13. Chapter 13

Icherished the days when Max sent a handwritten letter instead of an email. I stared down at the letter and traced the scroll of his letters. The man had better penmanship than most women. Thankfully, no one was there to see me pick that same letter up to my nose and sniff it. His scent lingered on the pages along, mixed with the ink. There was a lingering cedarwood fragrance with a hint of citrus. It smelled wonderful, but I knew it wouldn't last.

Part of me wanted to ask Max what kind of cologne he wore. Was it creeperish to want to buy a small bottle to spray on the letters he sent when it eventually wore away over time? Probably. Did that stop me from wishing I could do it? Nope. I loved that each of his handwritten letters came with that extra little bit of him.

Dear Posie,

Fuck my brother! He doesn't get it. It's not old fashioned to start a letter that way and I don't want you to ever change your style for anyone. Whether it's handwritten or email, I love knowing that you're consistent in some things. It's comforting in a weird way. Kind of like coming home and settling into your favorite chair after work and the stress of the day immediately starts to drain away. When I sit down and see ‘Dear Max' written to me, I'm automatically taken to a better place.

Wow! Did he really just say that? I wasn't sure if it should be a compliment to be compared to someone's comfortable "favorite chair", but I understood the sentiment all the same. Giddy little butterflies danced around in my belly as I thought about the fact that my letters took Max to a better place in his life. I hated that he needed that escape, but considering he was a police detective, it made sense. That was why I always tried to keep my letters to him upbeat.

You never said who you were going to the movies with. I wondered if you've suddenly made a bunch of famous friends in the industry, but I can't see famous people heading to our hometown to hang out at The Seven Screens. I'm still not sure how a town as small as ours can support a theater with that many screens, but then again, I seem to remember helping to keep them in business in high school.

Did you ever go back then? I don't think I ever saw you there.

The butterflies in my belly stopped fluttering about and took a steep nosedive into the bottom of my gut. Of course he wouldn't have seen me there, even if I'd been able to have the free time to go. If I wasn't working in the bakery, I escaped to Jack's barn. Mom couldn't complain and come drag me back home from Jack's place because my guardian angel would never allow that, and Mom knew it. The barn had been my safe space. Going to the theater had been a dream. Going with friends seemed impossible, since I didn't really have any.

Max hadn't even noticed me in the barn the one time he showed up and made out with his girlfriend just feet away from where I'd been sitting. There was no doubt in my mind that he wouldn't have noticed me had I been allowed to go to the theater.

I shook off the morose thoughts and tried to remind myself that I was no longer that little girl hiding in the shadows. There were people who I could consider friends in my life now. Evan being the biggest one. Max, I suppose, was a friend even if only paper. Then there were Evan's friends who I considered more acquaintances because they tolerated my presence for him more so than welcomed me into the fold.

Since I couldn't answer Max out loud, I would probably leave that last bit out of my response to him. He already knew I was an invisible loser before he left town, he didn't need to hear from me that not much had changed.

Some days, I wish we could pack up and go things like that together. Is that weird? We never hung out when I lived there, but whenever I go things like try a new restaurant or run into a street artist as I walk through the city, I wonder what you would think. What would you order in the new Mexican joint I tried last week? Would you like the artist who makes funny caricatures more or the guy who does spray painted images of the solar system?

Maybe all that goes beyond our letter-writing friendship for you, but those are things I think about. I hope you had fun at the movies. I'm kind of jealous that I wasn't there to enjoy it with you. I want to know if you laugh out loud at the good parts, ask questions through the whole movie that annoy people, or if you're too afraid to get concessions because chewing seems like too much noise.

My guess is the latter. You were always so quiet and assuming, I can't imagine you being the person in the theater everyone hates.

Anyway, I just caught a new case and have to run. I hope you had fun and that you've come out of your shell enough to at least enjoy the popcorn. Fuck everyone else. Some days, you need to live for your own enjoyment.

Catch you later,

Max

My heart fluttered so fast, I worried that it might explode. Max thought about me outside of our letters. Sure, it seemed stupid to think that he didn't, but he really wanted to know what it would be like to go places with me and what I would think of things. If only he knew that I often wondered those same things about him. I bet if he was sitting next to me in the theater, he would insist that I eat the popcorn and make squeaky noises with my straw.

I took the time to gather my thoughts together before I pulled out my pen and paper and started to write down my own thoughts. All the while, my stupid heart concocted all sorts of fantasies about me going to Max's city to surprise him with a visit. I wondered how he would take it. Would he be happy I showed up and take me to a movie or would he send me packing back home where I could remain out of sight and out of mind until he was ready to write a few more words that would unknowingly give me hope that he never intended?