Page 12 of Love Letter Lost
Dad took the hint and moved to more general topics until the conversation wound down.
We said our goodbyes and hung up. How on earth my polar opposite parents made a relationship work I’d never know, but I was grateful they did. Now if only my dad’s level-headedness could rub off on my mother. And if only my dad could stop being so level-headed that he couldn’t see how much that apartment building meant to me.
I pushed aside worries about the apartment complex, the rest of the day flying by as Livvy and I worked. We even managed to drop off my car at a nearby shop despite our long list of to-dos.
Hours later, I walked through my door, trying to ignore the protest of stiff muscles. I hadn’t left Livvy’s house until almost 11:00 p.m. After packing the last few boxes and moving everything into the garage to wait for moving day, Livvy, Aunt Jenna, and I had talked for hours. I’d only been able to leave when I’d pointed out that I had to get up for church in the morning. Livvy had driven me home, gushing about wedding plans the entire drive.
My apartment was dark, and I did my best to slip into my room without making noise. Chloe was probably still out with friends, but Audrey would likely be asleep in her room. Since her breakup, she tended towards early nights and few social interactions.
As I fumbled for the light switch in my room, my purse snagged on my door handle, causing it to tip. I flipped on the light and saw Ridge’s letter sitting on the carpet. I picked it up and placed it on my grey nightstand, before moving to get ready for bed. After our talk about the letter, Livvy and I had avoided any conversation topics related to Ridge. Instead, I asked questions about the wedding. It took little prodding to get Livvy to share about the centerpieces her friend was making and the wonderful venue she’d found. She even claimed to have ordered the perfect bridesmaid dresses. I’d encouraged the change of topic, grateful for the distraction it provided from my thoughts and the “what ifs” I’d been battling since reading Ridge’s letter.
After brushing my teeth and changing into pajamas, I got into bed, the letter catching my eye once more as I went to turn off my lamp. I picked up the letter, examining the handwriting before opening it and reading it once more.
This letter didn’t, couldn’t, and shouldn’t change anything. Ridge had a girlfriend. He lived in another state. And, if his reaction to me earlier today was any indication, he did not like me anymore. Then why couldn’t I let this letter go?
I took a deep breath and stood, attempting to push the thoughts away as I paced around my room. So what if Ridge had written all of those years ago? It didn’t impact things now. The past was over and done. This letter didn’t change a thing. Or did it? I was afraid of the answer to that question.
I pulled up Ridge’s social media profile on my phone, wanting to know more about him and Amber. Perhaps, if I saw more evidence of the happy life they were living together, I could convince myself to let go of the past and get some sleep.
Ridge’s page revealed little. The only activity it had seen in the last several years were a handful of birthday wishes and an updated profile picture of Ridge standing in front of a waterfall. I had Amber’s last name because I had taken pictures of her insurance documents, but adding her to my search efforts felt like crossing a line. Especially since I didn’t need to compare myself more to the woman than I already was.
I continued to pace until I was dizzy before trying, once more, to go to bed, but my thoughts kept churning. I applied soothing lotion to my hands, hoping the smell would help me settle in for the night. Instead, the smell of lavender caused my stomach to roil, not bringing the peace I desperately needed. What-ifs continued to circle in my head until I turned on my lamp again and moved to pace some more. The past seemed to be on replay, leaving me on an unstable emotional foundation. The feel of Ridge’s lips, the flash of headlights and crunch of impact, the antiseptic smell of the hospital, and the void left by Ridge when he’d disappeared without a word circled through my mind.
This continued for several more minutes until an old notebook with a faded green striped cover caught my eye. I grabbed it from the bookshelf, its weight reassuring in my hand, and stalked over to my nightstand for a pen. Settling onto my bed, I opened to the first blank page, about halfway through the notebook past college notes and doodles. I stared at the empty lines for a moment, gathering my thoughts. This whole thing had started with a letter. Maybe I could settle it with one too. Taking a deep breath, I began to write.
Dear Ridge,
I want to start this letter with some outrageous claim about how amazing my life is and that, in the decade since I last saw you, I haven’t thought about you at all. But we both know, if that were the case, I wouldn’t be writing this letter. I wouldn’t care anymore because I would have forgotten the past and gotten over you.
Instead, I’m sitting in my room, your letter on my nightstand as I scribble my scattered thoughts into a notebook wondering where to start. I finally got your letter. It’s years late, but I got it. And now I can’t sleep. How dare you? What gives you the right to turn my world upside down with only a few words? You broke my heart. I should tear up your letter and let this all go. So why can’t I?
I thought I had moved on. I thought I no longer cared. But the fact that I can’t get your words out of my head proves I’m not over you. Despite everything, you still have a piece of my heart and I want it back. If only getting it back were as easy as writing the words. Or as simple as reminding myself that you have a girlfriend.
Mallory
CHAPTERNINE
I fell asleep sometime after1:00 a.m., the words I’d spilled from my pen finally freeing me from my turmoil. Unfortunately, my alarm for church came too early. I hit snooze a few times, before rushing to get ready. My roommates gave me odd looks as we hurried to Audrey’s car in an attempt not to be late. They had seen my rushed, late-for-school hairdo of a bun and minimal makeup on many occasions, but this was the first time I’d worn it to church. I had yet to tell them about the letter and everything that had happened with Ridge. But I felt like the car ride to church wasn’t the ideal time to surprise them with the reappearance of a past flame they didn’t even know existed.
I battled to stay awake through the entire service, heaving a sigh of relief when it finally came time to leave.
Unfortunately, I was delayed by Erica, one of the tenants in my building. Erica, a student studying art history or some other humanities degree, dressed like she belonged in the seventies. She had been campaigning for some renovations in her apartment for nearly six months. She claimed that the current color scheme of white walls and tan carpet did nothing for her artistic vibe. While I agreed that some updating was in order, her proposed redecorations of brightly patterned wallpaper and shag carpet reminiscent of my grandparent’s house weren’t exactly what I had in mind. However, she seemed convinced that if she asked me enough times, I’d change my mind and agree to let her overhaul the apartment, her roommates’ bedrooms included. One look at her ever-changing rainbow of hair colors was the only reminder I needed that Erica’s style and mine were not compatible. Today it was a less-than-natural red color with green on the ends that reminded me of Christmas, but not in a good way.
“I’m so glad I caught you.” Erica flipped her long hair behind her shoulder and gave me a smile that showed too many teeth. “I’ve been thinking about that apartment renovation you promised you’d get around to, and I’ve found an even better wallpaper that you should use. It’s totally vintage.” She pulled out her phone and began scrolling through photos.
I glanced behind Erica to see her roommates, Tara and Amelia, giving me sympathetic looks while vigorously shaking their heads.
“Aren’t these orange flowers just perfect?” Erica thrust her phone in my face, and I had to crane my neck back to take in the disaster she was showing me. I was all for tasteful vintage, but this looked like something one of my fifth-grade students had drawn and then thrown away.
“You know, Erica,” I said, taking a step back, “I prefer not to discuss business on Sundays unless it’s an emergency. Text that to me tomorrow, and I’ll send it to my dad for consideration.”Or I’ll report the designer to the fashion police.
“Fine, but it’s on clearance, so who knows how long it’ll be left?” Erica typed something into her phone, and I felt an answering vibration on my phone. “Maybe those new apartments will be more fashion-forward.”
I winced at Erica’s parting shot, though I wasn’t convinced losing Erica to my newest competition would be a problem. In fact, it would be the first good thing to come out of the new monstrosity being built down the street.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I gave Erica a small wave, snagged both of my roommates, and headed to the car before anyone else could stop me.
As soon as we walked through the apartment door, I rushed into my room. I slipped out of my skirt into leggings covered in math equations and pulled on a sweatshirt. I was reaching for my doorknob when my phone began to ring from where I’d left it on my bed. Livvy’s picture filled the screen and curiosity filled me as I swiped to answer the call.
