Page 42 of Over the Edge

Evelyn

Read other people’s mail: Wednesday, 10 a.m. - 1 p.m. @ Love Letter Museum

The Love Letter Museum has been at the top of my list of places to visit since I first browsed through blogs detailing the local attractions. If I can’t come up with my own words dripping with love and sincerity, maybe I can find some glimmer of inspiration in someone else’s. It’s housed in a robin’s egg blue Victorian with a few dedicated parking spots out front.

It’s no surprise to find Garrett a few feet from the door tapping away at his phone. I pull out my own phone to take a picture of him and find a notification from Mom waiting for me.

Mom

Your father showed me this article. It’s good you’re out of the city.

Evelyn

Wow thank you for sending it. Very helpful!

I don’t even bother looking at the headline of the article that no doubt details a violent crime. Instead of actually telling me they want me to move back, they usually send articles or news clips to not-so-subtly convince me to come back. There’s a universe where I send them crime statistics showing that Nashville has higher crime rates. I don’t, I never will, but I like knowing that I have the option to throw an Uno reverse card into the mix. Anyway, what I know they’re really saying iswe miss you and we care about you.

I lightly shake my head trying to dislodge the tense feeling that accompanies these types of texts.

I refocus on Garrett and open the camera app. Taking a step, I make sure to get the sign with the museum name and a smallexisted since 1927in frame.

“What are you doing?” he asks as I press the capture button. With the clouds still blocking the sun, the light coming from his screen casts shadows highlighting the sharp corners of his face.

“Pulling my weight. You know you better come through for our part of the deal on Friday!” I call back then walk up the paved driveway to meet him.

I know the exact moment when he reads my shirt. I have other clothes, sure, but the way his eyebrows pull skyward every time is ever so satisfying.

Today’s selection reads,I wish Italians were real.

“Aren’t you Italian?” he asks.

“And every day I wish I was real. It’s really hard work being a figment of your imagination. Living in your head has its downsides. I mean, who gets turned on by dusty law textbooks when there’s better stuff out there?”

“I don’t think I could make you up if I tried to,” he says as his eyes flicker over me.

“I’m just that devastatingly fun and good looking.” I sigh as if exhausted by it.

He lets out a huff. “Something like that.”

The inside of the museum is reminiscent of a bed and breakfast with its large front desk the moment you step inside. An electric fireplace is running in the corner crackling under the acoustic pop music playing, adding to the welcoming ambience of the lobby.

Garrett goes to the desk to buy our tickets then returns with pens and two pieces of thick paper with uncut edges.

“Love letter supplies, it’s included in the ticket cost,” he explains as we start to wander into the first room. There’s a slight creaking overhead, likely from other patrons, but the downstairs appears to be empty.

Instead of the wooden benches I’ve seen in other museums, there are loveseats interspersed in the room. Antique pens ranging from metal-tipped feather quills to engraved ball points are arranged along one wall. Further down are an array of signet rings and wax seals. The room appears dedicated to the art of all the details that go into the perfect letter.

“Are you going to write me one?” I joke.

“I doubt you’d enjoy that. It wouldn’t stack up to all your other ones,” he says.

“You know I’m not like that. I don’t float through life on a cloud just collecting relationships dreaming of happy endings,” I tell him. Would it kill the man to take me seriously? He’s just as bad as my parents with how they act like I never grew up.

“You’re right, I don’t think that you float on a cloud. It's more of a bubble like the witch from theWizard of Oz.” He keeps a straight face and even tone, but somehow that makes it feel even more like a joke than if he had tried to make it funny.

“Glad we have that cleared up. And just so you know, I am not a proud member of the love letter club.”

“Really?” he asks. “Because you're the exact type of person guys slip letters into lockers for.”

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