The Wright Mistake(88)

“Jesus,” I muttered.

I dug my hand in, up to my elbow, before I came across whatever was in the box. I wrapped my fingers around something soft and tugged. In a shower of peanuts came a shiny pink-sequined unicorn with a ribbon tied around its neck and a letter attached to it.

I burst into laughter when I saw Waffle.

I’d known that the unicorn had ended up at Austin’s house, but I’d thought he’d just forgotten about it. And maybe about me, too. He’d been able to have outside communication for three weeks, but he hadn’t reached out to me.

With excitement that I couldn’t explain, I plucked the letter off of Waffle’s neck and placed our unicorn on my kitchen island. I ripped open the envelope and stared down at the neat print of Austin’s handwriting.

Dear Julia,

I’ve wanted to write to you every day that I’ve been here, but my therapist and I agreed that it was better for you to have space. I’d asked you not to forget me, yet I had to give you room to if you chose. So, in the event that you continue to want nothing to do with me, feel free to stop reading and throw this in the trash.

I’m going to assume…or maybe just hope that you’re still reading. If that’s the case, here’s your damn unicorn. Waffle got me through the hardest parts of detox. But, since we share custody, I thought it only appropriate that you got her for a while. That way, I stop getting jabs from my brothers about having a pink-sequined unicorn in my room.

Why the snail mail? I’m sure you’re probably wondering. I could have called you or emailed or whatever. You could come visit even. But, strangely enough, I found that I can articulate how I’m feeling best when I write things down. I apologize for my penmanship in advance.

Anyway, all I really want to say is that I’m sorry. I took you for granted and didn’t listen to you or appreciate you. If I could go back, I’d fix things. But I don’t have that ability. I have to accept that I hurt you and that what I did might be irreversible.

But…if there’s maybe a small chance that you might be willing to meet a new Austin Wright—not perfect but maybe better—I’d be the luckiest guy in the world. If that’s something you are interested in, then write me back. You can send it to the address on the envelope, and it’ll get to me.

I’ll be anxiously awaiting your letter. And, if I don’t get one, then…I understand.

Still yours,

Austin

I read the letter three times. Each time, my smile grew bigger and bigger. After the last time, I found my own piece of paper and started writing.





Austin


Julia’s letter showed up three days after the package was delivered.

It had taken fifteen different sheets of paper before I got the wording right on mine, and even then, I’d thought it sucked. I hadn’t wanted to send it. And, at the same time, I’d been dying to send it. I thought I had been more worried that she’d ignore me. I wouldn’t have blamed her, but a guy had to have hope.

Dear Austin,

I might be interested in a new Austin Wright.

Just not totally new. Maybe one more like that guy who “won” me Waffle in the first place. Or who walked me through the First Friday Art Trail. Have you seen him lately?

I’m glad you’re in therapy. I’ve had my own brand of therapy. Found a muse, which is nice because I converted a bedroom in my new apartment into an art studio. Finding my art again…you know? Waffle likes the studio, too. She might not be just pink anymore.

Anyway, I talked to Maggie. I don’t think you actually expected me to, but I did. So, I believe you. I’m still upset about what happened. That anything happened at all. Maybe my moral high ground should say that I have no right to be upset, considering we were broken up at the time, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling it. I want to move past that, but even after talking to her and her yelling at me about you, I still feel panic at the thought of you two.

Phew. Okay, had to get that off my chest.

I don’t know where this leaves us. Maybe I don’t have to figure it out right now. Write me again, and I’ll keep thinking about it.

Julia

P.S. I like the snail mail, and your handwriting doesn’t totally suck.

I answered that letter. And the next. And the one after that. Every three days, I had a letter from Julia. I thought we’d talked more in the weeks I was away than we had when we were together. Without her sexy body in front of me and the weight of the alcohol abuse clouding everything, I found that I always had something to say to her.

The fact that I hadn’t just picked up a phone or emailed or flown her out to see me made the anticipation so much more intense. No instant gratification in that. With each passing day, I ached for her more and more. Ached for her like I hadn’t known was possible.