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"Because she interviewed for my assistant job!" I said. I should have started explaining earlier; Scott was terrible at following storylines when he was drunk.
"Oh, okay. Was it a good interview?"
I sighed. "The interview didn't happen because I confronted her."
"Okay. Got it, got it. And then she yelled at you and called you a useless rich jerk and ran away?"
"Not exactly, but close enough." Scott took a sip of whisky and considered this. "So now she thinks you're a jerk and also that you stalked her?"
"Uh huh."
He took another sip and made a sound of regret.
"What?" I asked.
"It's just, in retrospect, maybe I shouldn't have suggested you get the private investigator."
"That's right!" I shouted. "That was your idea!"
"In my defense, it seemed like a good idea at the time..." Scott frowned. "How was I supposed to know that she'd turn out to be that woman you slept with all those years ago? Who also is, in fact," he held up his finger and then pointed it at me, "your baby mama, and,and!" he stood up in the excitement, "that you didn't need to go looking for her because the universe was just going to drop her in your lap like that?" He paused. "Again. Actually,for the third time. Cassius," he said, and he put down the whiskey and looked serious, "is this some kind of fate thing happening here?"
I rolled my eyes at him.
"Don't be ridiculous. Besides, I didn't call you over here to talk about that. I need relationship advice. You're in the only functional relationship I know. What should I do?"
Scott sighed heavily and leaned back on the sofa, then he promptly sat back up and picked up a piece of pizza. He chewed it thoughtfully, and just when I was starting to think he'd forgotten the question, he answered.
"I think the big problem here is communication. You both seem inclined to leap to conclusions and think the worst of each other. You're impulsive, and you've got volatile temperaments. I'm sure part of the connection you felt before was because you're similar in that way, but now you have to do more than fight or make love. You have to actually talk to each other."
"Right," I said. That actually... makes a lot of sense. "But how do I do that? How do I even get her to take my call, let alone meet me and have a civilized discussion?"
Scott pondered this for a while.
"What if you don't call her?"
"You just said that I should try to communicate with her!" I whined.
"Hang on, hang on, let me finish. I think you should write her a letter."
"A letter? What, like we're in some kind of historical chick flick?"
"Well... yeah, kind of. I think maybe the two of you need a way to connect where less feelings are involved. Writing down your thoughts is one way to do that. It's actually a thing my therapist has me do with Emily sometimes. Because when you write something down, you can reread it, and revise it, and make it say exactly what you want to say. And you can give it a day, and read it over again with a cooler head. Face to face, you're forced to say what you think right in that moment, even if you're not thinking straight at all. If you write it down, you've got a better chance of actually being understood."
The whole idea sounded a little ridiculous to me, but I nodded and agreed. Past experience had taught me that Scott was really tenacious once he had an idea in his head. It made him really great at business, because if he couldn't convince you to accept his point of view through logic or charm, he'd just gently but persistently wear you down. I poured Scott some more whisky, told him he was a genius, and put the whole thing out of my mind.
The next morning, though, after I'd roused Scott from the couch and sent him home to Emily, I started to consider the idea again. For one thing, I was desperate. I needed a way to make a real connection with Deira, and move us past the point where all our interactions ended with some kind of bang. I also knew Deira was desperate, and I was worried that if I didn't act quickly, she'd pick up and skip town. I wondered; would it really be so bad to try a letter?
I thought about it over breakfast, and when I was finished, I went into the office and took out a notepad. I made a list of everything that I thought was important for Deira to know, about me, about my intentions, and about what I could offer her that she might not have considered. And then I made a plan, a series of steps for us to, hopefully, move forward together. I stared at those two pieces of paper for a long time, and then I opened my computer and I started to type.
FIFTEEN
DEIRA
I hadn't been expecting another call from S&R Management. I certainly hadn't been expecting a call notifying me that there was a letter for me at their front desk. It felt like a trap. I asked them to send it to the flower shop. I figured even if he showed up with the letter personally, there wasn't much he could do in a public business. And though I wasn't close with my boss there, she was a decent person. I knew she wouldn't put up with any nonsense from him, or blame me if anything bad were to happen.
Nothing bad happened, though. It actually was just a letter. A long letter. I glanced at it, feeling overwhelmed, and put it back into the envelope. But then it just sat on the table, like a ticking bomb. Finally, I gave in and read it.
It wasn't what I was expecting. I was half expecting it to be from his lawyer. I had, after all, threatened him with my own (non-existent) lawyer. But it was from him, and it was surprisingly candid. It started with an apology, and then went into an explanation. He talked about everything he'd felt since putting the pieces together about Makayla. It didn't excuse some of the choices he'd made, but it did make me understand them. In the letter, he came across as thoughtful and truly interested in being part of Makayla's life.
