letters to camila // s.m ✓

3

"Oh my goodness, you've gotten so big!"

Camille runs over to my mother with open arms and a smile on her face. I turn and look at Beth, who gives me the, "Henry pooped himself" face.

My dad takes my luggage and we start walking to the parking lot.

"I'm so happy you came down to visit. It's been so long," my mom says to Beth, swooping Camille up off the ground.

"Yeah, it has been a while. We've been a little busy with the kids, and Shawn's clinic..." she replies.

"Oh yes! How's that going Shawn?"

"Really great, surprisingly."

"Well that's wonderful. Let's get home, I've got stuff in the oven."

•••

Driving through Bozeman feels strange. I forgot what it smelled like.

The kids cry the whole way up. We pull into the driveway and come to a stop. They help us get our bags out of the back, and I tell my father about our life in Chicago. Beth winks at me as she shuts the trunk, mocking that we returned even though I had begged extensively not to. She chuckles as we walk up the path to my old front door.

The house is exactly the same, except for the flowers along the path that I once knew were long gone and my mother had replaced them with new ones.

"Aaliyah?" I say as the door swings open and I see her standing in the living room. "What are you doing here?"

"I decided to come by since everyone would be here!" She says as she hugs me. She then moves and gapes at the kids, telling them they have grown up so fast. It has been forever.

My mother makes me set the table like she used to. We eat very slowly and it feels like we never stop talking.

I think that was the longest conversation we had ever had.

"Camille starts preschool next month, so that's exciting," Beth says, plopping more cheesy potatoes on Henry's plate.

"Ooooh, are you excited?"

"Yeaaaaah!" Camille says as she stands up on her chair and dances around. I come up behind her, pick her up and plant a big raspberry on her bare belly, making us both erupt with laughter.

"Oh, Shawn, I forgot the placemats. Gosh, we haven't used them since everyone here! They should be up in the attic," my mother says, pointing upstairs, as if I had forgotten where our attic was.

"Alright, I'll be right back," I say, putting Cami back in her chair and going up the staircase.

I pull down the ladder to the attic and climb up.

I step over randomly labeled boxes and rugs and mattresses. One box is stuffed with my toys from when I was a kid, and then I look further and find plenty more boxes just like them. Another box with all my old school projects, and another full of yearbooks that date all the way back to the sixth grade. Why did my mom keep all this junk?

After ripping though countless boxes, I find one full of styrofoam peanuts. Even though I know it couldn't be the placemats, I feel the urge to move my hand around in it, and I feel something.

I pull it out.

A small brown wrapped package with a string tied around it.

I pull the string and rip through the paper.

Camila Cabello

Camila Cabello

Camila Cabello

Camila Cabello

Camila Cabello

Camila Cabello

Camila Cabello

Camila Cabello

Camila Cabello

All ninety-two of the letters I sent.

The letters she never read.