Page 158 of Unrequited
You said you loved pearls but never bought them because you feared only old ladies wore them. No. Pearls are classy—like you. I bought these after the first day I met you. They’re freshwater, gold setting—perfect for classy women like you, my sweet angel.
They’re the most gorgeous, luminescent pearls I’ve ever seen.
Oh, God. Seamus.
I put them back carefully and reach for another box—dated the following week.
A French press? I laugh.
You said you wanted to try coffee made in a French press, so here you go, lass. I’m not sure when you’ll get this, so give it a good wash first, eh?
Another box, heavier. I nearly drop it. Inside: three hardcover books.
You said your brothers read these to you when you were little. That they made you feel safe and calm. I look forward to the day I can read them to you.
Tears sting my eyes. He didn’t. He did.
I finger the pages, transported back to my childhood bedtimes.
I put them down and pick up another.
Every item is curated. Thoughtful. Precise.
Some wrapped in paper, some bare. Everything labeled.
“Thursday the 23rd. The first time she wore that blue scarf.”
“One-year anniversary of her showing up again.”
There are notes.
One velvet ribbon I once wore in my braid—pressed between tissue.
She smiled today. I remembered how to breathe.
My knees nearly buckle.
There’s a pastry tin from a Moscow bakery I once said I missed. Empty, but inside: a gift card.
Jewelry—delicate, symbolic.
Photographs.
Polaroids. Letters.
They’re all addressed to me.
Letters I’ll read and savor.
One shelf at eye level. I open it. My breath catches.
Two children’s books.
One in Russian. One in Gaelic.
As if he already thought of children.
I swipe at my eyes. God, Seamus.
