Page 38 of One Night

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."

"You 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.

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