If there was a type of guy, Jyn had met him, dated him, and dumped him.
Me: Hey. I need help
Jyn: What’s up?
Me: I flew all the way to St. Louis to meet a guy through a matchmaker agency, and he stood me up.
Jyn: The bastard! You’re still there? When do you go back?
Me: Tomorrow morning.
Jyn: Stay where you are. I’m coming to you.
Tears fell again as I read her message. That was the thing about us Spar Island girls. We’d be there for each other. Even if we hadn’t seen each other in years. I knew Cate would want an update, but she was family now, and I didn’t want to bring her, and by extension Aleks, into this at the moment.
Jyn: I got a friend to fly me down there. I’ll be there in two hours. Get some breakfast, take a long shower, and I’ll text you when I get there.
Me. K. Thank you.
Jyn: Shut up. Be ready to go out. Love you, chickee.
I followed her instructions. Got up, got a shower, and headed down to the restaurant to eat. Then I grabbed a Lyft ride over to the office of What the Heart Wants agency. Grace wasn’t there, and I was relieved. I didn’t want to get into long explanations and carry the drama further. It hadn’t worked out. I’d tried, but this was a bust. I left both letters with the woman at the front desk and went back to my hotel to wait for Jyn.
In the meantime, I crumpled up all the floral paper and tossed it in the trash can. I wouldn’t be needing that anymore.
When she texted me, I gave her the name of the hotel, and in a very short time, she was in my room, hugging me.
I told her the whole sad tale, and I ended up crying again.
“You did the right thing with the letters, I think.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It’s better to make a clean break. Less mess, less drama. Okay, what do you have in your suitcase?” She got up and pulled the top of my suitcase open.
“What are you doing?”
“I told you be ready to go out. We’re going out with my friend, and he’s taking us to dinner, and dancing. We’re going to enjoy the night here.” She looked through my clothes. “These,” she said, holding up a pair of tight black pants and a silver sparkly shirt. “This is it. Go get changed. We have places to be, Natalia!”
I laughed. It wasn’t my normal laugh, but it was a laugh. This was why I’d texted Jyn. She lived life always looking forward, not back. She took the day as it came and made the most of it.
It was exactly what I needed.
I took the clothes from her and went to the bathroom. I was going to enjoy today with my friend and put this all behind me.
Christopher
I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing. I grabbed it before the call ended. “Hello?” I said.
“Christopher? Grace here. Can you come into the office?”
“Sure, what’s wrong, Grace? Something go down?”
“You could say that. Please come down as soon as possible.” She hung up before I could say anything.
I looked at the clock. “Holy shit.” It was after noon, and I’d slept the morning away. I had been up late, worrying, wondering what to do, and generally feeling like the biggest ass on the planet. I’d planned to write Christmas Elf first thing this morning, and I hadn’t even gotten up.
I rushed through a shower and drove to What The Heart Wants. When I walked in, Dora, Grace’s assistant, waved me on back to Grace’s office.
“Hey,” I said, as I knocked on the door. “What’s the problem? What can I help you with?”
She had a letter in her hand. “You can tell me what happened last night.”
The heat rushed up my neck and into my face. “I… I… I…” I stopped. Shit. The stutter was here.
Grace’s face relaxed. She knew about my stutter. I’d had a moment where the stutter showed up when we were first working together, and I’d told her a very abbreviated version of what having the stutter in my life had done to and for me.
I took a breath. And then another one. I closed my eyes and visualized the words I wanted to say. I saw myself saying them slowly. Keeping my eyes closed, I said, “I panicked when I saw her. I was late. I didn’t want to be, but I was late. And she is gorgeous. I took a couple of minutes to get myself together. When I came back, she was gone.” I opened my eyes.
I’d gotten it all out, but it didn’t seem to have made a difference.
“She stopped by this morning and left this for you.” She handed a letter to me across her desk. It was the same floral paper that Christmas Elf had been using for all our letters. Unlike the last letter, I didn’t think I was going to like this one.
Dear Shy Guy,
I waited for you. For over an hour, I waited. I watched all the other couples pairing up, and making eyes at each other, and generally being delighted. You weren’t there. We weren’t one of the couples.
I don’t know if we would have been, but since you weren’t there, we’ll never know.
I have asked Grace to end the contact between us. I don’t know if I made this more than it was, but this is really painful, and I am so disappointed. If you didn’t want to meet me, I wish that you had told Grace, or let me know somehow. Being left alone, like the puppy that no one wants—it’s the worst.
I wish you all the good things, but maybe not too soon. My feelings are hurt, and I can only be generous to a point.
Nat
She’d signed her real name. Nat. What a great name. It fit with what I’d read from her. But she didn’t want to see me anymore. And when I read her letter again, I realized what an ass I was, what a mess I’d made of this.
“Grace.” I looked up to see her watching me. She hadn’t said a word since she’d handed me the letter. “I need to talk to her, explain.”
Grace held up her hand. This was a different person than the one I’d come to know. “No, Christopher, I’m sorry. I don’t facilitate matches where one party does not wish it. Either you both do, or it doesn’t happen. She’s made her feelings clear.”
“No, no, Grace. This is a misunderstanding! I screwed up, absolutely, but I wanted to meet her. I wanted to! I just lost my nerve! I came back!” Calm it down, I told myself. I sounded crazy.
“I’m sorry, Christopher. Your correspondence with her is done. I won’t be making another match for you for a time. When things end like this, I ask both parties to take some time and regroup. Go home, Christopher. It’s over.” She sat down.
I stared at her. Her face was set. There was nothing else to be done. I’d blown it. I left the office and drove home.
I blew it.
* * *
The next two days were hell. I dreamed about Nat; seeing her talking and laughing in that red dress, her hair down her back. But she doesn’t talk to me.
Because I blew it.
On the third morning, I got up and showered, determined to do… something. I didn’t know what. I saw a request from Grace for some site maintenance, and I logged into her site, making a note of the tasks I needed to do first.
And that’s when it hit me. I had full access to Grace’s site. I could look up Nat, and…… and what? What, exactly did I think I was going to do?
I stared at the computer, knowing what I wanted, and trying to rationalize it to myself. But I remained stuck on the question—what did I think I would do?
It took me an hour, but I finally decided to leave it be. I hurt her, and anything I did now would be cleanup. I’d be starting so far behind the starting point that I didn’t know if I could ever catch up. I was going to regret missing out on Nat forever, but that’s the way shit goes.
I turned my focus to Grace’s problem, which was something in how the questionnaire was working. As usual, I used myself and my profile within her system as my tester. When I opened my profile, there it was, right under my name.
Matched with: Natalia Dragomirov
It listed her address, email address, and number.
Oh
, fuck.
I’d just talked myself out of looking her up and then here she was, right under my nose. I pushed my chair back away from the desk. Shit. What in the world do I do now?
If I believed in this kind of thing, I’d say this was a sign.
But I didn’t believe in that kind of thing.
Nat
When I came home, my mother didn’t say anything other than to ask me how the research went. I said it was fine, but not what I needed.
Cate was a little more difficult. She came by the house and found me out in the shed that had been turned into an office.
“Well?”
I looked up. I didn’t need to ask what she was referring to. “It was a bust.” Then I looked down again.
When I looked back at her, she was leaning on the door jamb, her arms crossed and a thoughtful look on her face. “That’s it? It was a bust?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“Not ready to talk about it?”
“Nope.”
“Okay. I’m here when you are.” She turned and walked back to the house.
Jyn had said the same thing. Although in a more Jyn sort of way. “If you need to hash this thing over some more, call me. I’m a willing participant in the listening. But you’ve closed the door on it. So it’s up to you whether it stays closed. Remember that, okay? Only you control that door.” Then she’d kissed me on the forehead, wrapped her arm around Claude, the older guy who had flown her down from Chicago and squired us around all day, and rolled out of my hotel room with a flourish.
I’d been leaving the door closed ever since I’d gotten on the plane to fly back here. When I did peek inside, I was astounded to see that it still hurt.
All it was a couple of letters. Why in the hell did it still hurt?
I shook my head and tried to focus. Just as I was getting into why we needed new Santa suits this year, and the wear pattern of the Santa pants, my mom appeared in the doorway.
“You have mail. I thought you might want it.”
“Okay. Leave it on the desk,” I said, not looking up.
She dropped a letter in front of me and then left without another word. I picked it up. It was a long envelope, and the paper reminded me of… him.
No. It couldn’t be.
It was addressed to me, from a Christopher. Then I saw the return address. It was St. Louis. It couldn’t be.
Only one way to find out. I ripped open the letter. A picture fell out.
The guy in the picture was tall. His hair was a light blond, and his eyes were light, maybe blue. He was smiling at the camera, and he was handsome. Like that California surfer kind of handsome. He had his hands in his pockets, and he looked like he was camping or something. He had a backpack and hiking boots on.
I turned it over, and on the back it said, This is me. Christopher. The biggest jerk to ever walk the planet.
Wow. He was hot. Like totally hunky and hot. Wow.
Dear Nat,
I got your letter, the one you left with Grace. And then… well, it’s a long story. I am asking you to read it, nothing else. It’s important to me that you know the truth.
First, how did I get your address? Grace didn’t give it to me. I know her personally. I’m her website guy. She signed me up for this as a thank you. Until I got your first letter, I wasn’t sure about this thing at all. After I read your last letter, I was crushed.
Because I didn’t reject you, or stand you up. I was running late, and I was nervous. One of the things I didn’t tell you is that most of my life, I’ve had a pretty bad stutter. I’ve gotten it under control, but when I get stressed, it tends to come out. It’s not one of the cool party tricks, either. I had a girlfriend in college that I told about it, and she seemed understanding. Until we went to a party together, and she was with her friends, and I heard her making fun of me. That was the beginning of a whole new kind of crap for me. I’d thought I’d gotten better and met someone who accepted me. She didn’t and let me know it in the worst way possible.
I made a career for myself so I didn’t have to go out, didn’t have to interact. I never wanted to feel like I did that night again. And I kept to myself, working like a crazy person, until Grace brought you into my life.
When I saw you, you were beautiful. Your hair is gorgeous, and your red dress was perfection. I couldn’t believe someone like you was there to meet me. I watched you, and you were so easy and graceful with everyone around you—people that had to be complete strangers. I felt completely unworthy and had to step outside for a minute. Or ten. I don’t remember. But when I came back to Earth, and came back into the ballroom, ready to man up and meet you—you were gone. Not that I blame you. I waited to see if you’d come back, and you didn’t. I was angry at myself for being late, for being such a coward—and I was worried about what you would think.
When I read your letter, it confirmed the worst of my fears. You thought I’d rejected you—and I felt like the biggest shit ever. I know what that’s like, and I would never do that to you—but I did. I am sorry I made you feel that way. I wanted to tell you that more than anything.
Despite how I felt, I knew I needed to honor your wishes. I could have accessed your information through Grace’s files, but I didn’t. A couple of days later, I was working on her site, and I used my own profile to test the fix. When I opened it, your name and address came up as the person I was matched with. Maybe I’m grasping at false hope, but I felt like it was a sign.
I’d love to see you again. I’d love to tell you how sorry I am. I think that’s a thing of the past.
But I took the sign as I needed to write to you and tell you the truth. There was nothing wrong with you. Nothing. It was all me.
I’m so sorry, Nat. I enjoyed getting to know you. You look just as amazing to me as you did before I met you.
Take care of yourself,
Christopher
When I read the part about his girlfriend, I cried. What a horrible, horrible thing. I’d never known anyone with a stutter. I had no idea what it was like.
I read his letter again. He wasn’t asking for anything. He wanted me to know the truth. He heard what I’d said—not only in the letters we wrote, but in my final letter.
This was a guy who could have seen me as me. That thought brought tears to my eyes. I set the letter down.
What did I want to do with this?
I didn’t know. I couldn’t make a decision right now. I had to deal with the ass end of Santa pants.
Later, up in my room, I read Christopher’s letter again. What did I want to do? I wanted to talk to him. As angry as I was, I didn’t want to give this up. Not yet.
But there wasn’t a person I could ask about this. Not because there was anything wrong—but because it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. I had to be honest with myself and make the choice for myself.
After reading his letter a thousand more times—or so it seemed—I went out to the small desk my mom had in the kitchen. She kept cards in there, for when she might need one, and I dug through her box until I found a blank one with a drawing of Mt. Hope Bay on it. I took it back to my room and started to write.
Christopher
I hadn’t heard anything—not from Nat, and not a chewing out from Grace—since I sent the letter.
That was that, then. I’d told her the truth, and while a small part of me hoped there would be a chance to work things out, it was more important that I let her know the truth. That was the best outcome.
Throwing myself into work wasn’t the distraction it normally was. I felt irritable, and grumpy, and I started running in the morning again. I had to get my grumpy bastard out somehow.
About a week after I’d mailed the letter to Nat, I got a card in the mail.
It was from Nat.
I almost killed myself getting back into the house. I ripped open the envelope. It had a picture of a lake, or a bay, or something on it. I opened it.
Dear Christopher,
I wrote this
the day I got your letter. But I hung onto it, debating whether to send it. I wanted to see if I was mad at you for finding me. In all honesty, had I been in your situation, I would have taken seeing the name and address of my match as a sign, too. So I guess I can understand that.
And I can understand your nerves. I have no idea what it’s like to live with a stutter. I looked it up, and some of the stories people wrote on blogs about it made me cry. Just like your story. I can’t imagine how that must have felt.
Yes, I was—am—hurt. But at least you didn’t call me by name and point out a problem like your girlfriend did to you. I keep trying to imagine how that must have felt. It’s a couple of steps down into Hell from what I felt, and I felt pretty bad.
I’m not saying that to increase your guilt—although you having some and being very apologetic is in your favor. I’m just trying to get a sense of what you must have experienced, and why that would make you worry about the reactions of others so much.
I know you didn’t ask, but I’d like to see you. I was about to write ‘see you again,’ but I’ve never seen you. This time, however, you need to come to me.
Nat
She had put the ball in my court. Holy shit. Holy shit. I hadn’t blown it.
I spent the rest of the day rearranging my schedule. Then I booked a flight and made arrangements for a hotel and a car. I had a plan, and I was hoping like hell it would work.
The next morning, I got on the plane, and after I picked up my rental car, drove to Bristol. When I came into the town, I took some time to drive around. Not only because I was nervous as I could be, but because I wanted to see what Nat loved about this place so much. Finally, I pushed myself to put her address into my GPS, and drove slowly to her house. Her parents’ house. Where her brother and father, both very protective, lived with her.
Shit.
Taking a deep breath, I parked the car, and walked to the front door, ringing the bell without thinking about it. An older version of Nat answered.
Dear Shy Guy: The Matchmaker Series Page 4