One Night

by Allie Everhart

  Macy stops at the card section. "You should get her one with flowers. Grandmas like flowers." She picks out a card and hands it to me. "How about this one?"

  It has pink roses on it and would be fine for a grandma but not for Amber. She needs something more modern and artistic. She may be old-fashioned when it comes to romance but she's modern when it comes to other things, like her hair and clothes. She seems to have good style, at least based on what little time I spent with her.

  I hand Macy the card back. "I don't think she'd like that one. I'll keep looking."

  She puts the card back and starts scanning the other ones.

  "Macy, you don't need to help me. I'm good."

  "I don't mind. I don't have anything else to do. It's really slow this time of night."

  "I'd really just kind of like to look by myself, if that's okay."

  "Oh." She seems hurt. "Okay."

  That's another reason why I broke up with her. She always took everything the wrong way, assuming I was rejecting her if I didn't go along with everything she said.

  She finally leaves and I search the card rack and find one that looks like a watercolor print with bright swirling colors. It's not great but it'll have to do. I forgot to get a pen so I return to the office supply area but all the pens are crappy ones like I have at home. I find a thin black marker and buy that instead.

  Back at the house, I sit at the kitchen table and try to figure out what to write. It's almost one in the morning and I should be tired from a week of classes in which I had two tests and a paper due, but right now I feel wide awake, on a high from the thought of seeing Amber again. I wonder when I'll see her. I know she wants to take it slow but we can't just write letters forever.

  My Dearest Amber, I write, being overly dramatic, hoping it'll make her laugh. Am I supposed to be funny or serious? Can I be both? I have no idea how to write a letter. I've never actually written one. Or does email count? If so, I'm not very good at writing emails so I'll probably suck even more at letters.

  I continue. Thank you for the letter. I appreciate your honesty and hold no ill will toward you regarding what happened after that night.

  Ill will? Who talks like that? Writing this old-fashioned letter is making my thoughts come out like an old man. But Amber said she wanted a gentleman so maybe she'll think my formal words are gentleman-like.

  I look back at her letter to address the comments she made.

  As for my relationship status, I'm currently single. I recently parted ways with the girl I was seeing. She wasn't the right girl for me. The right girl, the girl I want, is you, and has been since the night we met.

  Shit, that's too much. Too over-the-top. Even though it's true, it might scare her off. I go to erase it but then realize I can't. I could cross it out but that would look sloppy and ruin the mood. I decide to just leave it. If I want this girl, I can't hold back. I have to let her know how I feel.

  I want this, Amber. I want to try and see where this could go. I've never experienced anything like that night and I want to experience it again. I know you think that's not possible but I think it is. I think we could be even better than that night. And as for the romance and taking it slow, I don't think you're crazy. Okay, maybe a little crazy, but I'll do whatever it takes to see you again. When can we meet? I'm here all weekend so give me a call.

  I really want to see you. Get to know you.

  And continue our story.

  Love Always, Dylan

  I fold up the letter, stuff it in the envelope, and lick it closed before I change my mind about what I wrote. I tried not to overthink it and just let the words flow, but now I'm thinking I might've said too much. I don't usually expose that much of myself this early in a relationship, but the fact that I did shows how much closer I feel to Amber than the other girls I've been with.

  A half hour later, I've delivered the letter to Amber's apartment and am back at the house. I can't sleep so I go downstairs and play One Night on my guitar, thinking of that night. Thinking of Amber. And hoping that one night will lead to so much more.

  Chapter Ten

  Amber

  "He wrote me a letter!" I squeal as I wave it in the air. It's Saturday morning and as I was walking to the kitchen, I saw something wedged under the door.

  Kira runs up to me. "Who are you talking about? Who wrote you a letter?"

  "Dylan!" I look at her. "You were there last night. You know I left him a letter. Why are you pretending you didn't?"

  She shrugs. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

  "So you knew he was writing me back?"

  "Yeah. Your letter got there just as Austin and I were getting ready to leave."

  "And?" I grab the sleeve of her oversized sweatshirt. "What was his reaction?"

  "He was shocked. He got all intense as he read the letter, and then he burst from his chair and started searching for paper so he could write you back. But he couldn't find the right kind of paper so he took off to buy some."

  "That late at night?"

  She smiles. "I told you he still likes you. He more than likes you. He's crazy about you. He said it couldn't be just any paper. It had to be good paper. Old-fashioned paper."

  "He really said that?"

  "Yeah. Why?"

  "Because that's what I told him. I said it had to be written on nice paper. I can't believe he remembered. That was so long ago."

  "But that doesn't look like paper." She points to the envelope. "It looks like a card."

  "He probably couldn't find stationary paper. They only sell it at specialty stores."

  "Are you going to open it?"

  I stare at it in my hand. "Um, yeah."

  "What's wrong?"

  "I'm afraid to read it. What if he turns me down? He has to, right? I mean he has a girlfriend. He can't—"

  "He doesn't have a girlfriend. He broke up with her last night, right after he got your letter."

  "He broke up with her? But they've been dating for months."

  "I think it was only a month, maybe two, but it wasn't anything serious. Now hurry up and open it."

  I go over to the couch and sit down, then carefully unseal the envelope and take out the card. On the front is a colorful design, like an abstract watercolor. Opening the card, I see Dylan's letter. It's written with a thin black marker. It makes me smile knowing he wrote it with a marker instead of a regular pen, in an attempt to mimic my calligraphy pen.

  My plan was to read it slowly, savoring each word, but instead, I read it quickly, once, and then again.

  "So?" Kira says from the chair that's next to the couch. I didn't even know she was sitting there. "What's it say?"

  "That he wants to do this. He wants to try going out. He's even willing to take it slow and do the whole romance thing."

  "Amber, that's great! I think you guys will be perfect together."

  "I think so too," I say, my voice trailing off as I imagine myself with Dylan. I've dreamed about this for months and now it's actually going to happen.

  "You should see your face right now," Kira says. "I've never seen you smile that wide the entire time we've been friends."

  "It's because I'm so relieved he's not mad at me."

  And because I'm so happy he wants to be with me. After all this time, I was sure he'd given up on me.

  "What are you going to do now?"

  "Write him another letter." I shoot up from the couch, taking his card with me.

  "Why don't you just call him? I gave you his number."

  "It's too soon for that. Letters first, then phone calls, then an actual date."

  "Do you really want to do that? Aren't you dying to see him?"

  "Yes, but if we see each other, we might end up doing what we did last time. We need to slow down and get to know each other. That night we met, I told him almost nothing about me, not even my last name, and he didn't tell me much about him either. We need to make sure that we like each other on more than just a physical level."

  "Yo
u can still do that and see each other. You can get to know each other by dating."

  "Yeah, but then it's just like every other relationship. I want ours to be special. Something I'll always remember."

  She sighs. "You and your romantic ideals. You're nuts, you know that?"

  "I have to write him back. I'll see you later." I run to my room, shut the door, and sit down at my desk. With my calligraphy pen in hand, I write Dear Dylan at the top of the sheet of paper.

  What should I tell him? He knows almost nothing about me. Should I just list off facts about myself? Like my major? Or my favorite foods? Or should I tell him something more personal?

  My phone rings and for the briefest second I think it's him calling and grab my phone to answer it, desperate to hear his voice. But then I see it's my sister calling. I have two sisters back in Michigan. Leah is 25 and lives in an apartment about an hour away from my parents and works as a paralegal at a law firm. She's saving up to go to law school. My younger sister, Brittany, is 16 and a sophomore in high school. Like me, she's in a million activities; cheerleading, show choir, track, soccer. Anything to get her out of the house.

  "Hey, Britt, what's up?" I ask, setting my pen down.

  "I'm going to the gym soon. I was just calling to say hi. And to um...see if you'd come home for Thanksgiving."

  Her voice got quiet at the last part because she knows it's a sensitive topic. Since starting college, I've avoided Thanksgiving, saying it's too far to go home for such a short time. But my sisters know that's not the reason. The truth is I can't take listening to our parents fight. It makes me feel anxious and sick to my stomach, to the point that I can't even eat the turkey dinner my mom prepares, which is too bad because she's a good cook. The food is always great at Thanksgiving but the constant bickering at the table makes me lose my appetite. It starts out as a few hostile comments, then gets worse as the meal continues. By dessert, my dad is out of his chair shouting at my mom and she's either crying or shouting back.

  I don't know how or when it got this bad between them but every year it gets worse. They say they still love each other. But shouting? Screaming? Sleeping in separate rooms? How is that love?

  "I really need you here this year," Britt says. "Leah isn't coming."

  "Why not?"

  "Because she doesn't want to be here. She said if you don't have to come, she shouldn't have to either."

  "I'm a long ways away. That's why I'm not coming. Leah's only an hour away. She should be there."

  "Kira's coming home. Why can't you ride home with her?"

  "She's flying home. Austin bought her a ticket."

  "Mom and Dad would buy you a ticket. Please? I don't want to be the only one at the table with them."

  I sigh. "Can you invite one of your friends over? Mom and Dad are less likely to fight if someone they don't know is there."

  "I guess I could do that. There's this new guy at school I've kind of been hanging out with. His parents are divorced and they let him do his own thing. I bet he'd be able to come over."

  "Who is this guy?" I ask in my protective big sister voice. Britt's really pretty, with long blond hair, perfect skin, a great body. Because of that, every guy in her high school wants to date her. She's had boyfriends, but nothing serious, and I worry that someday soon some guy will try to take advantage of her sweet, trusting ways. I keep warning her about guys but I'm not sure she listens to me.

  "His name is Lark. He just moved here from Virginia."

  "Lark? What kind of name is that?"

  "I like it. I think it's cool."

  "Are you dating this guy?" I ask.

  "No, we're just friends."

  Based on her defensive tone, I don't believe her.

  "Britt. Are you dating him or not?"

  She pauses, knowing I can tell when she's lying. "Okay, we're kind of dating but not really."

  "What does that mean?"

  "We hang out and we've kissed a few times, but it's nothing serious."

  "Are you planning to do more than kiss him?"

  "I don't know. Maybe."

  "Britt, don't do it. You're too young. Wait until you're older."

  "Like you did?" she asks sarcastically.

  I had a serious boyfriend at her age so she thinks I had sex back then, which I did, but I never told her that. She just assumes I did.

  "Just don't do it, okay? You'll regret it. But go ahead and bring him to dinner. It'll give Dad someone else to focus his anger on." I smile as I picture my dad glaring at this Lark guy, wanting to kill him. My dad is super protective of us. He's hated each and every one of our boyfriends.

  "I don't want Dad fighting with Lark."

  "He won't. He'll just shoot questions at him and give him the death stare. If Lark survives, then maybe he's not so bad."

  "He's not bad. He's really nice. I think you'd like him. Oh, crap, I'm late. I told Stacy I'd meet her at the gym in five minutes. I gotta go."

  "Britt, I'm sorry I can't be there at Thanksgiving, but I promise I'll be there at Christmas."

  "You better, or I'm coming to Chicago. I'll call you later." She hangs up.

  I'm dreading Christmas. I dread it every year. Winter break lasts three weeks and I can barely stand being at home that long. I don't know how Britt survives living there. My parents are worse now than they were when I was still living at home. I've talked to my mom about this and told her she needs to stop fighting with Dad, especially in front of Britt, but my parents can't help themselves. Whenever they're around each other, they fight.

  The sad thing is, they used to be the perfect couple. They fell in love in college, got married after they graduated, and got along great. But then, when I was in junior high, they started growing apart, avoiding each other, sleeping in separate rooms. I don't know what happened, but their marriage fell apart and just keeps getting worse.

  This is why I don't believe things like soulmates and destiny exist in real life. I want to believe in that stuff, and I used to, until my parents turned against each other. I used to look up to them, wanting a relationship just like theirs someday. But their happy, blissful state didn't last and now they hate each other.

  Will that happen to Dylan and me? Or whoever I end up with? And if so, then why am I pursuing this thing with Dylan?

  Picking up my pen again, I look down at his name on the paper and remember the night we shared. The way he looked at me, the gentle way he touched me, the way he held me protectively in his arms. There was something there. Something between us that is too real to ignore.

  And that's my answer. That's why I'm doing this. I want to feel that way again, even if it's just for a short while. When it ends, it'll just prove my point that those feelings don't last. And then, years later, my realistic side will win out, quieting my dreamy romantic side, and I'll marry someone like Matt, a nice guy I feel no sparks for. Because if it's not that great to begin with, then it won't be as big a loss when our relationship crumbles apart like my parents' did. It seems like a sensible approach, and yet it's also really sad. But that's life. It doesn't play out like the movies, with true loves and soulmates and happily ever afters.

  Holding my pen over the paper, I feel my romantic side taking over again. I remember what it felt like to be with Dylan and feel hopeful, like maybe I'm not doomed to turn out like my parents. It scares me to pursue a relationship with someone I feel so strongly for, fearing it won't end well, but it also makes me believe in love again. And I like that feeling. I crave it.

  I return to my letter, deciding to go the facts route rather than the more personal route.

  Dear Dylan,

  Since you don't know much about me, here are some of the basics. I'm a marketing major at Katswick College with a minor in communications. I should be a junior, but credit-wise I'm almost a senior because I take classes every summer instead of going home to Michigan. I used to be a gymnast, like Kira, but I quit when I was in high school. I'm in a million clubs and activities. I have a really hard time
relaxing. I guess I'm just wired that way. Even when I'm home, I'm always doing something. Cleaning. Organizing. Making lists. It's another crazy thing you should know about me.

  This letter is boring. I don't want to bore him but facts are boring. Maybe I'll add something more personal.

  I'm really happy you wrote back. Like extremely happy. In fact, Kira said she'd never seen me smile that much in all the years she's known me.

  Damn. That's giving too much away. I don't want to scare him off, telling him how much I like him. But I can't erase the ink and I don't want to start over. And maybe he'll like that I was that honest, that vulnerable. I owe him that level of honesty after leaving him hanging all those months.

  As for seeing each other, I think we should wait. I'd like to keep writing letters, at least for a while.

  I look forward to your next letter.

  Love,

  Amber

  Okay, that was a really bad letter, but I'll make sure the next one is better. I seal it up in an envelope and run back out to the living room. Kira is on the couch eating cereal and watching TV.

  "Is Austin coming over?" I ask.

  "Yeah, in like an hour."

  "Can you have him give this to Dylan?" I hand her the letter. "Vandyl plays tonight, right?"

  "Yeah. I'm going to hear them play. Why don't you come with me?"

  "I can't. I have to keep my distance from Dylan."

  "Amber, come on." She sets her cereal bowl on the coffee table. "This is stupid. I mean, I think the letter thing is sweet and romantic and all that, but you've wanted to be with Dylan since last May so just go be with him. You can still write letters but—"

  "No. It has to be this way. Just give him the letter, okay?"

  "Okay, but I think you should just go deliver it in person."

  "I couldn't even if I wanted to. I have to go meet Liza for coffee, then I have to go to work. I probably won't see you until tomorrow."

  "I'm staying with Austin tonight so I probably won't get back here until tomorrow afternoon."

  As she talks, I'm already halfway to the bathroom, hurrying to get ready. With my mind consumed with Dylan, I totally forgot I had this meeting with Liza. She's a nurse at the hospital where I'm trying to get an internship.