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Maverick stands beside me in front of the mailboxes in my building, watching as I turn the letter over and over in my hands. He’s been sleeping at my apartment and driving me to campus and back, only leaving my side when it’s time for us to go to our separate classes. As much time as we’ve spent together, we haven’t spoken much more about Marie or the baby. He has been working diligently on the final assignment for his communication class. Meanwhile, I feel like I’ve been holding my breath, waiting for this letter.
Still, Maverick’s concern is palpable, radiating off him in silent waves and filling his eyes whenever he looks at me. Even the one time we’ve had sex since learning about the baby was different. It’s always tender between us, but last night, he handled me like glass. Afterward, he ran a gentle hand down the side of my face and asked if I was okay. I thought I was, but for some reason, the question made me burst into tears.
I can’t fault him for any of it. I feel just as fragile as he seems to think I am.
“This is it,” I say unnecessarily.
He shifts his weight onto his good leg and slips both hands into his back pockets. I know he’s trying to stop himself from reaching for me, to give me space, and I feel a rush of affection for him. “Are you going to open it?”
For one moment, I let my brain run wild. I imagine ripping the letter up into little pieces and letting them flutter to the ground. The thought gives me a sort of perverse satisfaction, as if not reading Marie’s explanation would give me the upper hand and the final word.
Just as quickly as the image comes to me, I squash it. I tuck the letter under my arm with the rest of my mail and swing the mailbox shut. “Maybe later. Maybe…” I hesitate, not wanting to hurt his feelings but knowing what I need. “Maybe alone.”
“Sure,” Maverick says easily. We’re alone in the mailroom, and he moves toward me. “I need to go to my apartment and get some more clothes. I might hang out with Pax if he’s around.”
I smile gratefully at him. “Okay.”
He closes the last few inches between us and rests his forehead on mine. My eyes slip closed of their own accord. “I love you,” he whispers.
“I love you too,” I whisper back, feeling like my heart might burst with the enormity of that simple truth.
“Call me if you need me.”
“I will.”
A beat passes and then he kisses me, firm but quick. By the time I open my eyes, he’s already backing away. He shoots me a wink over his shoulder, and then he’s pushing out the door. It falls shut behind him. Left alone in the stuffy mailroom, I listen to my own breathing for several beats before heading outside myself.
First, I go back to the apartment to drop off the rest of the mail. Callie knows about the letter I’ve been waiting on. It’s been such a relief to be able to discuss everything with her, to have double the support, that I can barely remember why looking for my mother seemed like such a dirty little secret mere weeks ago.
Even so, I leave our mail on the doormat and leave. Callie is watching TV inside and I don’t want an audience when I open this letter.
For a while I walk aimlessly around the complex, the thin envelope feeling like a twenty-pound weight in my jacket pocket. I cross paths with a woman walking two yippy chihuahuas and a maintenance worker stringing Christmas lights up on a lamppost. When I get to the courtyard, it’s blessedly empty. I stand there for a moment, nose stinging from the cold, trying to ease the racing of my heart. Then I sit down on the bench where, just recently, I got my best friend back.
I place the envelope carefully across my knees and take in Marie’s handwriting one more time. I’m hesitating, worrying about what it will say, if it will help, if it will hurt, and then I remember Maverick’s words from nearly a year ago. His voice is so clear in my mind, he might as well be right next to me.
You are never going to live in a world without somebody to love you.
And wasn’t he right? For whatever mistakes he’s made, hasn’t he proven that to me again and again and again?
Hasn’t Callie? My dad?
A wave of peace settles over me. Before I can second guess myself, I slip my thumb under the flap of the envelope and tear it open. The seal gives easily, revealing a single piece of lined notebook paper with one uneven edge. I pull it out and unfold it. The same neat print as on the envelope jumps out at me, the ink faded but still legible.
My bare hands tremble a little—maybe from the cold, maybe not—but I hold the letter firmly, keeping it from being taken by the wind.
I begin to read.
Azalea,
I’ve made the choice to leave today. My bags are already packed. Julian will be home in an hour, which means I’ll be gone in a little less than that. This is my only chance to explain myself to you and I don’t quite know how to do it, but I’ll try my best.
When I was nineteen, I moved to Colorado for school. My parents were against it. They wanted me to attend school closer to home. We fought about it a lot, but eventually we reached a truce. I came to Colorado and got a job to supplement their support. They were placated, and I was so excited to be on my own in a new place.
Then I blew it. I wasn’t careful. I met Julian and got pregnant shortly after. My parents stopped sending me money, and then they stopped talking to me. I grew up with them; I knew they were strict. But I didn’t realize that my mistake would cost me my family.
My heart climbs into my throat as I try to imagine what that was like for her. As upset as my dad was when I told him about my pregnancy, it never even crossed my mind that he might cut ties.
Then I remember speaking to Morgan and her parents, how they said Marie wasn’t at their last family reunion, and I realize with a pang that they never reconciled.
