Page 129 of Wild Catch
“Okay, okay.” Hope reaches for the back pocket of her joggers, taking out whatever the mysterious item is, and offers it to me.
I stare at it. My brain is slow this morning and all I can discern for a hot second is that this thing is white and rectangular. But then I see some scribble at the top and something about it snags my attention. Squinting, I make out purple ink first. And then my name.
To Rosalina Mena.
Full name even. No nickname. And the handwriting…
“Hold on.” Saying those two words sends my pulse to uncharted territory. Where I was inert a moment ago, I’m now jittery as I open my drawer and rummage through the mess, until I find what I’m looking for.
A card, also in the purple ink I recognize from one of my gel pens. I open it and look at the handwriting—small, incredibly neat and even, and thick. Bold, like he is about everything but himself.
Which means this envelop comes from Logan.
Gasping, I swipe it from Hope’s hand as if she was about to take backsies, and hug it to my chest to prevent her from doing so.
She starts chuckling. “Sheesh, it’s all yours, woman.”
“Besides, it’s a federal crime to tamper with other people’s mail,” Audrey says dryly, even though that only applies to official correspondence in one’s mailbox. “Well, aren’t you gonna open it?”
“Right now?” I ask, breathless.
“Yeah, we’re dying with curiosity.”
“Okay. I will. One second.” I take a deep breath, my mind racing through the million possibilities printed on this note.
A cease and desist? A bill for all the emotional hardship I put him through? An invitation to screw off? Or… or…
My hands tremble when I turn over the envelop and open it. I extract a folded up piece of paper, my eyes widening the more of it is revealed. The paper is creamy in color and to the texture, except for watercolor-like borders in my favorite color. And it has a delicate scent, probably because there is a whole stalk of real lavender taped to it.
My roomies and I gasp, and they tumble into my tiny cubicle to take a closer look too.
“Wow,” Hope whispers.
“That’s unexpected.” Audrey blinks fast.
“Guys.” I look up at them, feeling hot tears trickle down my cold face. “I can’t stop shaking. What if I tear the paper?”
“Can we help?” Hope asks and I nod. She’s careful and a lot calmer as she takes the note from me and unfolds it, and the sheet is a lot longer than a normal letter sized one. The flower is stuck to the back of the paper, where there’s no writing, and she turns it over so that the writing faces out to me. She pins the top corners against her belly. “How’s this?”
“Perfect,” I respond with a shaky voice.
Audrey smiles at our roomie. “You’re the real MVP right now.”
Hope bows her head. “Thank you, far too kind.” She tips her chin at me. “Now read and tell us what it says.”
I nod and wipe at my eyes again, because the blurriness makes it impossible to focus. But then I do.
Dear Rose,
You’ve probably noticed but I’m not that great with words, especially not the important ones. And you have the curious power of making my tongue turn to lead more often than you realize.
So I… I asked for help. I’ve spent all night writing this letter with the help of my teammates, but I assure you all the words are mine. They just plied them with tweezers out of my brain. So… here we go.
I find it interesting that we all call you by the name of a flower you don’t seem to care about that much, at least if I go by the fact that you smell like lavender. I’ve never told you this but after I packed up the trinkets you left in my apartment to fool my parents, I started buying the same hand soap you use. I told myself that it was better quality than mine, when really I just wanted to feel your scent on my skin even if you weren’t around. Maybe that should’ve clued me in a little—or at least creeped me out, to be honest—but I admit I may not be as smart as I pride myself to be.
Do you know what the meaning of lavender is? There’s serenity, grace, calmness, but my favorite one is devotion. That one stuck to me because I could easily see myself being devoted to you. Just you. I can see us living under the same roof, making bulgogi stuffed arepas, fighting over the remote and giving up in favor of reading books and cuddling instead. I can see us driving to work together, your arms around my waist, my heart racing because you’re with me, riding along life together. And when I close my eyes I just see you, your smile, your bright eyes, those curls that make me unable to look anywhere else.
I don’t see the broken glass, the tears or the lies, the cruel laughter or the scars. I don’t see any of the things that have trapped me in a small box of my own making. I don’t see the pain I viscerally hate but can’t get rid of.
