by Amelia Wilde
“I never said I was perfect,” Lark said, more hurt by her little sister in this moment than she could remember being in the entire time they’d grown up together. Even when Melody was four and had colored in permanent marker all over Lark’s new chef costume. “And who are you to decide what I need to do with my life? You’re twenty-two, Melody, and you’ve only dated one boy for more than six months. You’re not—”
“I’m young, but I know what it’s like to love someone who isn’t right for me,” Melody said, crossing her arms at her chest. “I loved Brian. I didn’t want to break up with him, but when I realized that we were never going to work long term, I did it.”
The day Lark had told Mason it was over, Melody had come home in tears from her last date with Brian. When she had taken Felicity over to his parents’ farm to pet the animals, Brian had not only refused to hold the baby, but had made little effort to conceal his lack of enthusiasm for small, drooling people who still made a mess in their diapers. Melody had finally flat out asked him whether he wanted children in the future, and he’d confessed that he found babies “kind of gross.”
No one inferred that Melody’s treasured baby niece was gross and got away with it. She’d broken up with Brian on the spot, and refused to even consider giving the boy a second chance.
“And I’ve been sad about it,” Melody continued. “But I’m not going to let it destroy me or my relationships with the other people I care about.”
Lark shrugged, trying to act like she wasn’t bleeding inside from Melody’s attack of tough love. “Well, maybe you’re stronger than I am. Or maybe you don’t love the same way I do. Maybe it’s not as intense an experience for you.”
Now, it was Melody’s turn to look offended. “That’s not fair, Lark. Just because I don’t give up on life when I’m hurt doesn’t mean I’m not—”
“I’m not giving up! I’m hurting, Melody, can’t you—”
“Hold on, y’all,” Aria said, stepping between them. “Just wait a second.”
Aria took Melody’s hand. “I think what Lark is trying to say is that you’ve always been a really positive person, Melody. Like Mom. That doesn’t mean you don’t feel things, but it may mean you’re naturally better at…bouncing back.” Aria turned to Lark. “And I think what Melody is trying to say is that you’ve come so far since four years ago. You are a stronger person now, and there’s no reason to let what happened with Mason take that away from you.”
“So you think I need to grow up, too?” Lark asked, clenching her jaw against the urge to cry.
Aria met Lark’s eyes for a long moment. “Not to be a jerk, because I love you and I understand exactly what you’re feeling, but…yes.”
Lark nodded before tucking her chin, hiding the tears filling her eyes. “Well,” she said in a thick voice. “Thanks for the help, y’all. I feel so much better.”
“Oh, Sissy, we love you, you know we do,” Melody said, pulling her in for a hug, crushing the shorter Lark into her abundant chest. “And you’re going to feel better soon, I just know it. We’ll help any way we can.”
“Yes, we will,” Aria said, throwing her arms around them both, turning Lark into sister-hug sandwich filling.
Lark stiffened for a second—resentment at being blindsided by an “intervention” warring with the need to melt into her sisters’ arms—but she finally gave in and wrapped one arm around Melody’s waist and the other around Aria’s, pulling them close. They hugged for a good five minutes, rocking back and forth in the fading light until Aria finally pulled away and said—
“I love y’all, but I am hot as the devil’s nut sack. I can’t hug anymore.”
“Ew,” Melody said as she released Lark. “That’s disgusting, Aria.”
“So is how sweaty I am under this white button-down,” Aria said, pulling at the front of her shirt. “Maybe we should let the servers wear short sleeves from now on.”
“No way,” Lark said, stepping in to slam the van’s back doors closed. “Short sleeve button-downs are tacky looking.”
“So are sweat patches,” Aria said. “And servers who smell more onion-y than the appetizers.”
“Mitch does get kind of stinky by the end of a shift,” Melody said thoughtfully, snatching the keys from Lark and heading for the driver’s seat with a shouted, “I’m driving!”
“Shotgun!” Lark called, making Aria groan at being stuck in the middle for the ride back.
“But Mitch refuses to wear real deodorant,” Lark continued, letting Aria into the passenger’s side of the van and climbing in after. “He wears that hippy rock crystal stuff from the health food store. I think you two should give him an intervention.”
“I wouldn’t mind intervening in Mitch’s affairs,” Melody said, backing the van out of their space. “He’s kind of cute, don’t you think?”
“Gross, no.” Aria made a gagging sound. “He’s about as big around as my right thigh.”
“So?” Melody asked. “You’re skinny and we still like you.”
“Most of the time,” Lark added, earning a laugh from Melody and an elbow in the ribs from Aria.
Lark smiled. It felt good to goof off with her sisters, to smile and laugh on the way home as they talked about stupid stuff like Mitch’s armpits, the bleeding deer head cake their dad wanted them to make to celebrate the start of deer season this fall, and the garden war their nana was in with her neighbor to see who could grow the biggest watermelon before the fair started later in the summer.
Lark hadn’t felt this angst-free in months. She wasn’t sure if the feeling was going to last, but she was grateful for the reprieve from the misery that had been her constant companion. So grateful, that, for the first time in weeks, she made it through her shower and the rest of her pre-bedtime regimen without getting the slightest bit sniffly and fell asleep without a single Mason-flavored thought passing through her head.
And then she began to dream, a bizarre barrage of anxiety dreams that put her usual stress-induced nightmares to shame.
Flying over an ocean of grape Jell-O in a glider made of tissue paper when it starts to rain Earl Grey tea that scalds her all over as she falls into the Jell-O ocean and drowns?
Check.
Running through a field of flowers with tiny zombie faces and getting bitten on her ankle right before she makes it to the giant watermelon stage where Nana is dancing the jitterbug with a human-sized cockroach?
Check.
Shuffling down the street years and years from now, when she’s even older than Nana, and running into the old man Mason has become only for him to clutch his chest and fall to the ground, dying of a heart attack before Lark can tell him how much she still loves him, or how sorry she is for wasting the lifetime they should have had together.
Check and check and…check.
She dreamed different versions of that same terrible dream at least three times. In every one, she and Mason lost their chance at love and she lived to regret it more than she had ever regretted anything.
When she finally awoke the next morning, Lark was truly shaken. It didn’t take a professional dream analyst for her to guess what her subconscious was trying to tell her. She might not know the symbolic significance of Jell-O oceans or Nana dancing with a giant cockroach, but she knew she didn’t want her last dream to become a reality.
In that moment—still lying in bed, tangled in the covers she’d twisted into knots during her troubled sleep—Lark made her decision. She wasn’t going to ask Mom for the name of the counselor she had talked to after Pop-pop died; she was going to Atlanta.
Filled with sudden, urgent purpose, Lark lunged for the phone by her bed and jabbed in Melody’s number.
Her sister answered after the third ring with a sleepy-sounding, “Hello?”
“Melody, it’s me,” Lark said.
“Lark? Is everything okay?”
“I was just wondering if you and Aria can handle the bridal shower this afternoon alone?”
Melo
dy yawned. “Um…yeah. I think so. The cake and cookies are done and most of the apps prepped, right?”
“Right.” Lark swung her feet off the side of the bed and padded across the room to her closet to pick out something to wear. “And Aria is on serving dish duty. The only thing you’ll have to do is grill the bacon-wrapped duck bites about ten minutes after the guests start to arrive.”
“I can handle that,” Melody said. “So what’s up? Did you catch the summer flu or something?”
“Um…sort of.” Lark grabbed her sleeveless white sundress from its hanger. “I’m definitely going to see a doctor.”
“You should,” Melody said. “Natalie called last night and said she had to go to the hospital and get an IV she was so dehydrated. This thing isn’t something you want to mess around with.”
“I agree, I’m heading to the doctor now,” Lark said, though she doubted Mason had official office hours on Sundays.
She would just have to show up at his new place for a house call. Thanks to his letters, she had the address.
“Okay. Good.” Melody yawned again. “You want me to call Aria and tell her what’s up?”
“Yes, please, could you?” Lark asked. “That would be great.”
She said her goodbyes and hung up, dropping the phone back in its cradle as she raced into the bathroom to get dressed, grateful her hair had dried in smooth waves instead of curly on one side, flat on the other, the way it sometimes did when she went to bed with wet hair. She didn’t want to waste any more time getting pretty than she absolutely had to.
Now that she had decided to go to Mason, she couldn’t get to him fast enough.
But there was one thing she had to do first…
As soon as she was dressed, Lark fixed a single serve cup of coffee and sat down with the pile of Mason’s letters. By the time she finished the first, she knew she was making the right decision. By the end of the second, she was sniffling, and by the end of the third, she was cursing herself for being so pig-headed. The love Mason felt for her was present in every line, his commitment obvious in the letters that got longer and longer as time went on.
He loved her, he wanted a future together, and he was willing to do whatever it took to earn her trust, even if it took a year’s worth of letters. Two years. Three. He swore he would keep writing until she agreed to see him again, and by the time she finished reading through the pile, Lark believed him.
She closed the last letter with a determined breath.
Melody and Aria were right. It was time for her to grow up and do the work. Mason could only take their relationship so far on his own. Now it was her turn. Her turn to prove that her love for him was more powerful than her fear, to prove that she was brave and ready to put her money where her mouth was.
Lucky for her, several clients had sent in their deposits last week. Her bank account was healthier than usual, and she could afford a little splurge in the name of love.
Now, if she could only find a store that was open on Sunday morning…
She pulled out her laptop and did a little searching, finding what she was looking for in a shopping center about five blocks from Mason’s condo. Five minutes later, she was in her car on the way to Atlanta, her hands shaking with nerves, jaw tight with excitement, and heart aching with hope that today would be the day that changed everything, the first day of the rest of her life.
27
Mason had found the perfect brunch spot the week after he moved into his new place.
It was a hole in the wall three blocks from his condo complex called The Root Cellar that served amazing omelets and pancakes and French press coffee in carafes the waiters left on your table so you could enjoy it down to the last, gritty drop.
It was busy during the breakfast rush, especially on Sundays, but the staff didn’t mind if you lingered at one of the outdoor tables on the sidewalk. And so, every Sunday, Mason bought the paper and headed to The Root Cellar with his favorite pen and a spiral notebook to eat breakfast, drink too much coffee, and write Lark her weekly letter.
At first, he’d worried that he might run out of things to say—being as addicted to email as everyone else, he hadn’t written a real letter in years—but he found the process strangely soothing. By the end of the first page, he connected to the words, and by the end of the second, he connected to Lark. He found he could imagine the look on her face as she read each line, the parts where she might smile or laugh, and the parts when she would bite her lip and put on her thinking face.
He poured himself into every letter, sharing everything about his new job and his new life in Atlanta, and then going back to a moment from his past he had never told Lark about and describing it in detail.
She had accused him of lying, and he never wanted something he’d held back to come between them again.
So, he filled her in on the darker parts of his childhood, the parts he had deliberately left out when they were first dating, not wanting Lark to feel sorry for him or to expose old wounds that, at that point, hadn’t completely healed. He filled her in on the events of the summer after his mother left, and the first few months living with Parker. He told her about learning there were worse things than a neglectful parent; there was living with a man who resented the fact that you were even born. He told her stories about his residency, the crazy people he’d met in the E.R., and the old woman who’d lived above his apartment during his first two years, but died the third, and how he and his roommates had been the only people at her funeral.
He told her about his last meeting with Parker and how much freer he felt, and how much he loved his new workplace so far, but mostly he told her that he loved her. And missed her. And that no good thing was quite as good without her around to share it. He told her that he needed her and was never going to stop needing her, and that he hoped someday she would realize that she needed him, too.
But, truthfully, he wasn’t expecting that day to be any day soon. He had seen how hurt Lark was that day in her backyard, and Melody said Lark hadn’t mentioned his letters. For all he knew, she could be tearing them up and throwing them in the garbage.
But still he wrote, hoping for the best, but expecting nothing to change for a long, long time.
So to say he was surprised to look up from his freshly delivered Italian omelet to see Lark walking down the sidewalk in a white sundress, looking like a sun-kissed angel come to earth, was an understatement.
He was flat-out shocked. Dumbfounded. Rendered speechless, motionless, so that all he could do was sit and stare as she got closer and closer.
Mason was sure she was going to walk right by him without noticing the man gaping behind the low, wrought iron fence surrounding The Root’s outdoor seating area, but then she stopped.
She froze in the middle of the sidewalk, almost as if he had called her name, and reached for her sunglasses, pulling them from her face as she turned toward him. When her gaze connected with his, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped and a tiny squeaking sound escaped her throat.
She looked as shocked as he felt, and Mason worried that she hadn’t come here to find him, after all. He had begun to suspect this was some terrible coincidence, and she was going to make a break for her car, when she said—
“I was on my way to your place.”
—and Mason’s heart did a backflip inside his chest. He flicked his notebook shut and stood, facing Lark across the fence.
“You were?” he asked, wanting to touch her so badly it was practically impossible to resist the urge to wrap his hands around her waist and lift her over the fence, into his arms.
Lark nodded, fingers fidgeting with her purse strap. “I read your letters this morning.”
“You did?” Mason fought to keep his face expressionless.
It was too early to start celebrating. She might have come here to tell him to quit writing, for all he knew. He had to wait, to make sure his hope was founded. If he didn’t, and he was mistaken, he had no doubt the disappointment would be
soul crushing.
Lark nodded again. “They helped me make a decision.” She pulled in a shaky breath. “I mean, I’d already pretty much made the decision, or part of the decision, anyway—the most important part—but they helped me be sure I was making the right decision. You know what I’m saying?”
Mason shook his head, his pulse racing. “No, but you’d better tell me quick. I’m not sure my heart can take any more suspense.”
“Oh. Okay,” Lark said, fluttering her hand anxiously as she nodded again. “Okay. Well then, I guess this is it. I should just…”
She trailed off as she reached down, digging into her purse while Mason’s chest contracted painfully. She’d come to return his letters. That was all this was. She’d come to tell him it was over all over again, and now it would be even harder to find a way back to her.
Maybe even impossible.
He clenched his jaw, refusing to make a scene when she put the letters in his hand. He was wishing he had asked her to go back to his place before they talked so this miserable moment wouldn’t be shared with a dozen hipsters in black, skinny jeans sipping gritty coffee, when Lark pulled out a small, red box, dropped her purse to the ground, and kneeled on the concrete in front of him.
Mason’s jaw released with a spasm.
“I would be down on one knee, but I wasn’t thinking and my dress is too short, so you’ll have to settle for both knees,” she said, chest rising and falling so fast there was no doubt that this wasn’t a joke.
She wet her lips as she opened the red box, revealing a thick, silver band with something etched on the side that Mason couldn’t read from where he stood.
But he didn’t need to read it to know what it was, and more importantly, what it meant.
“Mason Stewart,” Lark said, looking up into his eyes, ignoring the excited, hushed murmurs as the people around them realized what was happening. “First of all, I want to apologize for not giving you the benefit of the doubt when you deserved it.”
Mason opened his mouth to tell her it didn’t matter, but she hurried on before he could speak.