Dear Amberly,

I used to read because I wanted to, but now I read because I have to. Escapism comes in many forms and this is mine. My newest read lays in my lap, my fingers already holding the next page ready to flip it. Ding.. ding.. Ding ding ding, the lovely heroine’s door rang. No doubt her love interest coming to confess. 

“Ding! Hello?” A hand waved between my face and my book. It only takes a few seconds for me to realize the dinging was coming from the reception bell. My attention is turned from it to the person in front of me. Black hair, my favorite, and skin the complete opposite, paler than mine, but with a different hue. And topped off with a simple black hoodie and an impatient gaze. I’m certain I don’t know him, but then our eyes meet.

“Oh, um how can I help?” I asked him barely above a whisper. 

“I need to check into my room? Is there.. someone else who I could speak with?” I couldn’t help but wonder for which reason he asked that, to avoid me, if he even remembers me, or in hopes of an employee who wasn’t too zoned into a book to notice him, despite working the front desk, or well those were the only reasons I could really think of. Either way..

“Sorry, but, well no, I own the inn and there’s really no one else available right now, so.. what’s your name and I can check you in,” I knew all too well what his name was, but maybe this way was easier.

“Jess Morin,” He replied, his expression calm and unchanged, did he remember me? I was beginning to majorly doubt it. The light flashed off his glasses and I caught my reflection.

Pushing up my glasses and tucking my pale brown hair behind my ears I continued, “Alright Jess Morin, you’re in room six.” How weird it felt to hear his name out of my mouth again. I can still remember the J’s everywhere. From 4th grade to senior year everything I owned was plagued with J’s. Anything from gum wrappers folded into the shape to notes for any subject covered in them. “And here’s your key,” part of me hoping for a brush of our fingertips as I passed it to him, the other part knowing I shouldn’t hope for that.

“Thank you Mrs…?” How wrong had I been to think he might remember me, but how could he not? I guess it did all last longer for me than him, but still.

“Miss Huxley, Amberly Huxley.” I’d never found it so difficult to smile. I thought I had finished this chapter, closed off these feelings, but never would I have imagined I’d see him again. Desperate not to cry in front of him I tried to end the conversation, “Enjoy your stay.” Instantly turning back to my book to shut down any further interaction and blinking furiously now that he couldn’t see my eyes. 

“What are you reading anyways? It must be good, you seem so lost in it.”

No. Ab-so-lute-ly not. I’ll admit it’s not the.. best book, but after so many years of constant reading you run out of, so.. well, “thestmufnndthcpcke.” The words came out in a jumbled mutter. 

“What?” he asked because obviously no one could understand that mess. 

“A pink book. I’m reading a pink book.”

“Okay, but what’s it called?” he continued. Why? Why couldn’t he let this go? In terms of tacky romance it was in fact the tackiest, but the town library was small and I had read our romance section dry. 

“Just a book.” I declared looking him in the eyes with every ounce of command I had in me.

“A book about what,” he asked again, the edges of his mouth hinting at the ghost of a smile.

“A romance novel,” I said, shrinking back into myself. 

“And what exactly is the name of this novel,” he teased.

“THE STUDMUFFIN AND THE CUPCAKE, ALRIGHT?!” I burst so loud the entire inn, if not the entire town, could hear. The grin spread across his face and he let out a light chuckle. Despite the burn I could feel running all across my face and the redness I thought might consume my entire body, my eyes softened a little. 

“See you later Fae,” he laughed. Fae. My middle name. If he remembered that, what else did he remember? I doubt half as much as me, but still. 

Did he remember the first time I noticed him on the playground in third grade, our seats next to each other in class in fourth, the way he never talked to me in fifth, him voting me for homecoming queen in sixth, then drawn together again by seats in english in seventh, our late night calls and miles of texts in eighth along with his confession and how it scared me, his radio-silence in ninth, my confession in tenth, then my habit of hiding in my books starting junior year and every year after that, everything in between, how mean he was, how much I cared? The letter?

I always regretted that letter, I wonder if he even got it. I got up from my uncomfortable wooden stool and hurried down the hall, pretending to read my book in case anyone tried to talk to me. Looking up only once the window was in my peripheral vision, door twelve, the last on the hall.

With the door safely locked behind me I practically ran to my dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer. Tucked safely under a myriad of sweaters, in the very back, was an envelope. Faded with time, the outside said To: Jess From: Amberly. 

I flipped it over and gently peeled back the top. After only a moment of hesitation I unfolded the letter and began to read it.

Dear Jess,

I hardly know where to start, It’s been so long since we’ve last talked. First of all this won’t be written in cursive because that is the most romantic handwriting. Second, this letter might be a little more honest than I’m comfortable with, but I promised myself I’d do it. 

We graduate tomorrow, I heard you’ve already been accepted to MIT. I can’t even say I’m surprised I always knew you would do well. I just need to write this for some form of closure. I always thought  hoped we’d get a second chance. You were my right person, wrong time. I had read about those and thought they were sad, but only now can I understand the true depth of the pain it holds. How do you mourn a love you never spoke aloud? Never felt? How do I forgive myself for all of the things we never got a chance to become? These are things I’m still learning. 

I was so sad about you that I became thinner and thinner and the saddest part was no one noticed, not even you no matter how much I wanted you to, to see how much I hurt. Eventually I realized, you would never be sorry because you didn’t think you did anything wrong and then I realized, no one was going to save me. No one, but myself. So I forgave you then, slowly, I forgave myself. I can say that I no longer need you, maybe I never did. 

I think I might always love you perhaps at least in a platonic manner, but I will bury that deep within me and when you go off to college I will bury you too. I will forget this love that once consumed me and I will be myself again, whoever that is now. 

Also just so you know I’ve already started learning myself again. I’ve learned that once I stopped listening to your favorite songs, I had a favorite song of my own. I also relearned my love for reading and baking. Another thing is I love sunflowers and Bumble Bee’s. I will replace my love for you with a love for me. I hope life does you well and we both become very happy.

No longer love,

  Amberly.

Had I really sent him this? Had I really written this? The second hand embarrassment was practically eating me alive. To avoid any further feelings I curled into bed and continued my book. 

Somewhere around eleven I finished it and somewhere around twelve I gave into the fact that I wasn’t going to get much sleep tonight. Once in my slippers and robe, I headed down to the kitchen. This was my other form of escape, though slightly less effective because I couldn’t always shut my mind off while I did it. I don’t remember where I started but, currently I was adding sugar into a bowl while my mind busied itself. 

Had he read the letter? What did he think of it? What did he think now? How did he feel now? I slammed the pan onto the oven rack annoyed at the thought. Don’t go getting your hopes up now Amberly. He doesn't love you and you don’t love him. 

Anyways, that was years ago I said to myself as I pulled the cookie pan out of the oven. They smelled warm and like strawberries. My hands finished the task without my mind. My thoughts were running along somewhere else between the pages of, ashamed to admit, the notebook. Although a classic the whole lovers reunited thing was not what I needed running through my subconscious right now. I finally looked down at my finished creation, pink heart shaped strawberry cookies, with cream cheese icing and heart shaped sprinkles. “Perfect,” I said to myself with a roll of my eyes. 

The next morning afternoon if we’re being honest, I found myself in my bed surrounded by sappy romance novels and cookie pans reduced to crumbs. Looks like I was very successful in convincing myself I felt nothing for him. So much for that letter of closure and those buried feelings.

Annoyed with myself, among other things, I rushed to get ready and bolted for the reception desk a whole hour late. As I scurried down the hall I checked my watch, make that an hour and twenty minutes late. The moment I looked back up I processed it all a little too late and found myself on the floor. Barely a foot away from me was Jess, a box, and an envelope. 

“Oh sugar! I’m so sorry,” I stammered, reaching to hand him everything he dropped. Then for reasons I wasn’t yet sure of, he burst out laughing.

“What? What’s so funny,” I asked quickly, wiping at my mouth incase of residual crumbs and tucking my hair behind my ears. 

“There’s no way you just said ‘Oh Sugar!’, he managed between spouts of laughter. My face relaxed a little and I began to giggle a little too.

“Here,” he said, offering me a hand as he stood. 

“Oh, thanks,” I felt a pale pink touch my cheeks and a warmth fill me up at the feeling of his hand in mine. Why was he here? I shut this all out. I wasn't supposed to feel it ever again. Was it fate? Coincidence? When I saw our hands outstretched before us, still awkwardly holding each other, I was pulled back into the present. 

I released his hand, realizing how weird he must think I was being. Although I’m positive I must have imagined this, it seemed like the faintest strings pulled his smile back down and a sadness glossed his eyes. I cleared my throat trying to clear the uncomfortable air in the room as well. 

“Um, here’s your stuff..” I told him as I held out the box and the envelope. 

A blur of emotions crossed his face for a minute until he seemed to come to a decision. “No, it’s yours,” he declared. 

I was unsure, but began to open the small velvet black box. “Wait! Not yet, please? Just.. let me go first, I’ll uh, see you later.. I guess,” he gave me a shy smile and turned quickly down the hall. 

That was not only odd, but very out of character for him. He had always come off as confident, though he had confessed once it was a facade. A fake it until you make it type of thing. What could be in this box to make him lose his composure so completely? 

I lifted the top to reveal a silver bracelet. On it was a dozen or so little charms. First a cursive, the most romantic writing, ‘A’. Second was an aquamarine gem, my birthstone. Following that was a bee. Then a sunflower, a book, a music note, a whisk, a measuring cup, and a sun. 

In the box was a taped note with only a question mark and two more charms, a cursive ‘J’ and an amethyst gem, his birthstone.  

Fate? Coincidence? I wondered which of the two this was as I opened the envelope and pulled out the letter, written in cursive.

Dear Amberly,