Return to Sender

by Ashlyn Kane

  So Dad just came to talk to me. Asked me if I had a boyfriend. Then he said he was tired of guessing what was going on in my life now, so if we could go back to talking to each other like normal again, he’d be happy. Then he cried. Which wasn’t so great, because I’m tired of crying parents, but the first part was good.

  So it looks like I’ve got a dad again. Not sure about Mom, but she’s still reading those books.

  Emerson

  §

  Emerson,

  Are you implying something? Technically speaking I suppose you’re just stating it outright. That’s okay, though, I think I’ll like San Francisco. I have a couple of part-time jobs lined up—one doing children’s programs at a library and one as a barista—don’t laugh—and I officially have an apartment. Between the jobs and the writing/editing, I’ll be a very busy boy, which suits me just fine. I have decided to retire from romance (Elijah mailed me a dead fish. A DEAD FISH, Emerson. It would turn anyone off of love, I promise you).

  I will sell my kidney on the black market if that’s what it takes to get you here, Emerson. Of course, I’ll probably die of sepsis while I wait. You let me know when you can come, and we’ll work something out.

  I knew your parents would come around. Although of course this opens the door for all sorts of awkward new conversations.

  Jonah

  §

  Jonah,

  Wow, children’s programs and barista? You’re going to be tired all the time, I think. Is there anything more demanding than children or coffee drinkers waiting for their coffee?

  A dead fish? What did you do to the poor man? A dead fish is pretty spiteful.

  I’d rather you didn’t sell your kidney or die of sepsis. I don’t know, Jonah. I still have school to consider as well. We’ll see.

  None of the conversations yet to come can be as bad as the “are you a gay slut getting infected with STIs?” conversation with Dad from before.

  Classes started this week. I have a studio space. A place where I can do art. I’m going to bankrupt myself over the next few months buying art supplies, but I don’t care. I have a studio. True, it’s in the middle of a large room surrounded by many other students who are doing art and making a lot of noise, but I don’t care.

  Emerson

  §

  Emerson,

  Barista = free coffee. I’ll be fine.

  I don’t know—it’s not like Elijah didn’t know I was going to move somewhere else and break up with him. I was honest with him from the start. I didn’t mean to break anyone’s heart! (If I even did. He might just be bitter.)

  You don’t have to let me know right away. I’m planning on staying in California for a while. You have all summer to visit me. Maybe we can learn to surf!

  No conversation can ever be as bad as the STI conversation. Well, unless you actually did have one. That would probably be worse. Actually, now that I think of it, there are a whole bunch of worse conversations. Let’s change the subject.

  Sounds like you’re really enjoying the design program. I won’t say I told you so, but we both know it’s implied. I’m thinking if I like California as much as I think I’m going to I might apply to a creative writing program for the fall. It’s never too late, right? (You can say you told me so, too, if you want. It’s only fair.)

  Jonah

  P.S. Check out the link to my fancy new future apartment!

  §

  Jonah,

  Well, if you get free coffee….

  Re: Elijah: This is what you get for dating a guy with a mohawk.

  So you’ll be in California for a while then. I see you’re still impractical—all summer? I can’t leave for an entire summer.

  Ugh. Now you’ve put unhappy thoughts in my head. Thankfully there were no STIs, and let’s leave it at that. Mom, though, made her own attempt at awkward conversations today. Asked me if I had a boyfriend. When I said no, she then proceeded to make inquiries about Zack and Greg and did I maybe want either of them to be my boyfriend. It took a while to convince her that I had no romantic interests.

  Design is awesome. Much better than business. And yes, I promise not to say I told you so if you won’t.

  Emerson

  P.S. Nice place. It looks so sunny.

  §

  Emerson,

  Lesson learned, my friend. Lesson learned.

  Why couldn’t you leave for the whole summer? You could crash here, get a job, a real, crappy, college-student job with no responsibility. Anyway I wasn’t inviting you for the whole summer. I was inviting you for any time during the summer. Not that I’d object if you wanted to live with me for a couple of months, but sleeping on my couch might eventually get old.

  Your mom has good instincts. High five her for me. I’d lament your lack of prospects, but it’s kind of nice to have someone to commiserate with about the whole celibacy thing.

  Downloaded the application package for USF’s English writing program last night. It’s not ideal, but hey, the credits will probably transfer, and it’s the experience I want anyway, not the letters.

  Jonah

  §

  Jonah,

  Because Dad couldn’t do without me for the whole summer. I’m not sure I could excuse being away for a week.

  Good instincts? For suspecting me of liking Zack or Greg? Or perhaps for being against my dating either of them?

  Commiserate about celibacy? I feel no need to complain about that. I’d rather complain about the lack of men who want to date in Austin. Somehow I doubt you’ll be having greater dating issues in San Francisco than I will in Texas.

  USF, huh? Should be good. At least you’ll get to meet other aspiring writers.

  I’ve got to go. Hayley’s here and complaining that I’m not ready to go. She says I spend too much time in the studio, so she’s come to take me for lunch.

  Emerson

  Jonah! I stole the computer. Don’t believe a word this boy says about me! When do I get to meet the sexy best friend, then? - Hayley :)

  §

  Emerson,

  Sorry, I’m a bit scattered. My flight leaves in a couple of hours, and I’m still packing, but I wanted to catch you before I left.

  I understand about your parents needing you at the store. I still wish you could come visit, though. Plenty of men to date in San Fran… or so I’ve heard, anyway. Not that I’ll be partaking in the many charms I am sure they have to offer. I’ll probably be too busy between working and writing anyway.

  The trouble will come when I meet aspiring writers and have to try very hard not to lord my published-ness over their heads. Depending on what sort of reviews the book gets, I suppose. Hrm, maybe I should have used a pseudonym. Oh well.

  Tell Hayley I said hello and flexed my bicep just for her—I’ve got to shove this into the bag and get to the airport, or I’m screwed!

  Jonah

  §

  Jonah,

  So have you made it to San Fran yet?

  I don’t think I want to go to San Fran for a date. Especially since I’d only be getting a few days with you as it is. We’ll see about my going.

  So you’re serious about this not dating thing then? Never going to fall in love again? (I now have Costello stuck in my head… darn, Mom’s music.)

  Speaking of your published-ness, when do I get to read this book? How long do I have to wait? Two months? Six? Twelve?

  Ugh! I can’t believe Hayley. She totally distracted me, then sat on my lap and kept me too far away from my laptop to stop her from editorializing and sending that e-mail. I will not tell her you flexed a bicep just for her—it will go to her head, and she will be insufferable (well, more so than she already is).

  Did my first photography assignment. We had to experiment with movement. Here’s my final print.

  Emerson

  §

  Hey Em,

  All settled in. It may be premature of me to say so, but I am never leaving.

  Working at the library is pretty
cool. I have really young kids three days during the week for an hour and a half at a time, so I usually read them a story, and then we do some kind of craft. Then when they’re gone, I put away any books that have been returned or whatever else needs doing, then at three we have a teen book club. We are never reading Twilight. Ever. Anyway, I’ve only worked two shifts so far, but it’s pretty great. I’m already planning on trying to con them into paying me to do a writer’s workshop.

  As for love—I don’t know about never again. Just not right now. When the right person comes around, I’ll let you know.

  I haven’t even got the first edit yet, so I don’t know when I’ll have an advance reader’s copy to send you. June, maybe? You will know as soon as I know.

  Your final print has just become my first wall decoration in California. You should be proud.

  Jonah

  P.S. Attached is a crappy picture of my flexing bicep. You can keep it for yourself or give it to Hayley, whatever.

  §

  Jonah,

  Well, it’s good to hear that you like it there. Oh man, they told you to do story time? It’s a wonder you ever leave the library! No Twilight? What, you don’t want to have to engage in epic Jacob vs. Edward battles? What’s wrong with you?

  You know… that’s generally what happens with love. You wait around until the right person comes along.

  Glad to hear someone liked my print. Don’t know what the professor thinks of it yet.

  Re: picture. I’m not giving it to Hayley. And what happened to the beanpole? No way were your biceps that huge when you left here.

  I’m in the studio again at the moment, taking a break from my latest assignment. They gave me clay, Jonah. Clay! And told me to make something with it. What am I supposed to make with clay?

  Emerson

  §

  Emerson,

  I’m thinking now I might as well write a kids’ book. Up to some illustration work? I know it’s not exactly the animated movie we used to dream of doing, but it could be fun.

  Any teenager who shows up with an Edward or Jacob T-shirt is automatically required to read the first six chapters of Wuthering Heights. That usually puts them back in their place pretty quickly.

  I’m sure you’ll do fine on your assignment. You’ll have to send me the next one, too, because my walls are still pretty bare. Or a picture of it, I guess, if you’re making it out of clay. Can you make it look like Stretch Armstrong? (That is really the only G-rated suggestion I have for you, man, you know me better than to ask for advice on that! Unless you want to make a model of my bicep.)

  Spent all of today learning how to make girly coffee drinks. Just what I needed—caffeine AND sugar. If I spontaneously combust tell my mom I love her.

  Jonah

  §

  Jonah,

  Send me a copy of a manuscript for a children’s book, and I’ll see what I can do. Though I make no promises, considering I don’t even know what the book is about.

  Haha! Wuthering Heights? Forcing classic lit down their throats? Ah, nosy Kierstyn has just informed me about the book’s significance. One question: how do you know what Bella’s favorite book is?

  Um, there will be no Stretch Armstrong or bicep sculptures. Nor will there be R-rated sculptures. I don’t care what Eve is doing, I’m not making a cock.

  Oh God! Who thought it would be a good idea to give you coffee and sugar? I lament that anyone liked this idea. I also wonder at the mental health of whoever allowed this to happen.

  Anyway, I’ve got to go. Zack is dragging us out to a bar tonight to watch him and Greg sing, so I’ve got to get this reading done. Art theory, here I come.

  Emerson

  §

  Emerson,

  Sorry for the tardy reply. Worked a double Thursday, then again yesterday. Saturday I didn’t have to work at the shop, but I gave myself a tour after the library to acquaint myself with the area. Seriously, you should visit. You’d love it here.

  Let me brainstorm for a bit on the book, and I’ll get back to you. I have a couple of ideas, but I want to flesh them out a bit first.

  The story with Wuthering Heights is this: actually a teenage girl asked me for it when I was working the help desk, explained its significance, and then came back an hour later with a very unhappy expression. It was so hard not to laugh in her face.

  Well if you’re not making a muscleman or a dick, what else is left? The Alamo? Seriously, Emerson. ;)

  Re: coffee and sugar. This is why I did a phone interview. They couldn’t see me twitching. And it’s too late to fire me now, I already have all the regulars’ orders memorized. Besides, Katie, the manager, is even more of a spaz than I am. So there.

  Enjoy your studying! I am going to go up onto the rooftop to watch the sun sink into the bay. Wish you were here.

  Jonah

  §

  Jonah,

  Take as long as you want on the brainstorming. I’m not sure I’ll be able to do any illustrating until the summer. I’m so busy with assignments that I barely have free time, and when I do, I’m not very eager to do more art.

  And here I thought you were sneaking glances at Twilight in your free time. Or, perhaps, like Zack, you had made the mistake of dating a girl who’s into it. (She lasted all of one weekend, and Zack ranted for about two weeks at how the book was rotting people’s brains. He says she told him he could never hope to be as wonderful as Edward Cullen. This is apparently enough to wilt even Zack’s… ardor.)

  I am not sculpting the Alamo. We had to pick an emotion: desire, fear or jealousy. I sculpted this (the attached picture) instead. I stayed up late last night finishing it so that it could be ready to hand in in a few days.

  It’s time for me to go. The timer is about to go on the oven, and I have hungry people to feed. Seriously, when Hayley, Zack, and Greg are waiting for food, things can get ugly.

  Emerson

  §

  Emerson,

  I can definitely have something ready to illustrate by the summer, and I totally commiserate about the lack of free time. I wouldn’t have time for a date right now even if I wanted one.

  Thank you again for the unnecessary visual re Zack’s ardor. Though I totally sympathize with him over the Twilight freaks. Two of the girls in the book club have asked me out, and one of the others is flirting pretty shamelessly. It’s… “off-putting” isn’t a strong enough word, but “disgusting” seems too far. Creepy, maybe? Yeah. As in they make me feel like an old man. Debating simply telling them I am gay, but with these girls, who knows, that might just encourage them. After all, unattainable is what they are looking for.

  Anyway, speaking of creepy, printed the picture of your sculpture—very cool by the way—and hung it over my bed. Mind you, my apartment is so tiny that pretty much anywhere I put it would’ve been over the bed, unless I hung it in the bathroom, but still. I am not sure I see fear or jealousy OR desire—I mean the last one, yeah, a little bit, but not primarily that. It’s something else. Yearning, maybe, the way they’re reaching for each other. (Apparently I shouldn’t have had that wine with dinner. Sorry. I’ll shut up now.)

  Jonah

  §

  Jonah,

  I’ve escaped the studio and have about five minutes to write you before I have to go to bed and then again to the studio. I’ve been so busy recently that I haven’t even brought the computer to the studio; it’s too distracting.

  Well, I’m eager to see what kind of children’s book you would write. And to have enough time to draw for it.

  Hey, if I have to suffer through such stories about Zack, then you should join me!

  Book club girls? Aren’t they all teenagers? Jonah, are you attracting sixteen-year-old girls? You dog, robbing the cradle! I suspect you’re right about them wanting someone unattainable—at least judging from the way Kierstyn crushes on one celebrity after another. These days she seems set on marrying a Jonas brother—though which one seems to change every other day.


  My sculpture’s also on the wall? Maybe I should stop sending you pictures, or soon your whole apartment will be filled with nothing but. I hadn’t intended to include any fear or jealousy in the sculpture, though I suppose both could also be inferred (as my art prof loves to say). She seems to agree with you, by the way. Congratulated me on creating a piece that incorporated all three emotions.

  I think it’s bedtime now. Must sleep.

  Emerson

  Chapter 11

  NOW

  BY THE following Wednesday, Emerson was a prime example of human misery and piteousness. Other than a Friday shift at the store and dinner with his mother, he hadn’t left the house. Actually, Emerson had rarely left his room. It was noon already, and he wasn’t yet showered. Shifting on his bed, Emerson curled his blankets tighter around himself. He resettled and kept watching The Princess Bride.

  Emerson had watched it and The Jungle Book several times over the past few days. Both films were favorites from his childhood and both were among the first things he pulled out when feeling low. The only things that came close to making him feel better when he was this sad were the film he had worn out on VHS when he was five or the dread pirate in black, who was his first crush at ten.

  Westley and Inigo Montoya were fencing with foils and words on his laptop screen when there was a knock on his door.

  “Em-er-son!” Hayley’s shout came through his bedroom door. She knocked three times before opening his door and bouncing in. She didn’t hesitate as she crossed the room and settled herself on the bed. “I’ve missed you, darling.” She kissed his cheek. Hayley had been out of town for several weeks visiting her parents. Emerson was glad she was back, especially now, as she was curled up against him, a warm, comforting weight.