Love Letter

Lynne:

With my mom's declaration and the date with Ian last night, my mind is swimming, and it is hard to sort out everything that had happened. I had sat in the living room for an hour or two going through all the books my mom had collected for me over the years. I was pleased to see that I had read five of the twelve that she had bought for me already. It was odd to think she knew me regarding my reading material and our crummy relationship with each other. I regret not trying to break down her wall while I was in high school, but she was the parent. I was the kid looking for some sort of guidance with everything that was going on. I had drifted asleep while reading one of my favorite stories of all time, Pride and Prejudice; this one had a note on it that my mother had picked it up on her and Victor's last trip overseas. It would be the fourth copy of Pride and Prejudice I owned, along with the movies.

Morning came too soon, and the sun that shined through the curtains that Francine had pulled back that morning had awakened me. I woke up looking around, imagining I was in the wrong house. It was too odd to see the decorations and tree set up. The last two years we were in high school, no tree or stockings hung for us. We sat on the couches waiting to open the little gifts my mother had picked out. Still, in my clothes from the night before, I change into pajamas I had not worn since high school; they fit looser, and I was hoping the knot I tied worked. I felt like I was still dreaming when I found Ian with his sweater rolled up to his elbows while helping make the pies with Francine. He allowed his eyes to sweep my body without any sign of guilt. My dream kept continuing, and I never wanted to wake up and go back to the cold, sarcastic self that I had allowed myself to become the last few years. I wanted to live. I wanted to smell, taste, fall, and get back up, but mostly I wanted to love. I wanted to be the type of person who dealt crummy cards and turned them into something better. Who took the days in and enjoyed each day. I wanted to be the person I felt like when I was around Ian. This feeling was overwhelming, and I had never encountered it before, making it more confusing.

I ended up falling asleep against Ian's shoulder while we watched Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer that was on the TV. I am awoken to him gently nudging me. My eyes flicker to the TV replaced with football on it. "Dinner will be ready in half an hour," Ian says and then plants a kiss on my forehead. The kiss sends goosebumps throughout my body, and I sit up quicker than I intended to. Ian looks amused by my reaction and watches me while I walk up the stairs to get dressed for dinner. I shower as quickly as I can and step into my closet, trying to find something cheerful to wear. I pick looser dark blue jeans and a green sweater to throw on. I throw back on my slippers, not wanting to have cold feet while we eat. I look in the mirror before heading downstairs and see the brunette curls that sit around my face-framing it in. I was happy for once to have naturally curly hair to run downstairs without having to frit over my hair much. Ian is waiting for me on the last stair with his legs sprawled out. He is on his phone, and it looks like he is emailing something out.

"Hi," I say lamely, stepping on the same step he is on. He pushes his phone into his pocket and stands, taking my hand in his. He does a sweep with his eyes of my body again, and I have to fight from blushing from his obviousness. He pulls out my chair when we make our way to the table. I can tell when I look up that everyone was watching the two of us as we entered. I took in the faces of each of my family members and said hi to Ricardo, who was sitting next to Lisa, semi-diagonal from us. Keith is here with his wife and kids, and I wish I could have seen his face when he stepped in and saw the Christmas decorations and tree that had appeared since he had been here five days ago. Carolyn, his wife, seems to be in a better mood than usual. She appeared to be the type of person that would want a Christmas tree wherever she celebrated Christmas. From what I knew of her, she had a cookie-cutter upbringing, which was very different from how us Bettendorfs were raised toward the end.

Frank was the first one to break the silence. "So when was the last time this happened?" he asks jokingly. I want to nudge him with my elbow until I hear my family laughing uneasily. Keith, seated across from Ian, starts asking him questions about his job. I sit listening since I had never asked Ian what he did for a living; it should have been one of the first questions I should have asked him.

I wait for Ian, who seems to be processing this question. "I work as a publisher," he says, looking uneasy. "What about you?" he asks, and I can tell he is trying to move on. He was really bad at trying to cover up his emotions. My brother talks about how he is a lawyer, boring. I want to get back on Ian's career.

"You are in publishing?" I ask him after my brother quits talking.

"Yes," he says, cutting a piece of turkey looking down.

"Work on any books we would know of?" Kelly pipes in from the middle of the table, now interested in the conversation.

"Probably not – I started helping with history books and then explored into a few other sections," he pauses and adds, "I have helped publish a few of Cannon River's books," he says, looking at me.

"What?" I ask to astound, "you know Cannon River?" I ask.

"Kind of," he says.

"What is he like?" I ask, trying to sound less excited by this information than I really was. Why didn't he say he had last night when he asked me about them? Because of the scene with my mother, I am guessing. He was probably getting to it before she made her big outburst breaking everything up.

"Very private," he says, not giving as many details as I would like. I wonder if he had to sign a nondisclosure to help with his books. Cannon River was a mystery – no one knew what he looked like or very much about him. The biography on his books was very short, usually, a few sentences long, letting the readers know he was born in New York City but never his birth date. No one knew his age; I always guessed he was older and maybe was battling a terminal illness.