by RH Tucker
It’s been three days since I dropped off the letter.
When I got home, I told Yesenia that I dropped it off. I was still nervous about doing it, and she must’ve been able to tell because she didn’t say anything, simply giving me a supportive hug, letting me know again she was here if I needed to talk.
The first thing I told him was something I’m not sure he knew. I knew him in high school, but we were properly introduced at a bonfire after we graduated. When I saw him around school, I thought he was cute, but when I met him at the bonfire, that’s when I started to crush on him.
And the letter just escalated from there. Talking about times during our first semester I saw him, and even though I wasn’t sure if he was dating anyone, I never dared to speak more than a couple of words to him because of how insecure I was. I am. How if I went to his gym, I’d take a hoodie in case he was there so he couldn’t tell who I was but I could see him. I know, stalker much?
Then when the second semester rolled around, I told him how I thought I was finally working up enough courage to talk to him. Not to ask him out, but just try to have a fully functioning conversation with him. That’s when I saw him with Lana. I hadn’t seen him with her much the semester before, but I remembered them together back in high school. I told him I thought she was perfect for him. Not too short, a slim, athletic figure that seemed to go hand-in-hand with his. I could daydream all I want about him, but I wrote that I’d never be as good of a match for him as her.
But then he kissed me.
Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to write as much as I did. I thought I’d get out a few words and crumple up the paper, never giving it to him. Or, if I was able to put together enough words to tell him how I felt, I thought it’d be a paragraph. Maybe two, at the most. I didn’t expect it to be eight pages, all written on lined notebook paper. I guess I had a lot more to say about my feelings than I thought.
I told him how he made me feel in the beginning. When he kissed me, or when he took my hand as we walked through the street fair that first night. Even the night we had sex and the next day when he told me he loved me. I told him I believed him then and I still believe him. But the most important part was to tell him that when I’m with him, I believe his words. I believe I’m beautiful, and sexy, and wanted. But they’re like a shield. A force-field that blocks out all my negative feelings about myself, but it’s only for a limited time. Because when I leave his arms, I’m thrown back right into the real world. And in the real world, girls like me don’t get guys like him.
It reminded me of my discussion with Sofia. How I was telling her she was wrong about the same insecurities I was feeling. And I didn’t feel like I was lying, but when the conversation was over, I didn’t know how to believe them myself.
I told him so many things that I thought it was too much. That he’d read it—after waking from fainting over the number of pages in the envelope—and that it’d be over. We’d be over.
But then he called me that night. And I ignored his call. He texted me. And I ignored that, too.
I don’t know what he wanted to tell me, but I told him I wasn’t done. I’d written so much, but I ended it telling him I still needed time. I need to get a grip on this and that there’s something else I need to say to him. I want to be with him. I want to know he’s my future and that I’m his. But I don’t know how to actively pursue that future and at the same time, fight off every insecurity I feel after I leave his arms.
So I asked him for time. Time I don’t even think I deserve because who tells someone they want to be with them but asks them to wait without telling them how long. A week? A month? Why would he wait for me when girls are lusting over him on a daily basis? And there are the worries again, flooding through me like an avalanche.
I finally make my way outside. My next class isn’t for an hour, so I asked Cindy to meet me at the café. As soon as I walk in, I see her waving at me. I’m about to wave back when I see Micah and Taylor walk in on the opposite side. Spinning around, I hurry to a restroom. As I scurry over to it, I duck my head between my shoulders, staring at the ground, hoping he doesn’t see me.
Getting inside, I lean against the door, feeling hopeless. We aren’t broken up. Estranged, sure, but he’s still my boyfriend. Why am I acting like this? He obviously wants to talk about what I wrote, or he wouldn’t have called and messaged me. But I’m not ready. I need to get the last part out of me.
I feel the door push against me, and I step out of the way.
“What are you doing?” Cindy asks, walking inside.
Moving over to the wall, I cross my arms and hang my head. “I saw Micah behind you. I can’t see him right now.”
“He saw you.” She sounds perplexed.
“He did?” I cover my face.
“Yes. What’s wrong? He asked me if I thought you wanted to end things. He says you haven’t returned his calls.”
I haven’t told Cindy about the letter. Only Yesenia knows I gave it to him. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know if you want to break up?”
“No, I don’t want to break up. I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. I gave him this long letter, basically telling him how I felt when we got together and these last couple months, and how I’ve always just felt like a side dish and never the main entrée with him.”
“You did?” She cringes, making my embarrassment rise.
“Yes! And I told him I don’t want to break up, but I still need time, and I have to figure everything else out.” I expect her to counter my arguments like she’s done in the past. To tell me I’m wrong or give me some kind of pep talk, but she doesn’t. She takes a step closer, wrapping an arm around me, nodding. “Did he … was he upset right now when he saw me?”
“No, not really. He just seemed confused.”
“Is he still out there?”
She shakes her head. “He left. He said to tell you he wants to talk.”
Letting out a long breath, I nod. I know we need to talk. But I have to get these fears of my future out, too. And I need to do it soon.
Chapter 37
Micah
The first week of the semester is done, and I should feel relieved. My course load isn’t crazy. I got all the classes I wanted. But I see Veronica everywhere on campus. When she hid from me in the café, my immediate response was to rush over to her, but then I stopped. She was hiding from me. Avoiding me. Would running over to her and forcing her to talk about everything push her away more? Cindy went to speak to her, and later that day I got a text message from her.
Cindy: She just needs time
I know that. It’s what she keeps telling me. But how long is too long before this small crack becomes a canyon and we can’t reach each other anymore?
Getting home from my last class, I find Taylor on the couch going over his homework. I wave at him and then head to my room. I finally washed my sheets. I thought I’d fold them, put them away, and dress my bed in new ones, but instead, I slipped the same ones back over my mattress. They don’t smell like her anymore, but I still have the memories. Maybe that’s all I’ll have from now on.
Dropping my bag at the foot of my bed, I see a letter on top of my covers. Snatching it quickly, I read my name scribbled on the front in Veronica’s writing.
“Taylor,” I call out, leaning in my doorway, “Veronica was here?”
“Yeah.” He taps a pencil against his head, looking over at me. “Just for a second. She didn’t come in. She wanted to leave that envelope for you.”
“She didn’t … did she ask anything? Leave any messages or something?”
He shakes his head, giving me an empathetic smile. “Sorry.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Retreating into my room, I shut the door. I sit on my bed and tear open the envelope, a little surprised to find a single sheet. Her last letter—which I saved and have it in my dresser—was pages long. This one is four paragraphs. A tinge of panic surges, not knowing if the lack of w
ords is a good thing or bad.
Micah,
I thought since I wrote you a novel last time, I’d try to keep this short and sweet. I’m sorry I’m telling you these things this way. I really do wish I could tell you face-to-face, but I can’t. When Yesenia said to write it, I didn’t think it’d make a difference. But when I wrote that first letter, I knew it did.
I don’t know what to do. I love you, Micah. No matter what happens, I will always love you. When I’m with you, I really do feel beautiful. But it’s not like I can have you around me every second for the rest of my life, always blocking out the negative thoughts I have.
I told you how I felt before we dated, and then about these last few months. But what about the future? I have no idea. If I had my way, I’d say let’s be together forever. I want that. But I can’t promise I’ll stop comparing myself to other people. I want to try. I am trying. But in a month or a year, I might still do it. And I don’t know if that’s fair to you. To make you feel like you have to continually build up my self-esteem because I can’t see it myself at times.
After you read this, I think I’ll be ready to talk. I hope so, at least. So call or text me after this, and I’d like to try to begin to work on us. But if you can’t, that’s fine. You may have your own insecurities, but I’ve hidden these fears from you that actually ended up affecting our relationship, and maybe I’ve already messed up a good thing. So regardless of what happens next, you’ll always be my first love.
Love Always,
Veronica
Jumping up from the bed, I rush out of the apartment. I just read her fears, and how she’s not sure if she’ll ever be rid of them. But one line out of the letter is my focus. ‘If I had my way, I’d say let’s be together forever. I want that.’ She wants that. That’s all I need to know, so I don’t even think about calling or texting her first. Jumping in my truck, I rush over to her house, unsure she’s even going to be there right now. I don’t know her class schedule, so she might be gone.
Parking in front of her house, a new worry hits me—her brothers. Miguel was the one who called me last time, but Tomás is the one that hit me. I’m sure he told his brothers what happened, so I’m not expecting anything but apathy when I see them. Still, I push through the concern and hurry to her front door, knocking.
“Get lost, prick,” Javier answers, opening the door for just a second before he starts to close it again.
Sliding my foot to keep it open, I press my hand against it. “Javier, please. I need to talk to her.”
“Are you crazy?” he hisses, stepping outside, closing the door behind him. “Dude, I wasn’t here, but I heard what happened. You’re a douchebag, but I’m not pissed off enough to attack you right now. Miguel and Tomás? That’s another story. I’m doing you a favor here. Get lost before one of them sees you.”
“I can’t leave. Please, I need to talk to her. She asked me to call her.”
“You’re not getting it.” He steps closer, putting a finger in my chest. “She might’ve asked you to call her, but you’re gonna have to do that somewhere else. Here? At our home? If Tomás sees you, you’re about to get the shit kicked out of you. I’m trying to help you out, Micah.”
“I’m not leaving,” I respond, folding my arms and standing my ground.
“Micah, go!” He pushes me.
I stumble back, but regain my footing, planting myself again. Then the door opens.
“Yo, Javi, who was—” Tomás’ words cut off, as his eyes meet mine. “You got a lot of nerve showing up again, asshole.”
“Micah, I told you. You need to leave,” Javier urges me, pushing me again.
“No, let him stay.” Tomás pushes past his brother, shoving me.
Javier’s between us, still trying to get me to go back to my truck. I cautiously wait for Tomás to make a move, and when he lunges at me, I quickly step out of the way. Javier turns to his brother, trying to hold him back.
“Tomás, I just need to talk to her,” I yell at him.
“You aren’t talking to anyone!”
“Micah, go!” Javier yells.
“I’m not leaving.”
“Javi, get the hell out of my way.”
“Tomás, calm down.”
Pushing against his brother, he lunges at me again, but I move away as we circle their front yard. It’s the evening, so I’m sure their neighbors might be watching through their windows, but I can’t bring myself to care about it enough to stop. I don’t care if he gets ahold of me and we start rolling around in the grass, causing people to call the cops on us, I can’t leave. I won’t.
“Move, Javi!” Tomás yells at his brother. “You weren’t here. You didn’t see how hurt she was.”
His words make me freeze. It’s not a revelation that what I said was out of line and hurt her. I know it did. I said it in a moment of anger and frustration. But hearing him tell it, knowing I caused it, sends dread through me again.
Tomás finally shoves Javier out of the way, grabbing me by the shirt. “You’re never seeing her again, you hear me? I don’t care if she wants you here or not, I’m watching out for her. I’m protecting her from dickheads like you who think you’re too good for her.”
“I don’t think—”
“Shut up!” he growls. “I should slam your face into the ground right now. But I know she still has feelings for you. So leave, Micah. Get the hell out of here and never come back because I swear to God, if you do, I won’t hold back. She’ll get over you. I’m not gonna give you another chance to hurt her.”
“Tomás!” A booming voice makes all three of us turn our heads. Standing in the doorway is their father. Just behind him, Veronica stands wide-eyed and mouth open. “Let him go.”
Tomás looks back at me, narrowing his eyes, seething in frustration.
“Tomás,” his father orders again. This time he let’s go. “Javier, get inside.”
It’s an interesting shift of power I’m watching play out. Their father’s said very little to me, and from being around them, he doesn’t voice his concern or demonstrate any kind of authority to any of his children. At the same time, even though they’re all over eighteen, and Tomás is married, he still seems to run everything.
Javier looks at Tomás for a moment before retreating back into the house. Tomás, though he isn’t holding me anymore, continues to stand toe to toe, his gaze boring into mine. Through the corner of my eye, I see the older man approach, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Go inside, Tomás.”
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move for what feels like an eternity, and I never break our gaze. Finally, he takes a step back. He looks at his father, then his eyes find mine again before he turns around and walks back into the house.
My vision follows him, and as he goes inside, he gives Veronica’s arm a comforting squeeze. She keeps her eyes on me.
“Micah.” The strong voice returns, but it’s different. It’s quiet enough for only me to hear but at the same time enough to rattle my bones. “That girl may be a young woman now, free to make her own choices and mistakes, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t watched out for. That she isn’t protected.” There isn’t any anger or frustration in his voice. Only warning. “I was watching from inside. I wouldn’t be out here right now if she didn’t ask me. They are all my kids, but she’s always been who we protect. If she asks you to talk, you talk. If she asks you to stay, you stay. I’ll make sure the boys don’t do anything. But, Micah,” he lifts a finger, “if she asks you to leave, then you leave. I’ll only say it once.”
I want to answer him, but my voice is gone, so I nod. As nervous as he makes me, I’m more terrified of this being the last time I get to talk to her. He nods back, turns around, and walks back into the house. Veronica approaches me cautiously, worry across her face.
“You should’ve called,” she says, flashing a small, nervous grin.
“I couldn’t. I didn’t want to just hear your voice, I needed to see you.”
She
walks past me, and I follow along like a lost puppy. Leaning against my truck parked in front of her yard, she asks, “You read the letter?”
“Of course.”
Bobbing her head, she looks around her yard, then off into the distance. The sun’s finally collapsed beneath the horizon, offering a warm yellow and orange glow through the clouds. I’m not sure if she’s watching the sunset thinking it’s the last one we’ll see together or if she’s hoping it’s one in a long line of many to come.
“I don’t …” Her words linger, filling me with panic. “I don’t know what to do, Micah.”
Those words are all I need to move me to action. Throwing my arms around her, I pull her close, and a sliver of hope hits me as she wraps hers around me. “It’s gonna be okay,” I whisper.
“But how? How will it be okay? Micah, I’ve tried. I’ve really, really tried and I keep trying, but these fears never leave.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry, Vero. I should’ve never told you what I did. I’m not too good for you. I’m nothing without you. I need you, Veronica. Please, come back to me, and we can figure out all of the rest.”
“But that’s not fair, Micah.” She shakes her head into my chest. “I can’t ask you to do that. To always be my cheerleader.”
“That’s what couples do, isn’t it? Cheer the other on? Support them?”
“Yeah, for like a new job or something. For someone’s dream. This thing,” she presses her fingers to her head, “never goes away.”
Leaning down to her, I hold her face, my thumbs brushing away her tears. “Do you know what my dream is, Vero?”