Reaching Out

Right before returning home after an obnoxiously long day at work, you stop at the mailbox. You didn’t check your USPS Informed Delivery email like you normally do, but you’re not expecting anything other than bills, bills, and more bills.

Maybe you should have checked your email before you checked your mailbox. 

At the top of the stack of mail is an envelope with neat, cursive handwriting you haven’t seen in years. The penmanship looked a little shakier than you remember it, but you know the writer. The same writer whose cursive was strikingly similar to your own, a similarity you wished your mother had not pointed out to you. 

Why on Earth did she send something to me, you think to yourself. It was completely out of the blue and by all accounts, completely out of character for the woman.

She hasn’t spoken to you in years, not even when the funeral of your grandfather forced you both to sit on the same pew at the church during the service. Several family members sat in between the two of you, so that made it less uncomfortable and thankfully, you didn’t ride in the same family limousine as her and her children as you all traveled to the grave site.

You didn’t acknowledge her and she didn’t acknowledge you either. It was better that way. So, here you are staring at this letter she wrote you, puzzled and slightly annoyed that she managed to make her way into your thoughts after you worked so hard not to give her the time of day. Your first inclination is to tear it up and put it in the trash. Or maybe set it on fire. You can only imagine the negativity she spewed onto the stationary with her elegant handwriting. 

You’ve known for a very long time that she does not care for you and the only reason why she might even think to compose a letter and send it to you is to reinforce the fact that she absolutely loathes your existence. 

You don’t believe that after a day of meetings and explaining missed deadlines, you have any brain power left to process her words. And yet, you also think that you will show your husband the letter and have him by your side as you read it. He’ll take the optimistic route as he has always told you that one day the two of you will make peace. 

“It’s kind of hard to make peace with a woman who gave birth to you, abandoned you, went on to have a picture-perfect family with a husband, two children, a dog and acting as if you never even existed,” you’d imagine yourself saying to him, like you have many times before.  

He has always told you that it was time to mend fences, so you think that you might just have to figure it all out on your own because reconciliation is the last task on your list. 

You distractedly get the rest of your mail and start walking to your house. That letter sticks out like a sore thumb underneath the bills. Its bright, pink, shimmery envelope demanding attention.

Fumbling with the keys, the mail, and the dinner you brought home, you struggle to unlock the door and as you as you tuck the mail under your arm, the door swings open. Your husband is standing there, with an amused look on his face. 

“Struggling there a bit,” he says as he grabs the food from you. He gives you a quick peck on the lips and turns to go into the kitchen. You put the mail down on the front table, leaving the letter and the bills for another time. 

“James, are you ready to eat?” your husband says from the kitchen. You know you need to eat, but the desire has disappeared. You know you want to tell your husband about the letter, but you know that would dominate the dinner conversation.

You just want to relax.

“I’ll be ready to eat in a few. I’m going to take a shower. I'll come back down to eat,” you say as you walk upstairs. 

You get mad at yourself for being worked up over a woman who never reached out to you before. Why now?

You wonder if you should call your mother to find out why her sister would have written you a letter.

You never got all of the particulars, but when she was pregnant with you, she planned to put you up for adoption, but a formal adoption never happened. Her older sister and her husband agreed to raise you as their own, something about keeping you in the family and giving your aunt and uncle the chance to be parents.

It took you a long time, but you finally forgave your parents, your aunt and uncle, for not telling you the truth sooner. You found out by accident that your aunt was really your mother. 

For some reason, you and your birth mother never talked about any of it and when you learned she was pregnant with the second child she planned to raise on your birthday, of all days, you decided that she never cared for you or your feelings at all.

You decide you’re not interested in what she has to say and once you’ve showered, eaten and relaxed, that stupid letter was going in the trash.

You hear a light tap on the bathroom door and your husband appears. 

He's holding the letter. 

“You wanna talk about this?” he asks.

“Not really,” you say.

“I was wondering why you were acting differently when you got home. You usually have some crazy story about work."

“I’m sorry. It did throw me off. I certainly wasn’t expecting anything from her. Ever.”

“Well, let’s hope she is trying to reach out and make peace. It’s time.”

“Hmm…maybe. I was just going to-" you get cut off by your husband.

“When I checked the mail, I figured you’d try to get rid of it before reading it. We can talk about it when you’re ready. I fixed your plate,” he says and leaves the bathroom.

You feel tears fill your eyes and you just let them fall, mixing with the shower water.

You leave the shower, less sure of your decision not to read it, but grateful your husband won’t let you make any rash decisions.

When I’m ready, you think to yourself.

Right now, it’s time for dinner.