Love Thy Neighbor

Chapter 39

Several things happen all at once that make me think that the fates are intervening in my life, or maybe they are pulling a very cruel joke on me.

Not that I totally believe in fate. I mean, I'm a pretty cynical person in general. But then something will happen to you that make you question whether it's a coincidence.

The first thing that happens is that a large padded envelope is delivered to my door on a crisp October morning. The envelope is hand delivered by my postal carrier who mumbles an apology about it being so late. My postal carrier is old and grumpy and our interactions were usually limited to him yelling at me for getting so many packages. What can I say? Online shopping is the only way to go when you have a baby. He could deal.

It's one of my non-work days and Delilah is sleeping in her portable crib on the main floor. We'd been out for a long stroll earlier, and the fresh air and visual stimulation wears her out. I sit down on the couch and look at the envelope. It's battered and torn and looks like it has been through the wringer.

I notice that the initial address is to my old condo in Toronto. My last name is gone. That part of the package got torn off. There's no return address.

I look at the date and see that the first postmark is dated March 2, 2021. There are a couple other postmarks. One is from November of that same year, and another is from April of 2022. There's another that is so smudged that it is illegible.

There are several forwarding addresses scrawled on the package. I deduce that the first one was supposed to be my grad school apartment. The apartment number is wrong. It must have made it to the college mail office where it sat awhile, or maybe got lost, based on the postmark dates. I guess someone eventually found it or figured out it was for me. It was then forwarded to my parents' address, except my parents moved when Elsie went off to college. They downsized to a nice condo in Montreal because my dad was sick of the upkeep for the pool and the yard. I'm guessing the people who bought their house received the package and got the Brooklyn address from a neighbor, or maybe they called my folks for it, because my current address is on there in nice fresh ink.

There's a reason I don't tear into the envelope right away. I know who it was from. I recognized the handwriting as soon as the postman put it in my hands.

It is from Shawn.

My fingers tremble as I hold the envelope. He sent this to me less than three months after we broke up. I thought he'd never reached out to me, but inside this envelope was proof that he had.

It flickers through my head that it could just be something of mine that he'd found in his condo. It's possible I left some items there. Would he really have sent me a toothbrush or whatever else was small enough to fit in this package?

I finally get the courage to open it, which isn't hard since it's practically falling apart. For a second I worry that it might be empty and I might never know what he sent, but as I peer inside I see that is not true.

Inside the envelope are a letter, a concert ticket, and an all-access backstage pass.

The ticket was for the second night of his shows in Toronto; the pass is a standard all-access pass like the crew used.

The letter is in a trifold and I can see through the paper that he's written a lot. I set it down on my coffee table and try to steady my heartbeat.

Do I really want to read words he wrote to me from that time?

I stand up and go into my kitchen. I make a cup of tea, add sugar and cream, and stand at the counter drinking it. As my tea sloshes onto the floor, I realize my hands are shaking badly. Fuck. Why does Shawn Mendes have such an effect on me?

I tell myself to put on my big girl pants and read the goddamn letter. It's not like it matters; it's years old and no longer relevant. He's out of my life so anything he said then is meaningless.

After I clean up the spilled tea, I sit back down on the couch and finally open the letter and read it. I read it three times before I set it down and burst into tears, waking poor Lila up.

Jessica-

I know you are probably surprised to hear from me since I have not contacted you until now. Just know I've wanted to call you every single day since you walked out of my condo. I've wanted to text you. I've wanted to fly back to Toronto and knock on your door. I haven't done any of those things, though. Why? Because I am a coward. I don't know what I would do if I found out you'd blocked me, or if you hung up on me, or if you never responded to my text, or if you slammed the door in my face.

I'm sorry, Jess. So so sorry. I fucked up so badly. I had no right to make the demand I was making. I was acting so immature and selfish. Your life and your dreams are just as important as mine. I was so caught up in my needs that I didn't consider yours.

You are probably wondering how I realized this. It's definitely taken all of the last couple months. I thought that missing you while I was touring was painful. It turns out losing you is a hell of a lot worse. I have not cried so much in my whole life. Thankfully I've had support from people who care about me. I've been able to keep touring because I've learned to separate tour-me from real-me. I can put on a show and smile and then walk off stage and hate my life without you.

Anyway...I need to get to the point. I'm enclosing a ticket to my Toronto show. My very last show of this tour. It's front row. I want to be able to see you and know you came. There's also an all-access pass. If you come, you can get backstage with that. If you are willing, I want you to come see me after the show so we can talk. I want to apologize in person. I want to try to fix this. Fix us. I miss you so much.

I hope to see you in Toronto.

Love,

S

P.S. If you don't come to the show, I'll
understand. I know that means you don't want to see me or talk to me again. I will respect your wishes and will leave you alone.