for someone who doesn’t return them. Maybe he would even be angry, for some reason--maybe because I’d be betraying my father even further. Or he could completely ignore the letter, and I’d never know his emotions.
I press my hands to my stomach, feeling suddenly queasy. Am I being an idiot, a little girl who still believes in fairytales and happily-ever-afters? Could Christopher and I even have a chance at a real future together?