A Thousand Letters

"I’m serious." He kept going, wanting me to argue, but I could see I was wearing him down. "I mean, the tension between you two takes the temperature in the room down thirty degrees." He paused, waiting. Then, he sighed. "Do it for your dad then, if not for yourself. You wouldn’t want your dad to be cold, would you?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Are you done?"

He rolled his eyes and moved for another tree. "Yeah, I’m done."

"Good," I said as I picked up my box and headed back up the stairs.

As I hauled the unwieldy boxes up the stairs one by one, I acknowledged that he wasn’t wrong. I also acknowledged that an apology — one which I owed her — might make her feel better, safer. When I considered apologizing for her, not for myself, I thought I might be able to do it. I longed for the hope I’d felt in bursts, wishing I could just hang on to it for a moment, wishing I could find a way to keep it.

I walked in with my last box to find Elliot struggling with the big bottom section of a tree. It hung on the box flap as she lifted it with all her strength and weight, and I set my box down, moving to her side. I took it from her, lifting it easily, and she blushed up at me, the expression hitting me in the heart — it wasn’t longing I found in her face. It was regret.

"Thanks," she said softly.

"You’re welcome." I moved to the base, placing it in the slot, and she began fluffing the branches as I watched, wondering if now was the time to speak or if I should wait. Uncertainty gripped me, fear skimming the edges. Just jump.

I opened my mouth to speak.

"What are you guys scheming?" Dad called from the library just down the hall.

Sophie smiled, shooting me a glance as she grabbed Sadie as she left the room. "Nothing, Dad. Need company?"

Ben set the last tree down next to the others and hung his hands on his hips, assessing the room. "I think we’re going to need some coffee for this. I’ll put a pot on."

And with a scheming smile, he left me there alone with Elliot.

She arranged the bottom branches as I reached into the box for the middle piece of the tree, popping it into the bottom piece with a snap, not knowing what to say, not sure how to broach anything with her anymore. There used to be a time when I could tell her anything. I wondered if I would ever know that trust again, and the thought gave me hope, the elusive, shimmering notion I wanted to feel so badly.

I picked up the tree top and stated it simply, since pretense escaped me. "I’m sorry. About yesterday." My voice was low, earnest.

She looked up at me, her bottomless eyes full of things I couldn’t read.

I broke the connection when I placed the top of the tree in, pretending the scratchy plastic branches in my hand were difficult and fascinating to assemble. "It’s been hard to know the right way to handle things, even small things, even things that have nothing to do with me. Especially when I’m caught off guard."

Her face was turned up to mine, but I kept my eyes on my hands, moving the branches around with no purpose. But when I finally got the courage to look at her, she’d turned her attention back to the tree.

"It’s all right. I understand."

Do you? I thought to myself, wishing I could say it out loud.

Did she know I was sorry? Not just for yesterday, but for all the days before? Did she know I loved her still? I didn’t know if I was prepared for the answer. I didn’t know if I was ready to deal with the consequences of knowing.

"So, is Jack your …" The word boyfriend lodged itself in my throat.

"Friend," she finished for me.

Relief washed over me, but it was heavy with caution. I’d seen the way he looked at her, and it wasn’t like that of one friend to another. Did she know he had a thing for her? Did she have feelings for him? Too many questions, and I couldn’t ask a single one. It wasn’t my place.

I cleared my throat, still working on the branches, and she stood and moved next to me.

"Here, let me show you how to do it so the tree looks more full." She demonstrated while I watched her, my eyes on the line of her small nose, the swell of her bottom lip, the curve of her chin.

I wanted her still, that fact was suddenly unbearable, now unburdened by the prospect of another man.

The only way I could have her was to beg for her forgiveness, apologize for pushing her, for leaving, for disappearing. But could we build on top of the wreckage of our past, or would it all fall apart, unstable and broken?

There was only one way to know — I had to try.

"Like this, see?" she said, her head tilted as she arranged the foliage, and I smiled at her, though she didn’t know.

"Yes, I see."

* * *

The sunlight had shifted to hues of orange and red as we crept around the library, the air filled with classical music as Dad slept. The black sheets were nearly all hung around the room, and the furniture had been moved out and the trees moved in. The tent was in the other room, already assembled and waiting to be brought through the double doors when he woke.

Sophie and Sadie had brought in a tray of supplies for s’mores and hot dogs, downloaded a looping track of forest sounds to play, and Elliot brought wood for the fireplace and candles that smelled like pine, sleeping bags, and the planetarium. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, we were all set.

Elliot and I moved around each other silently, sharing moments: her hand brushing against mine, her lips blessing me with the smile I’d wished so much to see, and my heart squeezed and tightened and ached. Something had changed — Was it me? Was it her? — and I felt caught up in her at the prospect of forgiveness. I knew everything that stood between us, and yet it felt inconsequential, simple, a crack rather than a chasm.