I sent the letter to Ian two weeks ago. I was sorely tempted to rip it into pieces and then throw it out, but Molly and Sarah sat me down and asked me to chant over and over, “What’s the worst that could happen?”
The worst would be that he would write me back telling me he hated me. That’s what I told them. They asked if I could live with that, and just the thought of him reading something from him made it easier to breathe, so I nodded to them. I could live with that.
Too bad I was wrong. The worst would be that he would totally ignore me. Every day I’d come home and unlock my mailbox, sorting through the junk fliers and catalogs and find…nothing. There was nothing from him. He didn’t care.
Except, of course, last night. Last night Boss came home with me, and he wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, pulling my hair away from my neck to kiss my shoulder. I gasped as I opened the mailbox and Ian’s letter slipped right out and into my hands. It had messy handwriting I’d never really seen, barely legible. My heart started beating at triple speed, and that’s when Boss gently turned me around, smirking at me.
“You seem excited,” he said, giving me a full smile now. He kissed my neck some more, but I could barely feel his lips because my hands were burning holding the envelope from Ian. I wanted to push Boss away, send him home, so I could sit with the envelope and read what it said. Would he hate me? Would he want me back? Was he enclosing my letter unread in the envelope?
But I couldn’t do any of that. Boss was staying for dinner when I wanted him gone. And that was proof enough that I was going straight to hell.