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When I step into the room, I stop short. No. This can’t be happening. Marjorie has my notes from her in her hands, and she’s staring down at them.
When she looks up at me, there are tears in her eyes that make my heart sink. “It’s you? It’s always been you? But, why wouldn’t you…? How could you…?”
I run across the room to her. I try to reach out and touch her arm, but she quickly pulls it away as if my touch could burn her. “Please, Marjorie. I can explain. I was going to tell you. It’s why I texted you. I really was. Please.”
Marjorie stares at me for a long time, her tears causing her eyes to shine in a way I never wanted to see. For a moment, I actually believe she might forgive me. Something passes between us. The connection is still very much there. I feel it, and I know she does too.
But when she breaks the connection and looks toward the ground, I know I’m screwed. She shakes her head as she continues to stare at my carpet. “This… I just… I’m sorry. It’s a lot to process. I don’t think I can… I don’t know. I have to go.”
She turns toward my desk and grabs a jar of pickles I hadn’t noticed before. There’s a ribbon tied around the top, and the sight makes me cry, because I ruined everything. Marjorie is the sweetest person in the whole world, and I blew it.
She shoves the jar at me but still refuses to make eye contact. “These are for you. I hope you’re feeling better.”
Then she swiftly walks away. I stand there frozen in place as I listen to her walk down the hall and the stairs, then out the front door. She’s gone. Marjorie Madden is gone. I had the whole world in the palm of my hands, and now I lost it.
I throw myself onto my bed and sob. For once, I let myself believe something good could happen. For once, I let myself be truly happy. And just as I always feared, it was stripped away from me. The worst part is this time it’s all my fault. I deserve for Marjorie to never speak to me again. I deserve for her to hate me.
Then my mind goes to a phrase my therapist always tells me: control the things you can and let go of everything else. I can’t control how Marjorie feels, but I can control my side of it. I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me, but I can do my damndest to show her how sorry I am. All I need is a plan and a little bit of help.
After sitting at my desk for an hour and plotting out exactly what to do, I send a group text to Delilah and Bug. Marjorie found out about everything without me telling her. I really messed up, but for once, I refuse to roll over and accept this is my life. I have a plan, but I need some help. Either of you good at crafts? We need to make an Eiffel Tower.
Chapter 30
Marjorie
It’s been two weeks since I’ve heard anything from Payton aside from one text. It makes sense since that one text told me how sorry she was and said she didn’t want to bother me, so if I wanted to talk, I should reach out to her. I haven’t reached out. I’m not sure what to say. I know she didn’t mean to hurt me. I could see it in her eyes from the moment she knew that I figured it out. I just don’t know how to feel about any of this. I opened up to her. I told her something I hadn’t shared with anyone else. Even though I know it’s not the case, it still seems like she took advantage of the situation. She could have used things I said in real life to make her letters more appealing to me. I shake my head. As much as I want to believe that so I can be angry rather than hurt, I know it’s not true. Payton was always herself—in real life and in her letters. I know it. I can feel it in my bones.
Now, I’m not only hurt, but I also miss her. I miss her so much I can barely breathe. She keeps switching her work schedule with other coworkers, so I haven’t even gotten to see her there. And I do want to see her. As much as I’m upset at her, I also want to see her. I honestly don’t know what to think or do anymore. Every single day I’ve written out a text that I’ve ended up deleting. If I reach out to Payton, it means I’m giving her the chance to hurt me again. I want to believe she won’t, but how much do I really know about her? I’d like to believe it's a lot, but in reality it’s not. I didn’t know anything about her dad. I didn’t even know her mom was dating Delilah’s dad. There’s so much I don’t know about her.
When I see Eli walking toward my locker, I think about running away. I know none of this is Eli’s fault, but it’s still hard to see him. Seeing him makes me think of her and only makes all of the pain in my heart a million times worse. There’s nowhere to go though. We’ve made eye contact, and at this point, he knows I’ve seen him. It would be rude to walk away now.
I raise my hand in the most awkward half-wave ever. My only saving grace is that Eli appears to feel just as awkward about this upcoming interaction as I do. He raises his hands as if he is surrendering. “Don’t shoot me. I’m just the messenger.” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a very large clump of papers. “I was given strict orders to hand deliver this to you to make sure you get it.”
“Thanks,” I barely squeak out. I take the papers from Eli’s hands and the heaviness is made even heavier since I know who this is from. I know what it’s about.
Eli nods then turns to walk away. I finally find my voice after he’s taken a few steps. “Hey, Eli?” When he turns around, I clear my throat then look down at the school’s old beat-up carpet underneath my feet. “How is she? Is… is she okay?”
I chance a look up and notice Eli is giving me a sad smile. “She’s sad. Really sad. She’s beating herself up like crazy over this. She knows she was wrong. She knows it was her fault. She really wants to make it right.” He nods toward the papers in my hand. “Just read what she has to say. I promise that Payton is a really good person, Marjorie. Hurting you was the last thing she wanted. Trust me.”
Thank God my last period of the day today is a free period, because there is no way I would be able to focus on any class knowing I have something from Payton waiting for me. I go to the library, find a table, and waste no time focusing on what Eli gave to me. The first page in the stack is a note, followed by chapter after chapter of Payton’s story. I put the story into my backpack and put all of my attention on that note. Just seeing that handwriting makes my heart clench, and I have no question that I’ll be crying by the end of this. Thank God no one else is around to see right now.
Marjorie, I don’t even know where to start. I guess sorry is a good spot. I never meant to hurt you. When I started writing you these notes, I never thought we would get closer the way we did. That’s because I honestly never believed I was good enough for you. Then you started to notice me, really notice me, and I had no idea how to respond. When you told me you didn’t want to know who was writing you letters, I used this as my out. You didn’t want to know who was writing the letters because you didn’t want to be disappointed, and I was sure if you knew it was me, that’s exactly how you would feel. When I started to notice a growing connection between us, I figured it had to be one-sided. Then we went mini-golfing and it really felt like a date, but I still wouldn’t let myself believe it was. This isn’t an excuse, but I’ve lived my life not having high expectations. It’s a defense mechanism so no one can hurt me the way my dad did (and clearly continues to). Again, I’m not trying to use this as an excuse. I just want to explain where my head was at.
AFter we almost kissed, I knew I had to tell you. That day you were at my house, I had texted you to get together because I wanted to tell you immediately. I know it was too late, but I really wish you could have heard it from me. I could have explained where I was coming from and how I was going to make it better. You could have heard it from me, which is what you deserved. You didn’t deserve to find out that way, and I’m so so so sorry that you did. I want you to know that nothing I ever told you in my notes or in person was a lie. My feelings are very real, probably even more real than you could possibly understand. I want to help you understand though. If you give me another chance, I will spend as much time as you allow helping you to understand.
For now, all I’m asking for is one date. Just one. It doesn’t even have to be a date if you don’t want it to be. Consider it a few hours of me treating you like the queen you are and groveling over how sorry I am. In the end, if you want to be friends again, that’s great. If you never want to speak to me again, it’s understandable. I’m not asking you for any more than that (Unless, of course, you want it, because I do…more than anything).
I’ll be waiting for you in the parking lot of the ice cream shop tomorrow at 2pm when you get off. I’ll make sure to park in the back so if you want to leave without me noticing, you’ll be able to. If you want to spend the day with me, you’ll know where to find me. I’ve included the rest of my book. I finished it for you (well, the first draft. This thing needs about a billion edits, but it's a start). I also want to end this note with ten facts about me. Some of these you know, some you might not. This is just the first step in letting you see every single part of me since I’m sure right now you feel like you don’t know me at all. If I don’t hear from you, I want you to know I understand. You’re the most amazing person in the entire world, Marjorie. Don’t ever let anyone, especially me, convince you otherwise.
1) My dad left when I was five and it’s been messing with my head ever since. Every time I think I’m starting to get over it, I end up seeing him again and it sends me into another spiral.
2) Mr. Howard (Delilah’s dad) is my mom’s first boyfriend since my dad left. I’ve been trying really hard not to get attached, but I can’t help it. Delilah is the sister I’ve always wanted. Mr. Howard has taken on the father role without even being asked to. If I’m being honest, it scares me to death. This is the first time it’s been more than just me and my mom, and as happy as I was with just her, this is pretty perfect. My mom and Mr. Howard are perfect together, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.
3) I fucking love pickles. Seriously, give me all the pickles. You already know this, but my mom and I have our Christmas Pickle tradition because I love them so much. The fact that you gave me the jar of pickles to make me feel better is by far the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.
4) You know how much I love pickles? That’s how much I hate Griffin Hill. I’ve never told anyone just how much I hate it because I don’t want it to get back to my mom. We moved into this school district after my dad left so she could still be close enough to her job but not in the very same town as that terrible man. I don’t want her to feel bad that I absolutely hate it. I don’t relate to anyone here, and I always thought it was just me, until I met more people from Capital Creek. Griffin Hill is full of douchebags. I’m so happy I only have another year after this until I can be done.
5) Spring is my favorite season (as you know), but fall is a close second. Obviously, I love the weather for the same reasons I love spring, but I LOVE spooky season. Scary movies, haunted houses… sign me up for all of that.
